Stage 1?

I’m about to break up with my boyfriend. I haven’t been able to for the last week or so because again, that delicacy issue has me stuck. He actually threatened to kill himself when I tried to last week. I have so little patience for his shenanigans and yet I’ve been forced to keep boosting his mood. He got sick all of a sudden and I’m trying to wait it out a few days before I drop the bomb. It’s insane to me that a grown man has to be treated like this. Every time I text him back, I’m biting back the attitude I want to throw: apathy and resentment.

I don’t care how your day is.

I don’t care how you’re doing.

I don’t care if you’re feeling flirty.

I don’t care.

I really don’t care.

I care if you are well and if you take care of your health. Regardless, I want to treat you with kindness and compassion. I will treat you how I would like to be treated. I make jokes to myself about the personal prisons I find myself in. This relationship, while constructive, has been one of those circumstances at least for the last week.

Advertisements

RIP creative heart

I recently had the most complete draining of my creative energy, my spirit. It was an unfortunate result of my sorority and the demands they place on their members. Don’t get me wrong, I agree that these requirements often make a lot of people more responsible, involved in their respective communities, and overall allow for growth. In my case, I am drained. I’m a senior and my work is suffering. 

I awoke today with a bitterness in my heart.

static1.squarespace.jpg

It’s my fault because I didn’t read the announcement properly or something but I had it in my heart that I would be able to go alum early and it seems that is no longer the case. Which fucking sucks because I hadn’t realized how much of my mind had been set on the freedom I would soon experience. There is no way that I can continue being involved in this organization and still be able to create without this sort of negativity over my shoulder.

I feel it whenever I listen to anyone talk about their work or when I feel the pressure of deadlines. I need out. I’m suffocating and I need the fuck out.

It’s funny because when I got the email about going alum, the president’s phrasing was such that “I had not served my full four years” which I thought sounded like a contract for enlisted soldiers or a prison sentence. Either way, I’m definitely a prisoner in a voluntary placement.

I can’t drop because I’ve invested way too much time and I need the resume items I’ve accrued. I need the stupid accolades and the embroidery on my sash when I graduate. I don’t have anything else on my grad school application. I’m out of options. Send help please. 

white-flag-surrender_233204.jpg

Gray

So I just found out that my mom is getting out in nine months. She’s being let out on early release. This is going to sound super fucked up, but I thought I had another two years before I had to figure this stuff out.

Nine months. That’s no time at all.

I’ve been pushing off the mental headache of everything since we found out they were taking time off for a bunch of stuff. But I also thought I had two years before I had to think about it. 

I thought I had two more years. 

2:56am 8/23

I am water

I wash away the edges

Wrapping, smoothing

It took time for you to figure out

I was there

I sprouted a stream

Laid my roots

And never left
It only took time for you to see

And yes, it does taste sweeter

Because my doubts don’t exist
I had no idea you’d been warming me up from the inside

I can bathe in it freely

And soon, without fear

There are some changes on the horizon

It’s been a while. Then again, that cycle of summer processing seems to be upon me. In my defense, I’ve also been trying to put off processing through a few recent developments. Prop 57 has impacted my mother’s sentence, as well as a few programs she’s involved herself in over the last decade. It looks like she’s out on early release. Nine months from now actually, give or take. I thought we had another couple years.

I don’t really know how to feel about it yet. I’m not as freaked out as I thought I would be but that’s also because it feels like I’m sitting in the road watching a truck come straight for me. Obviously, that’s mildly dramatic. That truck could be a figment of my imagination.

maxresdefault.jpg

I think the most profound aspect of this news that has me boggled is how this will affect my art. For most of my life, my writing, art, and other coping mechanisms were populated with prison themes: time, loss, abandonment. I never had to dip my pen in different ink.

I’ll be honest, I’m pretty sick of dealing with prison themes. I never wanted to let her life choices define my own but I also couldn’t deny myself the experience of them. What a weird, tangled web I found myself in.

The good news is she’s more freaked out than I am. I’m trying my best not to have sympathy for her but I can’t help it. It’s going to be really weird for her. When she went in, dial-up was common place and people still used AOL.

article-2406676-1B886CD0000005DC-361_634x505

The transition process is going to be shocking to her system. She claims to be all hardened and whatnot (and I’m sure she is), but I know there are going to be a LOT of midnight phone calls where she’s crying and frustrated because something in her house keeps making a noise or she can’t figure out how to listen to a voicemail or something. I expect this.

I will also not be her metaphorical crying shoulder. I will be a helpful daughter on my own terms, with lots and lots of boundaries. I might finally be able to start throwing away some of her mail.

My sister just told me she’s been throwing her letters away. I’ve kept every single one, including envelopes, for this whole damned sentence. I sort of just want to burn them but I feel like there’s a really good art project in store for them. Hopefully with a different theme.

