Tag Archives: evil

No Accident

 

"No Accident." 12/12/12. Oil pastel and pencil. 12x18".
“No Accident.” 12/12/12. Oil pastel and pencil. 12×18″.

On October 2, 2012, I was kicked out of Tranquil Shores. It was my third time being kicked out of rehab that year. This time was different though. I knew what I needed to do and, on October 19th, I was welcomed back.

When I had been kicked out of Hazelden and the Wellness Resource Center, a lot of what was going wrong with me had to do with girls. At both facilities, I got “involved” with another patient. That hadn’t been the case this time but, when I was readmitted, I started doing it again. This time, I was determined enough to succeed that I didn’t let it control me the way it had before. We had more than a few conversations about how we were just friends (even once in the presence of the treatment staff when they began to worry about what might be developing). But I held on, I didn’t give in and do anything that would have been automatic grounds for my being kicked out again. Still, it eventually got to a point where we had resolved to be together after we got out of treatment and that’s the kind of emotional attachment that’s not good for anyone early in recovery, let alone a basket case like myself.

I don’t mean it as an excuse because I don’t see it that way but my thoughts, emotional responses, and consequent behaviors are not like most people’s. I “have” borderline personality disorder.

Something happened. It doesn’t matter what. She and I weren’t getting along and it was fucking ruining me. And because I wasn’t supposed to be involved with anyone (let alone a girl I was in treatment with) I couldn’t be honest with my counselor or anyone else about what was eating at me. It occurred to me that – if I wasn’t willing to talk about my issues – there was no longer any reason to be in treatment. Things got worse until one night, alone in my room, I lost it. [Since that’s a whole story of its own though, I won’t go into the details here].

The next morning I woke up feeling thoroughly empty, thoroughly hopeless. In my head, I had convinced myself that I wasn’t really doing anything wrong because I hadn’t actually slept with the girl. But I was fucking destroying any shot I had at ever getting better. I was already contemplating leaving and I knew, if I went down that path, I’d be shooting heroin again in no time. I was keeping my mouth shut for the sake of my relationship with this girl, but if I didn’t start talking and sort this shit out [if I left Tranquil Shores] the relationship was over anyway; I’d lose everything. I talked to a friend and realized that I had no choice. So I told the truth about everything that had gone on between us.

And she denied everything. She told them that it was all in my head – that I was even sicker and more confused than I seemed. I couldn’t believe it. I thought this was going to be the best thing for us. We weren’t supposed to get mixed up with each other in the first place but… it happened (nothing could change that) and now we’d be able to deal with it. And get better. It was going to be awesome. The greatest relief ever. But she wasn’t interested. She stuck to her story: that I was out of my fucking mind. I had an encyclopedia’s worth of Facebook and text messages to prove otherwise, but when my counselor said I could show them to her if I wanted to it felt petty. I realized that the truth didn’t matter. It was a big epistemological lesson for me. Emotions are stronger than facts. If I held that this relationship had happened, my treatment was going to progress as if that were the truth. If she held that it hadn’t, her treatment would address the issue as if that were the truth. [Weeks later, she did come clean and acknowledge that everything I said was true, but that’s not relevant to this piece].

After the dust settled from the shit storm that had been that afternoon, I went back to my room and wrote.

Pretty bummed out right now. Sad about the person I’ve let myself become. Not feeling totally lost though. I’m grateful for the lesson I was able to learn today and for the opportunity to use that knowledge to make my future better than my past. It hurts now, but this will be a good thing so long as I’m willing to utilize it, grow, and change.

I needed to get out of my self for a little while so I started to draw. Three hours later, I was flooded with feelings that I didn’t know what to do with. I stopped drawing. I scrambled around my room looking for something to write on. I found a piece of paper that I had traced my arms onto three weeks prior [for a project I hadn’t finished; I still needed to draw a knife into my right hand, for starters]. A few days prior I had that intention, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now, I didn’t care about that. I just needed something to write on. What spilled onto the paper was very stream-of-conscious. Just before I touched my pencil to the page, I decided to put it in my left hand since (it’s said that) writing with your non-dominant hand helps with honesty and hinders pretension.

i didn’t know who i was or what i was doing
i’m not whole yet but I’m closer than ever
remember october?
i realized I could choose to not be an obnoxious, negative problem
november ended, i forgot
today is 12-12-12 and i just remembered
and i learned something new today
i can choose more
i don’t have to be confused
i don’t have to send mixed messages or be inauthentic
i can be whoever i want to be
I KNOW WHO I AM TODAY
i am honest sincere loving compassionate kind intelligent fun dedicated loyal creative talented doing my best sorry for the harm and hurt i’ve caused proud of my achievements and sam NICE TO MEET YOU

I’m embarrassed of this piece sometimes. The old, guarded me would call this the dumbest shit ever. But – as I commented when I first made it – it’s the most positive, productive thing I’ve ever produced. In recovery, there’s lot of talk about a “spiritual awakening.” This is the unintentional document of mine. I’m so grateful that I have it to remind me of exactly how I felt in that moment. I only wish that I could feel that way all the time. My resolve to be the kind of person that I described had (and has) never been stronger.

Trying to Be a Light

The phrase trying to be a light came to me. I repeated it like a mantra (in my head) as I tried to hold on to my grip. I was sad that my plans hadn’t worked out and I was really anxious about the message I had just gotten from Heather.

An older woman and her daughter (still older than me) walked up and asked about my painting and about art school.  “No, I’m not an art student.” I told her I was fresh out of a seven month stint in rehab and that that’s where I had picked up art. We talked for a few minutes and then she asked if she could pray for me.

