Tag Archives: denial

Artist Statements, Expressive, Travelogue

I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!

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"I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!" 8/11/14. Ink. 6x6".
“I Finally Understand All Those Straight Edge Songs on the Radio!” 8/11/14. Ink. 6×6″.

The four drawings in this series were all completed following (what I guess I’d call) a “break-up.” We weren’t officially dating but we spent virtually every night together for a month straight. I was the one to end the relationship but I wasn’t happy about it. I don’t think I even realized it at the time but – in hindsight – it’s hard not to recognize that I was outright mad. At what exactly, I’m not sure. At the time, it was easy to fault her drinking for all of our relational issues but (while I definitely think it was a factor) I think my own emotional insecurity and low self-esteem was just as much (probably more) to blame. Maybe that’s what I was so mad about – my inability to feel okay in a relationship. The slightest bit of criticism or the slightest disagreement would push me over the edge and I’d find myself instantly packing my things until she was able to soothe, comfort, and calm me. The night she was too drunk to manage (or too drunk to care) was the night I finally left for real.

This is the angriest of the four drawings – the one in which I really get mean. It says:

What about any of this [me, my lifestyle, my personality disorder] made you think that I’m boyfriend material? Enjoy me for what I am or don’t.

I don’t wanna come across as one of those “I wouldn’t belong to any club that’d have me as a member”-types but – seriously – if you wanna date me, something is seriously wrong with you. Your emotional issues are worse than mine and that’s saying something.

If your past is littered with broken friendships, there’s a reason your past is littered with broken friendships. It’s got nothing to do with the universe. It’s YOU. It’s the people YOU choose to surround yourself with. It’s the way you behave and the kind of people that behavior attracts.

I’m a bit of a broken fuck-up but I’m not so broke to stick around for this. You could’ve chosen to be better. You’re on the precipice. You chose not to. You chose old habits.
Enjoy “drinking [your] dinner.” It makes me sad but not that sad.

I finally understand all those straight edge songs on the radio!

For those of you keeping score at home, here’s the “Hindsight’s 20/20 Recap.” 1) When I got to Chicago, I was in no fucking shape to be any kind of a partner to anyone. 2) We attract (and are attracted to) people who are about as emotionally healthy/sick as we are. 3) I thought I was leaving because I was too well for this girl but we were probably at just about the same level. 4) I might be flighty and insecure but drinking (as a coping mechanism) sucks and will only ever make everything worse; it precludes so much as the initiation of any real, lasting solution.

 

It’s worth pointing out that this drawing was finished in August and the relationship to which it refers is not the one I bailed on last week. (This one ended a day and a half before that one started).

Artist Statements, Expressive, Post-Treatment, Travelogue

Something to Cry About

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"Something to Cry About." 6/20/14. Acrylic paint. 4x3'.
“Something to Cry About.” 6/20/14. Acrylic paint. 4×3′.

I just had my four newest large canvas paintings photographed, which means I can finally start adding them to the website. This one was started on June 2nd in Atlanta and finished June 20th in Chicago. I wrote the following statement for it a little over a week ago, on August 11th.

 

In May, I picked up Chris Spillane. I was grateful to have him and grateful to feel like I was doing something good for another human being (especially one that’s been such a good friend for so long) but having him with me in the first two months wasn’t always easy – being virtually chained to another person 24 hours a day. Especially since – a lot of that time – I felt responsible for him, like a babysitter or a one-man treatment facility. Chasing girls was suddenly totally impractical if not altogether impossible. I couldn’t leave Chris alone so that I could go on a date or hook up with some girl. Sure – he’s an adult and I’m not ultimately responsible for him (or anyone but myself) but I had taken on a responsibility of sorts and didn’t want to fuck it up, especially for something (that felt) as petty as sex.

If I had the kind of self-esteem (which legend holds is) possessed by normal, well-adjusted people, this might not have been a problem. Unfortunately, I need a steady stream of praise, sales, and sex in order to feel okay about myself. I wasn’t fully cognizant of it at the time but I’ve come to terms with it now. I had gone without virtually any episodes or incidents in May but in June, while painting “Something to Cry About,” I was perpetually sinking into dark depressions over the smallest little things. I tried to explain my bad moods to myself – rationalize and justify them – in all sorts of ways but, looking back, it’s not hard to nail down. First, I wasn’t having any luck getting a show booked in Atlanta (mostly because I had adopted a new, staid, respectful (and totally unimpressive and unmemorable) strategy for selling myself to galleries). That would have been okay if I hadn’t also just gone from a hedonistic period of total promiscuity to sudden and absolute abstinence. If I’m not having sex, how am I supposed to have any self-worth?!?

[I have issues].

Hindsight is 20/20 though and, while this was still going on, I tried to figure it out through journaling. A lot of that’s still visible on the canvas but I’m pretty bored by most of it.  Only the last part is really at all interesting to me. Regarding my bad mood and the silent temper tantrum I was throwing: “I just let myself soak in it ‘cause – hey – if I didn’t lose my shit every so often, wouldn’t that call into question the authenticity of my stupid fucking gimmick as an artist? ‘I’m emotionally unstable! Count on it!’”