Does this mean that I can give myself permission to stop fixing all the broken pieces? I’ve long known I’m awesome and been grateful for the challenges she’s thrown my way but I’m still a product of my circumstances. I’m actually sort of concerned for my own children. They won’t have nearly the amount of depth I do, which both worries and delights me.

PA310088-711362.JPG

She’s going to make it to my college graduation.

It’ll be the first graduation she’s ever made it to (besides elementary school which doesn’t really count). I’m actually really happy about it.

God, I hate writing about this stuff. It’s all so damned heavy and while necessary, I can feel myself sounding like a broken record. I’m just ready for it to be over. Maybe I’ll actually go back into my darkroom again. Maybe I’ll shoot some film again.

I swear, if she tries to bake me cookies and do my fucking laundry though I’m going to lose it.

keep_out_3_b.jpg

2:28am

Obligations
Affiliations
Incarceration
Connotation
Bureaucracy and blurred red lines
Sharpness of indecency
I hate this need to fight authority
My stupid desire to break the rules
Has more power over me than I do
This strange contradiction
Fuels my conviction
And I’m faced over and over
The whisper of memories fade
Replaced by rage
I’m not angry

My neck keeps shaking
My Russian teachers always made me cry

I hated bending and twirling
As long as they were there
I knew only good and bad
No compromise

I’m so very clearly there
Pick and choose the parts that make sense
My family says it’s easier to digest
I’m not craving
The Buddha says
But his golden body glows
I’ll swipe green across canvas
And spend hours on circles and spirals and waves
Tiny little pencil marks
One thing out of place
Daylight balance, warm tone, cool
Wipe clean the rules

In a field where the human condition
Is the one and only true theme,
Why did I stick myself in a place
Where identity is destroyed
And smiles quickly employed
And evil ovals stare at me
Across the plastic tables
“Not excused, sorry but that doesn’t count, you’ll still have to pay”
Okay.

2:17am

As I struggle with my own identity over the last few months, I realize that I was so frustrated by being marginalized with my community. People kept seeing me as a person I didn’t associate with directly. I thought sure, maybe there is some overlap but that’s not representative of me completely; there’s more than meets the eye. I realize now that being marginalized is actually way better because it allows me to remain somewhat out of reach. I can pick and choose which part of my community I associate with and which part I don’t. It’s nice because it’s safer there. I have more freedom to flow freely between circles. There is no group with one claim on me. That’s a double edged sword sometimes because it means I hear about things late sometimes but I make an in impression on people so there’s always someone who remembers. In many ways, it’s that same alienation that allows me to stand out. I think it’s silly that this all occurs to me as I’m browsing on amazon for a laptop cover. As a student, it’s those choices that will define how my friends and peers see me. Do I choose to blend in, or stand out? Or is it more so a question of accepting who I’m already perceived to be?

download

I really miss this feeling

The times I feel most at peace is when I am creating art. I communicate with my art and people see that sometimes and sometimes they don’t. Tears come to my eyes when I expose my prints. When I feel my spirit lift, I know this can’t be me. I see my hands and I don’t believe that is me. I surrender.

I stopped trying to control people and the world around me. I started to let go and I felt better. I asked questions why i might not be right, how I could change and be better, so I felt better.

Whenever I can, I help people. I talk to people. We get so busy all the time that I make it a point to talk to people. And for whatever reason, whenever I do, it turns out this person is someone I was seeking. Sometimes it’s a job I needed, sometimes a friend, sometimes an ally. We are all connected.

I help as much as I can. And I get lost as much as I can. I try all the time and I pray constantly.

Things pop up all the time. Sometimes I help someone and I hesitate before I do so, but I do it anyway. Not even five or ten minutes later, I am given something in return. Be it a compliment, a kind sentiment, a physical something. It never fails. Sometimes it takes a couple weeks and sometimes it’s immediate.

I have asked so many questions and strangely enough, the music talks to me. As soon as I worry about something and I have a clear mind as I do so, the next song that comes on answers me.

For so long I couldn’t sleep. I had terrible nightmares. I told myself to experience the anger I felt during my sleep and eventually I found myself sleeping longer than I should. My dreams were vivid and bright. But eventually I forgave my mother and now we are working together to help people.

I stopped blaming people and I learned how to truthfully feel my emotions. I stopped trying to define my feelings and instead accepted times when I didn’t know how I felt, or understanding I might be angry in the future.

Everything I’m angry about I use on a scale. In five years time will it matter? A day? A week? A year?

So what does it matter?

There are signs everywhere. You just have to be open to seeing them. When he spoke about doing what our intuition says, I have felt that 100%. I only ever get in trouble when I doubt that.

I say thank you everyday. Even when I’m having a bad day I say thank you.

I started with forgiveness and then I ended up being grateful.

I stopped giving people the middle finger and started giving peace signs. People are so unprepared to deal with nice things, they just drive away, feeling odd.

I don’t like repeating lessons over and over. So I try to learn the first time around. Trust myself, and I know the answer will come.