Connecting Artists to the Community with Education, Therapy and Fun

Hey there. Lawd, I've been so jonesing for some written words. Journaling has been one of those things that have gone by the wayside recently- I am human and this will be a very selfishly truthful and human post. I value the power of honesty and although those of ignorance will call it whining, allowing one's self the value of honesty of emotions without the censor of shoulds is sometimes the healthiest gift you can give.

Its intimacy and it’s scary. In your heart of hearts, who are you? What strength do you have? What makes you laugh till you hurt or cry at night? Why are we so afraid? The fear is what it is to be human, to bleed and to be real. Velveteen Scream, indeed.

 With all of this work, there ARE things that just fall by the wayside~ sometimes its personal relationships (Gawd knows that some have been neglected) and sadly, the most neglected personal relationship is me. I really miss blogging, journaling, and painting. I haven't had any personal time to take care of me or the things that make me tick and I feel with a passion that something is going to have to give. It won't be the work that I love and allows me to breathe and feel at home in the skin I habitate.

I love my work and my problem forever is that I can't do it all and so desperately want to. Isn't this the truth? For so long, anxiety had taken away my ability to be in the world, while ad/hd had taken away my ability to grasp and connect outside myself that- since being medicated and having a new life thereof- I've been like a racehorse let out of the gate (after having been too long pent up and too long trained for this moment). I just bolted and haven't stopped to breathe. I want it all and now, dammit :) Ever feel starved for both sunshine and water that you burn or drown yourself? 

So many conflicts and so little time. There is so much that I want to do before I go or before the clock strikes midnight. (Cinderella effect?) I think that there is this part of our minds that think death is a cleaning up of sorts that offers us a solution to our problems and we feel that when we pass on, that somehow loose ends are tied up into little bows and there are no longer questions, messy ambiguities or inconsistent representations. There is no such thing. Everything remains as messy as it ever was. The true gift of life is to love the mess, the inconsistencies and enjoy whatever chaos comes our way. And the joy is somehow much sweeter with a mixed delicacy. But I've been gobbling.

One of these conflicts is with my mother. She has no knowledge of it that I'm aware of, or ever will if I have anything to do with it... Her whole life revolves around me. This is incredibly unfair and unhealthy. What is equally unfair is that she is 69 years old and changing her at this stage in the game is cruel and futile. I am an only and this gives so much value to one's life--- but the constant magnifying glass tends to burn like it would a malicious child to an ant. I want her to have her own life that I feel much less responsibility for. Often I feel smothered and hyper responsible. I want freedom.

What am I willing to do to get it? Stand my ground when I need to. I've a big issue about spoiling everyone I meet... she's no different. I love to love. As tough as I'd like to bullshit myself that I am, this is really--- bullshit. I am tired. This is a reason I'm childless... I don’t' have the resources left (after giving to those that need to let go) to care for a child, although I'd love to have one. What would happen if I did? I'd start to be mean, pull back and hiss, bite and lunge like Padme the mother duck does with her eggs. Maybe this is what I need- to show my fangs and stand my ground in the face of even well intentioned intrusions. I just don’t' have it in me, maybe. Soft touch, indeed.

Guilt has been a great companion to me, great in that it never really leaves. What would life be line without it? All would be really easy if I could not care, but that just it--- dispassion isn't my baggage. I care too much. Who else creates non-profits?

Today is my dad's birthday. July 3- although this post will reveal it will be published on the 4th sometime, Independence Day. Ironic, isn’t' it? I am suffocating for independence and this will be published on Independence Day.

Who my dad was to me could be studied for centuries and never really be understood, even if I could live that long. It’s not all that complicated, really, he was a controlling, selfish, abusive alcoholic who had good points that I and everyone else loved. He hurt me tremendously and yet I wonder if there was anything else I could have done differently towards the end to make the rest of his life better. I couldn’t be there for him. The flashbacks were too severe and the memories threatened to eat me whole. They won’t of course and Hate is just an emotion, but if you succumb to it, it becomes who you are. Who wants to be that? Who wants to walk around life with no skin- all nerves exposed and infections raging?

People judge the symptoms, they never see the cause. I just wanted out. To not be important. I just wanted to get away and have some happiness and peace, but the cruel irony is that when getaway happens, something has already happened to elevate neurochemistry to be comfortable with chaos and unpredictability that normal peace and happiness is never enough. ADHD or PTSD? If the shoes fit, kick ass with them.

Those of us with those issues customize our lives and start our own businesses- because we feel so inadequate and inferior from the life experiences (that no one else had) - to be able to work for another person. How can we ever live up to anyone else’s expectations? Who would want us? After what we’ve seen and been forced to do? The feeling of inadequacy makes super achievers for peanuts when otherwise the pressure to fit with “other” people who wouldn’t understand proves to be unbearable. Yes, you can be an underachieving overachiever. The Alpha and the Omega do coexist…  

The Lord chisels us, molds us and hardens us in the hottest fires, shapes us with the heaviest sledgehammers- burning away impurities and shaping us into what He would have us be. I’m not the first to notice this… I have to hold onto that, for without it, there is no meaning to pain. If there is no meaning, it was frivolous and malicious. Who can abide a God like that?   

Those of ignorance would say that I was ungrateful for my second chance and that I waste my time choosing to think on things like these--- but they don’t know because they’ve never lived in the daily sweltering hate that I come from. What I have to tell you and what I have to tell my clients is the same: your pain is your pain and it never goes away, just lives with you. It is up to you to find the meaning and the ways to live with it that is the meat of health- me? I would not be who I am without it. I identify with it so much that it has become a great part of who I am. The strength, the struggles to keep my mom alive and keep the gun away from her head, the OCD that kept my mind obsessing over and over and over and over to keep those that I love safe was the much necessary diversion from the reality that I could not control what was happening around me—the helplessness repeating that my survival depended on how much I could counsel a sick, homicidal/suicidal father into living and allowing us the pleasure of breathing one more day. All of this I carry around in one slowly aging body and an overactive mind. But it’s ok.

The rest of the story?  The rest of the story is filled with loving, laughing and trying to be ok when the programming breaks through even the best of fairy tale endings. She is living happily ever after… just with some painful memories, that’s all.

Everyday I wonder what I did to deserve such joy. I do love my life. Still.

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