Category Archives: Inpatient

Artist Statements, Expressive, Inpatient, Punk rock, Rehab Journals, Status Update

The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks

1 Comment
"The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks." 1/11/13. Tempera, oil pastel, and pen. 12" (diameter).
“The Fruits of Being a Contemptuous Bag of Dicks.” 1/11/13. Tempera, oil pastel, and pen. 12″ (diameter).

This is from the same day as This Might Be Bullshit  – the day of my first “emotional relapse.” Looking for something else yesterday, I pulled out an old composition notebook and found [what I guess I’d call] a poem. It’s also from this same week in January.

—–

Tomorrow I’ll wake up and spill my guts into the toilet and maybe clean myself up.

Tomorrow I’ll sit in group therapy and pass the time by drawing the needles I haven’t seen in 4½  months.

Tomorrow I’ll meet with my counselor and tell her how well I’m doing. I’ll probably go to an AA meeting, bring my book, write in the margins, and not pay attention.

Tomorrow I’ll stare out my window for no reason and maybe write some words I’ll never put to music. Tomorrow I won’t even notice my guitar sitting in the corner.

Tomorrow I’ll paint a painting on top of another painting and then wish that I hadn’t.

Tomorrow I’ll tell you I love you and you’ll pretend not to hear me.

Tomorrow I’ll post pictures of my art on Facebook so my friends can scroll past them. Tomorrow I won’t care enough to even see what they’re posting.

Tomorrow I’ll call my sponsor and explain things in terms he can understand. Tomorrow he’ll tell me I’m doing a great job and he’ll be just as wrong as he was today.

I won’t call my friends tomorrow and my friends won’t call me.

Tomorrow I’ll drown out the world with punk rock in my headphones instead of heroin in a syringe.

Tomorrow I’ll pace parking lots and side streets and sing along in a whisper.

Tomorrow I’ll notice another person too late and feel embarrassed.

Tomorrow I’ll think about you all day and pretend that I’m over it.

Tomorrow you’ll tell me you can’t stop thinking about shooting up but haven’t. Tomorrow you’ll be just as dishonest as you were today.

Tomorrow I’ll feel empty and insignificant and write a list of things I’m grateful for. Tomorrow I’ll recite lines like “There’s nothing wrong with my face, teeth, or body,” “I am worth time and energy,” “my art is positive, productive, and appreciated,” and “I am enough.” Tomorrow I’ll be just as dishonest as I was today.

Tomorrow I’ll sit at a bus stop waiting for something that’ll take even longer than the bus I’m not waiting on.

Tomorrow I’ll draw a self-portrait in crayon and hang it on my wall.

Tomorrow I’ll jerk off for the better part of an hour. Tomorrow I’ll meditate for three to five minutes, and feel a swell of pride.

Tomorrow I’ll dye my hair again and then wear a hat. I’ll sew something onto a shirt, rip up another, and still wear the same one I put on this morning.

Tomorrow I’ll pray because I’m supposed to. Tomorrow I’ll end my prayer with “I love you” and not know why.

Tomorrow I’ll smoke cigarettes in my room and feel bad about it, but I won’t get caught. Not tomorrow.

Tomorrow I’ll think of girls I don’t love and think of ways to make them love me.

Tomorrow I won’t have any idea what I’m doing.

Tomorrow I’ll wake up in rehab, eat a frozen waffle with nothing on it, drink half as much coffee as I pour, and smoke twice as many cigarettes as I can afford.

Tomorrow I’ll do a pretty good job of pushing my hate down into the pit of my gut. Tomorrow I won’t express the contempt I love but don’t feel. Tomorrow I’ll lack awareness.

Tomorrow I’ll have a positive attitude and a negative self-image. Tomorrow I’ll talk about how I have nothing to be upset about, criticize my own negativity, and someone will disagree with me on both points. Tomorrow I’ll shrug.

Tomorrow I’ll smile and feel peace as a song flows through me. I’ll feel evil and energized by another and smile even wider.

Tomorrow is my 143rd day here.

On Day 144, I’ll know what it means to be happy. And I will be. Just two more days.

—–

So that was about 300 days ago now. I think its significance is in how miserable it is despite the fact that I had been doing extremely well in the month leading up to it (possibly better than I ever had in my life). It’s a great example of how badly one little snag can fucking annihilate me (at least in a moment). I was already well on my way toward “know what it means to be happy” at that point and – while I may not always have it perfectly nailed down – I’d like to think that, day to day, I do a pretty okay job; I am happy.

