Journal: October 12, 2013

October 12, 2013

Today was all across the emotional spectrum. I started out with a trip to Tranquil Shores. Even without knowing any of the current inpatient kids prior to my arrival today, there’s no place in the world that I can go and feel more welcome, accepted, appreciated, and loved. I didn’t get to see everyone that I would have liked, but I saw most of them. I was a little manic ’cause I didn’t have my Adderall before I went in but that’s okay.

Day one of this marathon wedding that we left Jacksonville for was okay (while I was still there anyway) but as the night went on, and especially after we left, I really started to appreciate just how much things like that fuck with me. It bums me out a little bit: I like to think that I’ve become this (relatively) well-adjusted human being but I just can’t quite hack it a lot of the time in that sort of environment. I’m just not myself; I feel stifled, uncomfortable, and bored. Back home – in my bubble – I’m free to do whatever I want. I get to engage all day long in creative sorts of projects. I’m able to express myself. I’m able to be (and feel) productive. When I leave the bubble and get thrown into a situation like a stranger’s wedding, I’m very much disengaged. I’m not expressing myself, I’m not achieving or accomplishing anything. I’m not productive. Sometimes I get a little overwhelmed with how “busy” I make myself; the standards I hold myself to can be a little much. But there’s a reason I make those choices and live that way. I need these things, these projects, these goals. I’m not the sort of person that can just “hang out.” I don’t like to be idle. I don’t like to feel idle. Which isn’t to say that I’m a total alien / socially awkward weirdo – I can hang out with friends every now and again, be social, and have fun – but … I don’t know … maybe I’m just not good with strangers. And it seems petty but in a situation like this where I’m “on my best behavior” and have to wear these clothes that I would never otherwise put on… I don’t know… I guess I unconsciously internalize this message that something about the way that I normally am (and even the way I normally dress) is somehow not okay – like I’m “not acceptable” as I am. I have be something else because what I am isn’t good enough.

And like I said, I know it’s petty – especially about the clothes. I know that it’s not about me or some personal inadequacy, it’s just about propriety. (Weddings are formal events so we wear formal clothes; it’s got nothing to do with me and I’m a nimrod for taking it personally on any level). And I don’t actually take it personally because I know better, but it still alters the way that I conduct myself; it still inhibits me. So I sit there trying to “be good” (or appropriate [or whatever]) and I just feel like some dead-eyed nothing.

I didn’t show that at all (or share it at all). I’m pretty sure that Heather and anyone else that spent any time around me would vouch that I was perfectly pleasant, sociable, and friendly. In the car after we left though, I just felt drained. And when Heather was somewhat unintentionally curt, a switch flipped in me and I was thoroughly unhappy. Even after she apologized and tried to comfort me, I just stayed stuck in my illness. And I was totally aware of it(!) but that did nothing to help bring me out of it. I didn’t lose my temper or have any sort of an episode but I just completely withdrew into my own head and stayed there – even more disengaged than I had felt back at the wedding dinner. I just kept my eyes fixed straight ahead of me as I drove, acknowledging nothing, and soaking in the hateful punk songs that I chose as my soundtrack for the next hour.

I had a few errands to run, dropping off things to a few friends that I owed stuff to (a print, a shirt, etc) and – in seeing them – I was able to break out of my little funk. …Only to fall back into it when I realized that I failed to post anything to my website today. I knew how disappointed with myself that I’d be if I didn’t so I forced myself to pull over (after initially resisting Heather’s suggestion that I do so when I first realized that it was almost midnight) and I threw that photograph online (of the piece I made today at Tranquil Shores).

I felt a little bit better after doing that (emphasis on a little) but when we got to the Owens (where we’re staying tonight) and I talked to Don and Mclane, things sort of leveled out. Now I’m in bed, typing this, and I feel okay. Tonight was three hours of wedding though and tomorrow is gonna be closer to twelve. I’m gonna do my best to keep it together but I’m a little scared. I think I just need to remember to give myself little breaks here and there. To break away for a minute every so often to write something down or draw a little picture.

