The third painting of ten in my series, “The Weak End,” created in the last few days of my seven months living in Tranquil Shores’ inpatient facility.
The text in this piece (though barely legible) says, “I’ve basically stopped praying. I do (maybe) three real meetings each week. I don’t EVER think of you. And ‘you’ isn’t even you.”
By early February, I wasn’t technically inpatient anymore. Though I lived on property and was subject to a lot of the same rules as before, I had some special privileges. For example, I was still required to go to at least five meetings a week, but I no longer had to go with everyone else. If I could transport myself, I could go to whatever meetings I wanted, so long as I signed in and out, came back on time, had it approved by my counselor, etc.
On the night that I painted this, I left for a meeting. It was only my sixth one on my own. And I ran out of gas on the way there. For the third time. There were no gas stations in that area, but I was still really close to Tranquil Shores. I was too embarrassed to go back and admit that I had fucked up again though, and in such a basic/stupid way. I decided to hide out in a parking lot until the time when I was scheduled to return from the meeting. But then I got anxious and snuck back onto property early so I could go back to painting. Later, I pretended that I had just forgotten to sign back in.
I didn’t write a statement on this piece back in February and I don’t think I journaled that night either. I wish I had because I don’t even know who the “you” that I “wasn’t thinking about” is. If I had to guess, it was a girl, but it could have been any one of three girls that I would have been having thoughts like this about at the time.
This was my favorite song that week. I was listening to it at least five or ten times a day.
“The Weak End” series includes:
- 4-Hydroxybutanoic Acid Talent Show
- Portraits of God, Nothing, and Fear
- Valuable Feedback
- Satellite Photography
- Friday Afternoons Spent in Mental Health Treatment Facilities
- Diminishing Returns
- No One Will Spit On Me and I Hate It
- So Smart I Got Life Lessons Dripping Out My Asshole
- Hard Feelings
7 thoughts on “Portraits of God, Nothing, and Fear”
I grow more proud of you each day that passes. I love you, Sam.
You’re my everything, Anonymous. I love you too.