Borderline personality disorder is one of those conditions where the diagnosis is sometimes withheld from the patient himself because knowing the diagnosis can actually be harmful. I think that’s because in can exacerbate “borderline behaviors” insofar as the patient decides he “can’t help it” and acting that way is therefore excusable. I don’t think that I do that but I’ve definitely attempted to excuse myself (especially in relationships) by telling the girl that my emotional instability was “always part of the deal” and that she knew what she was getting into when we first got involved.

I’d like to think that I don’t use my diagnosis as a scapegoat; I always try to do my best in interacting with other people and I always apologize when I fuck up but I probably do allow myself to be somewhat more of an emotional basketcase sometimes than I otherwise might.

Artist Statements, Expressive, Jacksonville

Beyond the Pink Cloud (I Feel Weird)

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"Beyond the Pink Cloud (I Feel Weird)." 5/19/14. Acrylic and spray paints, oil pastel, resin sand, and cardboard/glue. 18x24".
“Beyond the Pink Cloud (I Feel Weird).” 5/19/14. Acrylic and spray paints, oil pastel, ink, resin sand, and cardboard/glue. 18×24″.

Just like “Blueprint For a Successful Evening,” this isn’t really a new piece. I originally “finished” it in December 2013 and until recently it’s existed in limbo. It felt finished but I didn’t like it enough to actually do anything with it. I took it back out on May 15th and put another fifteen to twenty hours into it and now I’m finally happy with it. It used to look like this:

"Beyond the Pink Cloud." 12/8/13. Acrylic paint, oil pastels, ink. 18x24".
“Beyond the Pink Cloud.” 12/8/13.

The journals I wrote around it back then aren’t particularly interesting. It’s a whole lot of “I don’t feel okay but I know that I don’t have anything to not feel okay about.” It’s disturbingly similar to the shit I was writing last night. It was only about a month later that I totally rearranged my life and got a lot happier. Makes me think that maybe I need to do the same thing again but I’m not sure exactly what that would mean this time around.

Aside from the main caption, I Feel “Weird” When I’m Unconsciously Unwilling to Admit What’s Really Going On, the only text in this piece says: “I’m playing with textures because I hate myself.” Someone had told me (back when I made this piece “the first time”)| that my art was “too flat”; for some reason, I listened and that’s why I created a bunch of different textures in this piece. It’s [whatever]. It’s all part of the process of figuring out what’s me and what’s some other artist. I don’t seek out advice and I definitely don’t ever seek out art by anyone else (for comparison or for any purpose) but little things leak in to my head now and then that either take hold or don’t and that’s okay.

Current Journal, Expressive, Outpatient, Photographs

Insecure and Overwhelmed

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I’ve had (and still have) friends whose girlfriends are overweight. In years past, I remember meeting some of these girls and thinking things like, “Yeah, she seems nice enough, but I’m pretty sure [insert friend’s name here] can do better.”

It wasn’t until I started dating Heather that I ever had the thought, “Even if this girl were to gain weight, I’ll bet that I’d still be just as in love with her.” So it wasn’t until then that I actually had an understanding of how/why [whatever friend] was dating someone who didn’t have the “right” body type.

This morning, before she left for work, Heather was bumming out about her weight. Heather, however, is not overweight. She’s probably the most beautiful girl on the fucking planet. (Although – as I’ve just admitted – I may be somewhat biased when it comes to something like this). Still, I can relate. I feel for her.

It was January or February of 2012 and I was an inpatient at the Wellness Resource Center. Someone had accidentally smashed out the window next to my bed. Lying there, I thought about how anyone that were to walk past could see me. I remember contemplating going into the kitchen to get a knife. To slit my wrists or cut my throat or do whatever it might take to end my life. The reason: because I’d never be thin enough. I was thinking about killing myself because I was too fat.

At the time, (I’m pretty sure) I was about 150 pounds. Maybe 152 or 153. I don’t have a picture from that time, but to give you an idea of what we’re talking about, here’s a photo taken just now (at 147 pounds, which is close enough).

bddphoto

I’m way too familiar with the feeling of not liking myself – and when I add to that feelings of not even liking my body (my shell) – well, life starts to seem pretty unbearable. Everything starts to seem unbearable. And hopeless. And useless.

insecureandoverwhelmed
“Insecure and Overwhelmed.” March 26th, 2013. Acrylics, watercolor, marker, fabric dye, and knife. On a repurposed (framed) chalkboard. 16½x22”.

This painting was done one night when – though things were going well for me overall – I just couldn’t shake the negative thoughts in the moment. I didn’t really journal that night, but I did write one thing down. “I feel fat and I don’t wanna be me right now. No one will ever want to buy this.* My art is good for my mental and emotional health, but rarely anything that anyone would enjoy.” Which is to say that I let my discomfort about my body/size slime through to my feelings about my art and the new path I was trying to embark on. I was letting my body image issues infect and destroy everything. They’re that powerful.

I’m pretty great at spilling my guts and clearly I just fucking love to talk about myself… But the one thing that I don’t like to talk about is anything related to my body. You see: if I think I’m fat, but I acknowledge that I have body dysmorphic disorder (because mental health professionals have told me that I do), then that’s an acknowledgement that I’m not really fat. And then I’m a fat idiot in denial about how fat I am.

I’m doing much better with this stuff these days than I ever have in the past. And talking (or writing) about it as I am now, (I think) is an important part of that.

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  • * Footnote: Despite this piece having the words “no one will ever want to buy this” on it, it did – in fact – sell pretty quickly. Though 9×12″ prints are also available for purchase.