Love and Values

I'm noticing that I am one of those people who has to be asked the right questions in order to fully open up. This isn't because I am trying to be deceptive or hide anything. In reality, there's so much information pulsing in my brain that I end up forgetting things. I spent a great deal of time simply letting things out without direction. This honestly was the type of therapy that I needed at the time. It took a long while to work through the immediate burden on my mind and my heart. At this point, though I feel like I'd end up walking around in a circle if I were to keep floundering around without a sense of therapeutic purpose. Of course, I still feel a bit uneasy being led anywhere, especially exploring my own mind. Psychological manipulation is a sore spot with me partly because of past trauma and partly because I feel an overwhelming mastery of my own mind and I feel uncomfortable being out of control. I still do value the purpose of being led somewhere and in a way it is relaxing. Yet another paradox I endure.

Today's session got me really thinking about my perception of reality. About my relationships and what I would like them to look like in the future. It comes down to what I find valuable. Admittedly, my deep sense of right and wrong is mostly instinctual. It has become so because the noise of simply existing precludes me from thinking about it in depth. What is my moral center composed of? Where does it come from?

I suppose my deepest value is integrity. I am driven to do what is right, even though it may not be acknowledged by anyone but myself. Sometimes, the right thing ends up being unpopular. This doesn't deter me. I suppose this goes along with honesty. I wish I could say I 100% honest. My fault usually is in not disclosing everything. I'm sure this developed as a defense mechanism. I also take things that are told to me in confidence very seriously. I never want to lie, but I never tell all.

Next is my value for all life. I talk a big game about violence but I wouldn't hurt anyone unless defending myself and even then I feel badly about losing control. I abhor violence and honestly feel uncomfortable around even violent entertainment. I repress this to fit in. I do enjoy a bit of competitive violence but not if someone is actually hurt. 

I suppose my integrity, honesty and desire to hurt no one is rooted in my spiritual beliefs. My mother told me a story about my birth that has stuck with me. I was on death's door. My parents called around to various churches to find a priest to deliver last rights. The only priest who would come was a Lutheran. I swear I can remember a gentile man's voice and feeling peace in the words I couldn't understand. As I grew, my grandmother taught me about Christ. Even though the trappings and crimes of most organized religion are a real problem for me and the knowledge that mortal men have corrupted the message, I still find incredible value in the Christ story. The problem with this is that I have a tendency to martyr myself for people that don't appreciate it at best and at worst take advantage of me. I lose myself in making sure other people are happy.

One thing I value that serves me more than other people is my ability to be creative. This manifests in artistic output of course, something people see and appreciate. It also manifests itself in an ability to adapt and problem solve. Creativity serves me well but sometimes I end up doing things the hard way.

Even though I grew up in an environment where physical possessions and money were valued and used as a measure of success, I find myself having little value in material things. I just don't care about money. I like sleeping indoors and showering regularly but money is just a means to an end. I can't convince myself that there is any point to accumulating wealth. 

I'm sure I'll revisit this subject. For now...I have no more words. 

Relapse, Recovery and Nightmares

It is no secret that I have a somewhat addiction-prone personality. My lust and passion for life sometimes manifests in addictive behavior. In reality, it could be said I'm addicted to a lot of things. I can't stop playing house music nor can I stop taking pictures. Not being creative in some why is physically painful if I can't engage. Of course, I've learned how not to overspend and I've mostly learned how to budget my time so it doesn't interfere with other things. It is nice that I have a supportive person in my life that contributes a great deal to my creative energy and doesn't discourage me from spending a lot of time on it. The addiction to the creative force doesn't hurt anyone, especially myself. There are plenty of things that I've engaged in, however, that have the power to destroy me. 

When I was younger, I had a problem with alcohol. It really boiled down to easy access. It was legal, I could get it for mostly cheap or free and it did manage to shut the darkness inside my head up, albeit temporarily. I don't like the after effects of alcohol and never have. However, the drive for silence usually outweighed any thought of discomfort later. Eventually, I found cannabis and realized it treats me much better. Honestly, I'm addicted to that too but it isn't nearly as detrimental to my physical and mental health.  What really started to kill me faster rather than slower was energy drinks. DJing at bars was always a trigger point for me because alcohol was right there. Bars also sell Red Bull, which was a perfect alternative. Of course, over the years my consumption spiraled out of control It became a part of my functional existence. It became part of my identity. 