Do I wish I could be the kind of person who doesn’t need to think about things like this? Yeah, sure. But I do like being me too. (If only because I don’t know what it’s actually like to be anybody else). I think maybe that’s good enough.

Autobiography

October 1, 2013

"Autobiography." 9/30/13. Watercolor (with acrylic outline). 16x20" stretched canvas.
“Autobiography.” 9/30/13. Watercolor (with acrylic outline). 16×20″ stretched canvas.

When I was asked to consider how I present myself to the world, I was able to identify four different “roles” that I play. While all of them are genuine parts of who I am, what’s not genuine is how I’ll focus on (or “play up”) whichever will best suit me in some situation. These days, I try to be authentic but I (of course) still do it to some degree. We all do.

I like this cartoon a lot but—in all honesty—it’s kind of bullshit. I hardly ever put myself out there in such a way as to risk being rejected by a girl. I just thought this up one night because I knew it’d be cute and it’d fit well with my “wounded child / stray dog” persona that some girls seem to find so endearing and attractive.

As redundant as my art may be at times, it’s incredibly rare that I’ll make the same thing twice. This cartoon is one of those exceptions. Below are some journal excerpts that explain why I wanted to create this image again and [bonus!] paint a pretty good picture of a kid with low self-esteem, trying to solve his problems with female attention.

—–

Tranquil Shores Journal, November 16th, 2012:
Saw Kelly at the Church of the Isles meeting last night. First time since she bolted from Tranquil Shores. She came up to me and was really flirty. Lightly kicked me ‘cause I was sitting on a curb smoking a cigarette and then sat down next to me. I kicked it with her at the Fairwinds table. Or – rather – I sat down at a table and they all sat down with me. She didn’t sit next to me, but across from me (which I commented on). We made funny faces throughout the meeting, with occasional little comments. I drew a picture of Satan with the caption, “Anal Sex and Goat’s Blood,” and passed it across the table to her. She asked if she could keep it and then pointed out that the crumpled paper on the table (that she had thrown at me a little earlier) was actually a note. I uncrumpled it; it said, “You’re hot.” I gave her a look. After the meeting, we traded numbers. I’m looking forward to that. Though she does have a boyfriend, he just got arrested so I don’t think it’ll be an obstacle. Not that I want to date her anyway. I do think she’s cool, but she’s not ready to get better. They don’t get to keep their phones in Fairwinds but she gets out in eight days.

I broke up with Chelsea. She keeps going back and forth. Trying to be mean to me, begging me to still be with her, saying I used her, trying to pull me back in with sex appeal (“I want you in my bed right now; I want to have sex with you so bad”). It’s all over the place. For the time being, I blocked her on Facebook. I think it should stay that way so she’s not perpetually flipping her shit every time there’s any activity on my page.

Alexis coins out in three weeks. I’m not thrilled about that.

Met another girl at the meeting on Tuesday. Lilly. She’s from Lexington. I said I had some friends there. “Anybody I’d know?” I asked if she ever went to shows or was at all into punk. “Sort of.” Turns out while she didn’t know the kids I named, she is friends with Infected (that sorta-metal punk band on A.D.D.). Outstanding. [I don’t know those guys, but that’s close enough to my world]. She was cute. Not insanely hot, but definitely a cute girl. We talked for a long while before the meeting, while Alexis sat to my left feeling totally neglected (I’m sure) which I kind of enjoyed. I had done the same thing with/to her back when Kelly was at Tranquil Shores and it only got her to pay more attention to me. At one point, Lilly was fishing in her bag for something to show me that she thought I’d get a kick out of. She couldn’t find it and told me she’d show it to me “next time” so after the meeting, I asked for a pen and gave her my number and Facebook. She hasn’t hit me up yet, but it’s only been a couple days.

The property staff is out of town for some training seminar so the clinical and office staffs are filling in as our weekend babysitters. Should be fun.