I’ve been working on it (somewhat on and off) for the last week, but I put in a lot of time yesterday and today, and I’m confident (and happy to report) that my newest painting is this close to being finished, so I’m looking forward to sharing that tomorrow. And on Saturday I’m going to post something that really is a “fruit of being a contemptuous bag of dicks!”

I have fun; good from bad; so on and so forth. I’m gonna go eat pizza now.

——

Here’s a song I really love by a band I really love:“Monsoon” by Snuggle, off their 2005 7-inch, Tag, You’re It!

Inpatient, Photographs

Matt

Leave a comment
"Matt." 2/1/13. Colored pencil. 8x10".
“Matt.” 2/1/13. Colored pencil. 8×10″.

Rather than pay attention in group one morning, I decided to try and sketch my friend sitting across from me.

I’m pretty sure that this was my first (and only) attempt at an honest portrait. My technical ability as an artist is so limited that I rarely ever risk even trying to draw caricatures. I can think of seven exceptions but the only ones online so far are Rational Anthem, Heather, and Servo & Megan.

Matt and I were sitting outside smoking cigarettes one day and he had some paperwork to fill out. We both thought it was pretty silly that the form asked for his race and ethnicity and, while he was initially hesitant, I was eventually able to convince him to have a little fun with it.

Matt's Paperwork

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient

The Second Day of My Life

Leave a comment
"The Second Day of My Life." 12/4/12. Pen. 8x10".
“The Second Day of My Life.” 12/4/12. Pen. 6×7½”.

I drew this cartoon of an astronaut boxing a pirate, while sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. It was the same meeting the 12/13/14 thing started. It was also the day I finished reading my life story to my peers and counselor. It has no real significance, I was just trying to draw something a little bit unlike everything else that I draw.

  • The last time I was struck by that urge, I drew this.
  • The day that I started reading my life story, I drew this.
  • I chose the word “promise” for the same reason that, a week or so later, I drew this.

This is a really shitty, lazy update. I’ll make up for it later!

Life is cool though.

Artist Statements, Expressive, Inpatient, Status Update

This Might Be Bullshit

3 Comments
"This Might Be Bullshit." 1/11/13. Pen. 8½x11".
“This Might Be Bullshit.” 1/11/13. Pen. 8½x11″.

I was still inpatient when I made this. It was the product of the my first episode after “No Accident.” A full month had passed since then, which was longer than I could remember having gone without an emotional breakdown of one kind or another but I was still pretty disappointed with myself. If December 12th (the day I made “No Accident”) was my “emotional sobriety date,” this was most definitely my emotional relapse. I picked right back up with the kind of negative self-talk that had ruled my brain for most of my life. The body of the text reads:

I thought I found a place where I belonged. I wasn’t wrong. At the time. But time has passed and I don’t fit in here anymore. I can’t stall. I can’t adapt. I have to move on. Ready or not.

I’m already dead.

I don’t measure up. It’s who I am. It’s not sad. It just is. Nothing lasts forever and we can’t all be astronauts.

I’m not exactly sure what I meant with that last word. I’m sure it was an allusion to something I had heard (or something that had happened) recently. The rest of the text in the piece appears in bits and pieces, scattered throughout.

  • Outsider art.
  • THIS MIGHT BE BULLSHIT.
  • It’s time for me to go home. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
  • Please break my hands and kick my fucking teeth in.
  • [I’m] tired of me taking up space and time.
  • Fuck my stupid fucking life.
  • No amount of any anything from me could ever be enough.

—–

Tonight was the opening reception for my first art show. My emotional reaction to it was very much in tune with the painting I’m working on right now, so I’ll probably work it into that and share more about it once the painting is done.

In a few words though, the response tonight was such that it could very easily be interpreted as having implications that are either wildly positive and encouraging or terribly crushing and depressing. I’m working to get to a place of strictly gratitude though (and I’m almost there). To the people that did come out, I can’t thank you enough. Not just for showing up, but for really showing up. It means a lot to me. It’s keeping me going.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient, Stories

I Am Impossible

1 Comment
"First Day of My Life (Story)." 11/28/12. Colored pencil. 6x8½".
“I Am Impossible.” 11/28/12. Colored pencil. 6×8½”.

