To Those of You Who Hurt, I Understand

All of you who hurt quietly. Who wonder what’s wrong with you, who feel like you have everything going for you, but then it all seems to fall apart.

To those of you who are paralyzed, like a deer in headlights, when you hear what sounds like a raised voice, even if it’s only somebody talking loudly. To those who don’t know how to make people understand what’s going on, because you don’t understand it either.

To you, I say, I understand. I understand, even if you haven’t realized that there’s anything specifically wrong yet, if you just get into these moods sometimes and need some time alone. If you don’t want to watch psychological thrillers, because the sound of screaming victims puts you in a bad mood.

And You. I understand. When you try to tell people that there might have been something a little strange about your upbringing and they assure you that every family has one member like that.

When you choose not to go to crowded outdoor festivals or parties, and your friend laughs and says that they don’t care for crowds either, that they’ll probably just go for a little while, to make an appearance. When you know that once they’re there they will stay.

And they tell you about a boat party at the lake with loud music and drinks and everybody having a good time, so many people on such a beautiful day, and then they tell you that they understand, because they don’t really care for noisy places either. Just every once in a while.

And you think, ‘No. I don’t think that’s the same as what I feel’.

And you feel bad because they are inviting you to have fun, and you really don’t want to go, but you think you probably should. Get to know more people. Get out more.

And to those who think that fireworks are not as much fun as other people seem to think. Who get a headache even from thinking about it. And leading up to the time to go, you find yourself struggling to breathe regularly.

And people tell you that you’re in a mood.

Again.

You get in these moods. Why don’t you go do something about that?

And why can’t you hold a job?

Why do you sleep so much. You’ve gone to bed at 8 o’clock every evening. Do you really need that much sleep?

I understand why you sleep so much. I do.

Because when your friends and the people who love you have had it, and they ask you why are you like this all of a sudden, and you don’t know. You don’t know why.

You think that being a nomad might be a better lifestyle for you, moving from town to town, working odd jobs and sleeping where you can find a place. Or you dream of a small house far away from the nearest town.

If you wonder whether or not the loud voices that startle you have anything to do with excessive sleep, they probably do. They’re likely related. That and much more.

Every family does have that one person who sticks out, but I’m here to tell you that this does not make your situation normal. Even if, when you heard that explanation, you took it at face value, you knew that this wasn’t the same thing. But you convinced yourself that they were right. If you’re having second thoughts about that now, it means something. It does.

And I understand.

When nobody seems to know what’s going on, least of all you. When you try to explain and they tell you that we all have stress, we’re all dealing with things. If it makes you feel small, try not to let it.

And forgive the people who can’t understand. Not everybody knows that there’s even anything to understand. If they don’t know what it’s like when you hear two people fighting, then they don’t know.

But I do.

And you’re not wrong. You might be crazy, but you’re not mistaken. There is something wrong.

And I understand.

Another Step Forward

A few years ago my partner and I went to New Orleans. I had never been, and I was worried that a hurricane might come along and wash it away completely before I got a chance to see it. I had talked about visiting New Orleans before, and the response was always, "We need to do that some day. We need to plan it." And then another few years would go by. So one day I decided that we were going and I began making plans on my own, with my sister's encouragement and a confused partner who kept trying to change the plan, or justify the plan by making it into a business trip, or find a cheaper hotel. But, that's why I took on the planning myself, to make sure it was a trip that I wanted to take. We stayed in a Bed & Breakfast on St. Charles Avenue, which was a converted mansion. We took a tour of the Garden District, the high point of which was the cemetery. (I love the way they handle above-ground graves. We could totally do that here in Texas.) We partied on Bourbon Street and visited art galleries and ate food, ate beignets and drank coffee. And ate some more.

I had taken a week off for the occasion. We left for NOLA on Saturday and stayed three nights. When we got back I was stoked. I was going to start a new life as an artist; I was going to leave my soul-sucking job. I was going to be different; I was going to be a new kind of fabulous with mad scientist hair. And mad scientist eyebrows.

I was going for it.

By the end of my week off I had talked myself down from my high. I had responsibilities and my art wasn't all that, and I'm too old to start something so drastic, and the way my friends sell art in festivals is tedious. So, I continued my job. (In all fairness, I learned a lot at that job, and stretched my limits in many ways. But it was still a soul-sucking job.)

Here I am over 10 years later looking back and wondering, Why? Why couldn't I have ridden that wave? Why did I talk myself out of it? Now I think about the fact that we all have only one body, which doesn't last much more than a hundred years, we live on a tiny planet in a solar system of nine planets (you're still a planet in my book, Pluto) that's in a ginormous galaxy, which itself is in an unfathomably large universe. Way back down here on this microscopic little spec called Earth, my plans to have fun making art, making people happy and making a living was irresponsible? To whom? I clearly had some ideas about life ingrained into my head and I don't even know where they came from. Perhaps a lack of security led me to cling to mediocrity. My job was not one that took me traveling and eating out with clients and truth be told, it barely had any security whatsoever. (One year about 5 people were fired in a matter of a month, and that was just from my department.) I was clinging desperately, hoping to die with enough money to buy food.

Now, I'm looking around again. I have a different job now, one that I briefly allowed to be a soul-sucker, but which I eventually got a handle on. It is not, however, a career—not for me anyway. I have written a novelette that I believe in, and I'm oh-so-close to being finished with a second writing of a mystery novel. I have a circle of friends who are creatives and I have paint and canvasses and ideas. I have lots of ideas for my art and for my partner's art and there is a spark inside of me that is growing into a flame again.