Tracy came by and I played “Song For the Desperate” for her. She liked “parts of it.”
When she left, it was just Ashley and I. We talked about girls and boys and rehab romance and I told her about Jesse’s coin out and running into Kelly last night. I also tricked her into telling me how much Tranquil Shores pays her (and then pointed that out). It was fun talking to her. I think she’ll be a good counselor.

—–

Tranquil Shores Journal, December 6th, 2012:
Kelly never called but word is Fairwinds decided to hold her for another 30 [which means she still doesn’t have a phone]. For the first time since I saw her there, we went to Church of the Isles for our meeting tonight. I was looking forward to it all week ‘cause Fairwinds is always there on Thursdays. Until tonight… Maybe I’ll see her when we come back on the 20th.

Willa [who I met at Blind Pass recently] was at the meeting though, so maybe it’s for the best that Kelly wasn’t. I sat with her and pulled (what I guess is now) my “Church of the Isles” trick: I drew a picture and passed it to her. It was a fucked up looking kid offering a flower to a pretty (but disgusted or annoyed) looking girl, captioned “My Autobiography.” She said something nice but didn’t ask if she could keep it. But she did pass me a note with her phone number in it.

After the meeting, I went outside and sat on the curb to smoke a cigarette. Alexis came out and sat down next to me. I pulled the “My Autobiography” cartoon from my pocket and showed it to her. “Did you make this for me?” she asked. I froze for just a second and then nodded and smiled, “I did!” She was really into it. It’s funny how things play out sometimes.

—-

Journal, April 7th, 2013:
On top of everything else that happened yesterday, Alexis sent me a text. It’s gotten less and less frequent and I’m not sure why she even bothers at this point. It’s so pointless and she acts so oblivious. I tried to have a conversation with her and when that proved impossible, I just asked her to please send me a picture of my cartoon like she promised. It’s the one thing I’ve made that I don’t have a picture of. She told me when she moved out that she hung it next to her bed but I can never actually get her to send the picture. I think it’s because she knows it’s the one thing she’s got to keep me from ignoring her outright.

—–

Journal, June 21st, 2013:
Not that I expected her to show up this weekend [for the Tranquil Shores Alumni Reunion], but I just found out that Alexis violated her probation (again) and is almost certainly going to jail for the next decade or so. I saw it coming but it still… it’s just sad how fast she went from “shining star of recovery” to “totally fucked in the head and making all the wrong decisions.” We both let each other fuck us up a little bit but she was still my best friend for a while there—and I really thought she was going to do well. I really wanted her to do well.

In any case, it’s a safe bet that I’m never getting a picture of that cartoon. Is it fucked up for me to even think of that?

 

Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit

September 25, 2013

My counselor said I seemed different today. It wasn’t a change for the better. If I had to name it, I’d call it “Defeat.” I haven’t surrendered but there’s this bit of quiet resignation in me. I fight for myself but I think there’s a part of me that doesn’t actually believe I can win. I work toward my goals, I work for the life I want (everyday — and all day). But these goals may not be attainable. They’re as conceptual as my “belief” in a higher power. They are tools that keep me moving — they give me a reason to live, but they might not exist beyond that. My destination may be farther away than I’m able to travel in this lifetime.

"Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit." 4/16/13. Oil pastels, marker, pencil, pen. 6½x8½".

“Acceptance, Surrender, Resignation, Shit.” 4/16/13. Oil pastel, marker, pencil, pen. 6½x8½”.

I started this piece in February but struggled with it until it was finally finished in April. It seems appropriate here.

This entry is very much a continuation of its predecessor, earlier in the hour.

—–

This song is playing and I like it.

I’ve had an idea for a Crusades comic in my head for months now. Maybe I’ll actually draw it one day.

—–

Journal: September 25, 2013

I feel sick to my stomach but the problem is all in my head. Funny how that works, huh?

I remember when I used to directly address with total transparency whatever was crushing my fucking soul. These days, I don’t have the guts. I can’t handle the consequences.

This strikes me as the kind of shit someone writes or says when they’re relapsing. I’m not, but this is probably also the kind of shit someone writes *just before* they relapse.