And I said yes.

I’m tempted to defend myself. “Why wouldn’t I say yes? What do I care if she prays for me? It can’t hurt me.” But – in that moment – I think I was actually wrecked enough that my actual rationale was closer to: “Shit. Yes. Please.” (That episode where Homer’s in trouble and he screams something like, “Help me! Jesus! Allah! Buddah! I love you all!” – that’s kind of the state I was in). In either case, I’m positive that my outward response was simply a shrug and a nonchalant (possibly dismissive) “sure.”

But what I didn’t realize was that she didn’t mean later, at home. She wanted to pray for me right there and then. Aloud. With me, at the table, outside of this grocery store, as people milled in and out around us.

I was uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. But I didn’t want to be. So I fought the impulse to stop her and just let it happen. She might have even tried to take my hand and I might have even let her. (I think I did). And then she went inside to buy groceries.

When she came out, she said bye and wished me luck. Just as I was finishing this. So I gave it to her. I don’t know why.

(I know why. Or… I have theories as to why. Good and bad. I don’t really like either. So I’ll just leave it there).

"Trying to Be a Light." 2/26/13. Acrylic and watercolor. 10x12½”.
“Trying to Be a Light.” 2/26/13. Acrylic and watercolor. 10×12½”.

Tola’s Approach to Demons

"Tola's Approach to Demons." 7/21/13. Acrylic paint and ink. 16x20".
“Tola’s Approach to Demons.” 7/21/13. Acrylic paint and ink. 16×20″.

The text at upper left:
“That was amazing,” Vincent said. “How do you feel?”
“Like garbage.”
I went back out on the dock with Tola. We sat out there for the rest of the night.
“I don’t really mind demons,” he told me. “So long as they’re not actively trying to fuck my shit up, I just keep my distance and everything is cool.”

—–

Tola had been drinking and I don’t know exactly what he meant when he said “demons,” but it made sense to me either way. Everything he said to me that night made a lot of sense. And meant a lot to me. That conversation was exactly what I needed that night.

I don’t believe in evil. I don’t believe that there’s such a thing as bad people. I have to think that way ’cause if I’m wrong, then I’m most certainly evil – I’m definitely a bad person.

But I try really hard. So I give other people the benefit of the doubt. If someone does something fucked up, I choose to believe that they’re doing their best. (Their best just happens to be pretty terrible relative to average/acceptable standards). I try to keep that in mind whether we’re talking about some asshole on the sidewalk or someone like that kid that shot up Sandy Hook. It’s hard to give everyone that credit – that empathy – but I try. In return, I hope to get the same.

With all of that said, some people are not entirely well. (I should know; often enough, I’m one of them). And if you play with fire… if you fuck with a demon … that demon is going to burn you alive. Nothing good ever comes from it. When it comes to people who are sick – people that aren’t even interested in being well – stay the fuck away. This is a lesson I have learned the hard way, but am still having a little trouble applying.

I need to learn to more closely adhere to “Tola’s approach to demons.”

—–

Everything you just read was written right after painting this. It was two days after I wrapped on “No Real Than You Are.”

July 4th (the night referenced in the piece) was my first night of filming. In the hour or so before we actually shot the scene, my co-star and I were not getting along. In fact, we weren’t even speaking to one another. And this scene we had to film – let me put it this way: the director told us that it was the scene in which it was most important for the audience to really see just how in love these characters were with one another. Suffice to say, I was not feeling any love for this girl on that evening and I’m pretty certain her feelings toward me were about the same. In hindsight, she was probably a scapegoat, but that didn’t change my feelings in the moment.

I still haven’t seen the footage, but – from what I’m told – we pulled it off. It took everything I had in me to not say FUCK THIS and just walk away from the set and quit. I was miserable and I was angry. But I didn’t walk away. I shook my shitty feelings the fuck out of my body and for [however long we filmed that night] I played and pretended and made myself alright. If that footage is at all believable, then I gave one fuck of a performance. More of a performance than anyone watching would ever realize. As soon as the director said “cut” though, I fell right back into it. Suppression and healing are two very different things. I can’t actually force myself to be okay. I don’t think anyone can. “Holding it together” and “getting it together” are two very different things. Real healing takes a lot of work. I think that this painting was one step of a walk in the right direction though.

—–

During the month I spent working on “No Real Than You Are” (and scooting around Sarasota on my little thrashBike) I listened almost exclusively to the songs on a playlist that I made shortly after getting into town. The first song on the playlist isn’t online anywhere, so here’s the second. “Eviction Notice” by Riverboat Gamblers.

—–

Signed and numbered 12×15″ prints of “Tola’s Approach to Demons” are available in my webstore.

Hit me up if you’re interested in purchasing the original piece.

(Satanic Torture) For Andy

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“(Satanic Torture) For Andy.” 12/18/12. Pen on scrap. 3×4.5″.

Ritual satanic torture is the #1 cause of death among Americans aged 4 to 14.

After the Sandy Hook shooting, a friend of mine overheard someone say that “more kids are probably killed each year by ritual Satanists than by guns, but you never hear about that on the news.”

I thought it was funny so I drew this cartoon later that night (while sitting in a twelve-step meeting). I’m really good at recovery.

—–

Status update: Everything’s going really well so far at Dave Strait Fest. It’s been a good night. I just had to creep away for a minute (as I sometimes do) to “recalibrate” a little bit…. I’ve got plenty more to say, but I think I’m done being an awkward, antisocial weirdo (for the time being) so I’m gonna pop out of the shadows and get back to it.

Sealed prints are available in my webstore. "For Andy" print [image]