I left my previous job and came to this one with the express intent of writing and making money with art. Scary stuff, leaving behind secure mediocrity, looking for something more. Some people didn't believe in me and I have a lifetime of being a people-pleaser that I'm working against. "Oh, you don't think I can seriously make money with my art? You're probably right. I'm sorry." That’s more or less how it went down. And those people weren’t even invested in my life, just random people not believing in me. But, I’m back and it didn’t take me ten years this time. I will make art. I will be published. I will make money at it. I WILL be fabulous.

One other thing I'll say before I sign off. If you have depression or anxiety, deal with it. Go now. Stop what you're doing and find professionals who can help. The first person you find may not click with you, so you might have to look more than once for help. Do not give up. I was in the throws of depression years ago and I had this tiny little part of my mind that knew that there was a life that wasn't this dark. I call it a mustard seed of faith. There were times when I couldn't feel that other life; I couldn't even remember what it was like to want to live. But, that faith kept me going. I didn't know what a happy life would look like, but I did know that such a thing existed and I would have to keep working at it. So, if you are suffering from this, know that a life exists that is worth living, even if you can't feel it at the moment, even if you can't believe it at the moment. Know that it's true, even when you can't believe it. That's faith.

Once More Along the Path

Allow me one more entry in this vein, and then I’ll move on to happier things.

I sit, and write while I can sit. I'm not feeling my best; stomach cramps and other symptoms of a stomach bug are bothering me these last couple of days. It's maybe a good time to sit with myself. Usually when I'm sick I sleep through it, which is fabulous. Sleeping for 36 hours straight is a dream come true. Yesterday I slept until noon, then got up and putzed around. Today I got up around 8 AM, so there's no avoiding myself or my life.

Last November I challenged a couple of friend of mine. Barry has been an artist (a jeweler) for 35 years, and he is searching for a new direction for his art. Our friend, Tamara, is a graphic designer, but when we met almost 30 years ago we were both aspiring artists. It's our bond. She has always, ALWAYS, been naturally more talented than I. I make up for some of it through persistence. Barry wants to take his art in a new direction, Tamara wants to take her life in a new direction—as do I. So, I suggested that the three of us together work on an exhibition of artwork. Barry suggested the Elgin Art Studio Tour in May 2019.

At first we sat together with 15-30 minute sessions, then we critiqued. We talked about what we wanted to accomplish, gave suggestions about where we thought each other's work was going. We worked. Tamara came to the studio regularly and it seemed like this was going to be taken seriously. We took field trips to art supply stores and came back to work on our stuff. I live here and am able to work during the week. Tamara has come during the week, but it's mostly weekends for her. Barry works every single evening of his life on jewelry.

This has to be taken in context of my life. My previous post about beginning on the path is not separate from this art that I'm working on. It's all connected, especially in my mind. My thoughts about what I wanted to accomplish were very much addressing the demons that haunt my mind. I've addressed these demons off and on for most of my life; it appears that it's going to be a lifelong battle.

Sometimes I feel that perhaps there is a problem when we keep things together. This made itself apparent in my last job. We all worked very hard (and learned so very much.) But, perhaps our working to keep things together, however tenuously, was enabling the company to continue to put off investing in the necessary infrastructure changes. While we worked (“Did whatever it took”) to help the company fulfills its promises, the company kept promising more and more until the balance shifted and we couldn't keep up. Most of us felt, though, that we HAD to keep up, that we HAD to make it work, and as we lost more ground, our stress increased to dangerous levels.

I think about that experience in my current job, where I keep a more firm stance on what I can and cannot do. And major changes are happening because things are not working as they should. Departments are being created and facilities are being established to handle the mountain of paperwork that we work with, to eliminate the problem of lost documents that has plagued us. The phone center is being beefed up and redesigned to allow the processing teams time to do our jobs, rather than spending our days answering calls. Things are changing because problems have been brought to light. This, as opposed to us working furiously against time and logic, blaming and flagellating ourselves to "make it work".

But, what of myself? I look at the years that I've wandered through life making choices that I knew were wrong and that I would one day pay for. But, I have not ever been homeless. I've not ever, really, been hungry. I've always taken a loan from my future self to pay for sloth and gluttony in the present, knowing that at one point it would all catch up with me. I've always managed to keep it together just enough to get by. What's catching up to me now is anxiety—paralyzing anxiety that has an affect on my daily life. I feel I'm losing my grip. Some days, for no reason I can put my finger on, I can't get out of bed. I literally get sick and tremble under the covers. It's coming for me.

A few years ago a person very close to me surprised me. I got a call that there was a problem, a possible drinking problem that I was clueless about. Before the evening was over, that person had been arrested for DUI, and a couple of weeks later was in a rehab facility. At the time I was so overwhelmed and under so much stress that the idea of going into rehab seemed like a vacation. But, I had managed to keep it together enough to put that off, for the time, anyway. This person continues to battle demons and alcohol, two years later. Nobody said that it would be easy or that change would happen overnight. And I have moved on to a better place of employment and a better place in my life.

Was holding it together really the best thing for me? Its' all catching up to me anyway, have I just been putting off the inevitable? I wonder about that as I navigate a job that is going through an incredibly stressful transition, and as I work on the paintings and mandalas that will be a part what I present in the exhibition. As I barrel toward a nervous breakdown, I listen to Chill-out Lounge Music and imagine that I am on a beach, in a cabana listening to the sound of the waves and watching happy people enjoy their vacations. I wonder what my therapist would say about this. Maybe, after all, it is time to finally fall apart.