Luckily, I know myself well enough to know two things. 1) If there were drugs right here, I’d be fucked; but immediate and effortless accessibility is a prerequisite for me to fuck up in that way. 2) I’m a fucking basketcase, overly invested in the present moment. So while I might feel like I’m in crisis right now – realistically – I’ll paint a fucking picture, go to bed, and tomorrow I’ll be manically happy about some stupid pop punk song and be okay until the next time something brings my regularly simmering gloom, shit, and misery to its boiling point.

I’m gonna go play with some fucking watercolors.

I don’t like this version of me. I don’t like that I allow things to affect me in this way. There have been moments when I’ve shown more strength than I am right now. I hate that I’m talking like this again. And so shortly after acknowledging and writing about the last time I found myself here.

Countdown to the feelings of shame, embarrassment, and regret consequent to writing this entry… 5, 4…

I have friends that call me when they’re in a rough spot. I have a lot of friends that turn to me when they’re struggling. But I don’t turn to anyone. I turn to the fucking internet. I don’t have the courage they have. Why am I better at being a comfort to others than I am to myself?

This song just came up on shuffle.

An F.Y.P cover by Off With Their Heads.

Journal: September 22, 2013

September 22, 2013

I was updating Storenvy listings when I found the original statement that I had written for “Out All Day” back in June but hadn’t included when I wrote my blog entry around it in early August. So I went back just now and worked it in.

In doing so, of course, I also read what I did write at that point: something about how I had sold a bunch of records and books that day but no artwork. And how I had some ideas as to why that might be, but that the reasons didn’t matter. That’d be true if it weren’t for the fact that I was afraid to acknowledge them. But I can now.

In early August, I was doing my best to be positive and upbeat but I think it was coming across in my art and my writing that all was not well. I had just wrapped with the shooting of “No Real Than You Are,” one of my first entries on this website was a painting detailing a relapse from earlier that day, and I think I looked a lot like a disaster waiting to happen.

I was used to a regular flow of feedback from posting my artwork on Facebook. When I got home to Jacksonville and launched this website in the last week of July, I half-suspected that I’d start to get more than ever (especially in light of the text content I was posting to accompany the art). That didn’t happen. Instead, my stream of feedback ceased almost entirely. After a week or so, I asked my friend David if he had any guesses as to why that might be. “I don’t think people know what to say,” he told me.

At the time, I thought that meant that the things I was putting up here were so earnest and vulnerable that they made people uncomfortable. There might be a little truth to that but, in hindsight, I think it’s mostly because I looked like I was about to fall – back into heroin, misery, and shit – and like I had no idea it was coming. If nothing else though, I know that my soul felt rotten and my strained optimism wasn’t hiding it. I had fallen apart to some extent – more than I was willing to let on (and I still haven’t talked about everything that happened with anyone other than my counselors and a few close friends). I’m sure I’ll eventually get to the point where I’m able to be as open about that period of time as I am about most of my life but – for now – I’m just happy that I pulled through it.

While Heather certainly deserves a lot of credit for my well-being overall, I think that – had it not been for Rational Anthem and the trip they took me on – things could have turned out much differently and much worse. I can say without any reservations that I’m really happy to be exactly where I am right now. – I’m really happy that I don’t have to remind myself to be grateful right now.

Granted, I was in a rough spot last night but those things happen. In fact, in that respect, tonight’s a lot like the night when I actually made “Out All Day” – just twenty four hours after the emotional turmoil that created “Blueprint for a Successful Evening.” I just hope that from here my next piece doesn’t turn out to be along the lines of the one that came next.

Still Sick (The Illest)

September 14, 2013

"Still Sick (The Illest)." 9/13/13. Marker and pen. 24x26".
“Still Sick (The Illest).” 9/13/13. Marker and pen. 24×36″.

Heroin is my drug of choice. While I’ve got a couple secondary DOCs, I’ve definitely never considered myself a “garbage can” addict (someone who will take anything at all to get any kind of fucked up). While I have a weird sort of pride about being a heroin addict, it’s only with some hesitancy that I’ll admit to ever having had any kinds of issues with alcohol or cocaine. I used to tease my friend Robin that – “while I’m glad to see you’re doing well, you probably need to go back out, hit bottom, and then come back if you actually wanna get better.” Because Robin’s DOC was crack – “not a real drug” (according to half-joking Sam).