Jesse coined out and went on vacation with friends of her parents. She’ll be back, in two weeks, as an outpatient, and she’ll be living on property again. That makes me really, really happy. I don’t know what I would do if she left for good. She’s the source of all that’s good in my life. She’s what makes my life worth living. You know… since I had met her a couple weeks ago anyway.

We talk every day while she’s gone. I tell her about the note I got from Hal. She has something to tell me but won’t say what. I’ll get it out of her when I have her in person. I don’t think for a second that she’s relapsed. But she has. And that’s not fair.

Jesse got back two days ago and, yesterday, started to really push. She wants to get high. “That’s a terrible idea,” I tell her. But then something MONUMENTAL happens. This morning, she went off-property to go do something other than hang out with me. Naturally, I’m feeling rejected and depressed and  am in a really dark place again [unreasonable as that may be]. As she always does when I get this way, she’s distanced herself, which is – of course – making me feel even more rejected. But I know how I can feel better and win her back.

I call Stacy. She’s at the hospital because her sister is giving birth but – if I can meet her there – she’s got some thirtys on her that she’ll sell me. [Florida. It’s always pills with these kids.] Close enough. I set it up and look for Jesse. When I see her, I creep up with a grin that tells her everything she needs to know: “Go sign out and park your car at the strip mall. Soon as the coast is clear, I’ll sneak off property and meet you. We’ve got an errand to run.”

—–

That was part two of the story I started to tell yesterday.

I’m pretty sure anyone reading this already knows but just in case… A “thirty” is a 30mg oxycodone pill. More commonly known as “blues,” but I’ve always hated that name. It’s too cute. If you had asked me about it back in the day, I’d probably have said something like… “I shoot heroin and – absent that – synthetic heroin. But never blues. There’s nothing colorful or fun about this.”

Really, I think I was just upset that my SUPER COOL DRUG HABIT had been co-opted by half the dorks in Florida and I didn’t wanna use the same terminology as them. I was dangerous; they were cuttin’ loose! … Fuck that.

[Check it out, guys! You can be a douchey elitist when it comes to just about anything!]

The drawing I chose for this entry was drawn on the day that I shared the first half of my life story in group at Tranquil Shores. It was also a day on which I was similarly upset because I felt similarly rejected by a girl that I was similarly in treatment with.

The tombstone behind me reads: “Sickle Cell: November 4, 1985 to Any Day Now.” The original drawing was damaged before I ever got a good picture or scan of it, so this image is the best I can do.

 

Artist Statements, Expressive, Inpatient

Coining Out

Leave a comment
"Coining Out." 2/8/13. Marker. 7x9½".
“Coining Out.” 2/8/13. Marker. 7×9½”.

It was an assignment in the group session on the morning of my coin out [the ceremony to recognize successful completion of an inpatient treatment plan]. (It’s worth noting though that completion of my treatment plan didn’t mean the end of my inpatient stay; it had already been decided that I’d stay on, with a new treatment plan). “Using your non-dominant hand, draw a picture of the body part with the most sensation right now,” we were told. “Then ask it about the feeling and let it answer.”

My face was tense. My whole head was. I asked why.

‘Cause I’m scared of everything. I don’t wanna coin out and I upset Heather last night and assumed the worst so I could cancel everything but it didn’t work ’cause she’s not mentally ill, she’s smart and sweet, supportive, thoughtful, and wonderful. But I need to ask her to be more direct ’cause that “goodnight” could have really fucked with me. You did good not just letting it go, Sam.

Presented without further comment ’cause I’m a mess right now.

Artist Statements, Cartoons, Inpatient

Bring Me a Kids Menu … I Am Twenty-Seven

Leave a comment
"Bring Me a Kids Menu ... I Am Twenty-Seven." 1/13/13. Crayon. 6x4½".
“Bring Me a Kids Menu … I Am Twenty-Seven.” 1/13/13. Crayon. 6×4½”.

In honor of the crayon drawing I sold yesterday, here’s another that I made seven days later. At Tranquil Shores, Sunday is the day you can request permission to receive visitors or (once you’ve been around for a bit) to leave property with visitors for an hour or two. The Owens [my adoptive/surrogate family] came to visit me every chance they got and – this particular week –  we went to a kinda-nice restaurant… not so nice as to not have crayons and placemats for children though.

—–

I sold this drawing the same day that  I painted “Spotlight on Mental Illness.” I thought it was a tremendous compromise when I offered it at $20, but I was so beaten down that I was willing to accept anything. I let it go for $6.12.

tipjarI made a Facebook Event for my art show’s “opening.”