So it’s really sort of embarrassing that I was as excited as I was yesterday when I bought OTC medicine for my cold symptoms. If there’s ever been any doubt in my mind about whether or not I’m really a drug addict, my excitement as I bought generic Nyquil yesterday ought to be all the indication I need to know that I am not like most people.

 

In so many ways, I feel like I’m just starting out – just starting to figure everything out. Myself, my life, what I want to do, how I want to do it. I feel like I’ve just recently started being me. This is my first large drawing (it’s two feet by three feet). Creating it was an interesting process and at so many different points, I felt myself being pulled in two different directions as to how I should proceed. Sometimes I want to push myself to try something new, sometimes I think I ought to stick with what makes my art look like my art.

The last thing I did was write in a sentence from the NA text that’s been in my head recently. “Although all addicts are basically the same in kind, we do, as individuals, differ in degree of sickness and rate of recovery.” I crossed it out. I wrote the word, “sick.” I crossed that out. I thought about what I wanted to do with the black bars where the words had been. I decided not to do anything with them.

 

Writing a statement about a piece, right when it’s done, is tricky sometimes. There are some other little things going on here, but I don’t know quite what to make of them yet. Thoughts about friendships, school, identity, and where I fit in.

The piece sold but limited edition hand-numbered and signed 12×18″ prints are still available. Hit me up if you’d like to purchase one.

Pizza Hates Me

September 8, 2013

I tried to get my prescription refilled, but the pharmacy was all out of Adderall. I’d link to the piece I have about what happens when this happens, but it’s not online yet. I’d put it online but I’m out of Adderall.

Here is a piece in which my loss of… [whatever]… is probably apparent. I just finished it. It is all that I have done today.

"Pizza Hates Me." 9/8/13. Crayon, colored pencil, marker, pen, collage. 5x7".
“Pizza Hates Me.” 9/8/13. Crayon, colored pencil, marker, pen, oil pastel, collage. 5×7″.

There’s a pizza place down the street from my house that displays and sells art. I went in to see the owner, but he wasn’t around so I just dropped off a full-color flier with a bunch of my pieces on there and a little bit of info as to what I’m about. I went back the next day to eat, but it was busy so I didn’t want to bother him. I noticed though that there was a spot by the register for people leave business cards, so I left a little stack of my 2×3″ fliers with “My Favorite Cartoon” and my url on them.

A few days later, on our way to Alligator Farm, Alex told me, “I’m sorry about Moon River.” I didn’t know what he meant, but he said the owner threw out my little cartoon fliers because they weren’t “family-friendly.”

I knew my feelings shouldn’t be hurt, but they were anyway. Not to the extent that I let them fuck up my day, but I was a little sad. I don’t know – I don’t think those cartoons are all that offensive or controversial and – in any case – I have plenty of stuff that isn’t, but… It doesn’t really matter. It’s just one person’s opinion. I can’t win ’em all.

I started drawing this in the car that day, worked on it a little bit last night, and finished it this afternoon.

I was poking around on Reddit and – in the Art subreddit – there’s a rule: no “crayon art” allowed. I thought that was a little strange. I’m not wild about crayons ’cause I like bolder, brighter colors and sharper lines than crayon’s are really capable of producing, but I don’t see why crayons should be the one medium absolutely prohibited. (Why should any medium be absolutely prohibited?) So I used crayons in this piece. Not because I want to post it in the Art subreddit (’cause I’m not) but – I don’t know – maybe just as a reminder to myself that I don’t do this stuff for anyone else. Obviously, I’m attention-seeking and I still feel validated by positive feedback, but that stuff’s after the fact. It’s not what gets me started and it doesn’t influence my process. It’s not what drives me.

I’m gonna go try to get my Adderall again now. Well… I’m gonna try to try to get my Adderall. Let’s see if I make it out the door…

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