A couple of weeks ago, I had one of the most panic inducing nightmares I have ever experienced. My nightmares have always been somewhat graphic and panic-inducing but this one took it to a whole new level. I was broadcasting. For some reason I had a gun. It was silver, a 9 mm. Why my brain decided to add such excruciating detail, I don't know. The song (THE song) came on. I remember laughing as I put the gun in my mouth. As the final bars of the song played, I pulled the trigger. Suddenly, I am in my bed with the lingering taste of gun metal and blood in my mouth. 

Upon reflection, dreams like this usually crop up when I am over-consuming energy drinks. Caffeine isn't really the issue. I can drink loads of coffee and not have this problem.  The chemical soup, however, seems to have a profound effect on my subconscious. I've quit the damn things multiple times and have relapsed, often worse than before I quit. This time, I am determined to stick with it, not only for my physical well-being but also because even though it helps me in the waking world, it does nothing but bad things for me when I am asleep. I can't help but feel that one day, I would bridge the gap between my nightmares and reality. I don't want to put people through that. I know that many people would be profoundly negatively affected by something that tragic. Having to bury me, having to figure out all of my final affairs (the scope of which is mind boggling and if I can't figure out what that would look like, I can't imagine how tough it would be for those close to me), having to explain to my child why their parent committed suicide, the sheer amount of fallout from killing myself basically in public, the list of ramifications and consequences goes far beyond myself. This is something that I must consciously and subconsciously remember. 

In this moment, it feels like I am going to fail but at the same time I feel a strength and resolve that I haven't felt before. Maybe I'm turning a corner.  I feel like I am making far more progress on the mental end of things than I ever had.  It helps that I have help. I have to keep telling myself all the therapy I went through over the past few years actually has done something, even though sometimes I feel like I wasted everyone's time. That's the depression talking, though. I worked on the things I needed to work on and progressed in my own way. I don't exactly feel like doping myself up on legal medications for as long as I did was really helpful but I do acknowledge that being in a walking coma for a year kind of pushed a reset button. I also acknowledge the trauma of existing this way for so long. Further, I know deep in my soul that I have to work through this, just as I have to work through all of the trauma in the past. It is a lot to unpack but if I don't, I'll carry it to the point where I can't stop myself from ending my own life. 

There's a lesson in all this. Maybe it is just the journey that matters. 

Loneliness

I have a confession: I am deeply, incredibly, profoundly lonely. Saying this even to myself seems asinine. I am surrounded by people who love me. I have more friends than I deserve and I live with two people who would give thier life for me (the feeling is mutual). There is no doubt in my mind that there are people who are in my corner that have my back. They have proven this with both word and action.

Even thinking about my childhood, I can't say that I had no friends. In elementary school I didn't really but in middle school I had some good friends, a few that I still speak to now. I still felt isolated. I felt like there was no one to share my inner core with because no one really can understand it. I don't really understand it myself so I can't exactly explain it to anyone else. On the other hand, I come off to most people an open book. I really am open about a lot, mostly because it seems like it helps people. It helps to vent too. I've always been this way. I am the bard, the teller of stories. Stuff that seems utterly surreal has been my reality. I don't mind talking about it. It's entertaining in a way.

I know though that I am more than a sum of my own experience. I also know that I was born outside looking in. I feel alien in my own skin and there's not a damn thing that can be done about it. I understand a great deal about a lot of things yet I still feel as if I know absolutely nothing.

People come to me for advice and most of the time I feel helpful. I'm also not afraid of admitting that I don't know something. 

I feel a separation between myself and everyone else. I feel invisible in the black vastness of the universe. I am important but I am nothing. I feel so blessed but so selfish for acknowledging that I ache on a cellular level. I ache on a soul level. I'm tired. Of what, I can't really articulate. Some, I'm sure, can feel it in my voice and hear it through my words. No one really knows what to say about it though. Everyone is tired at this point. 

I don't think this feeling is unique. A lot of entertainers say they often feel alone in a crowd. I don't feel unloved. I just feel lonely. 

Internal Workings

If I killed myself, it would be on a rainy day. 

I wish I could convey why I would ever want to. I told someone once that one of my earliest memories is of feeling like my brain was split in two. The assumption is that it is a pull between this or that. A fence in between choices that manifest itself into trouble with making decisions. In reality, I am incredibly decisive. I'm also (usually) good at weighing things and making a decision I am comfortable living with. I fuck it up sometimes, as humans do, but in general I am regarded as a fairly good decision maker. The split in my skull is a fight between the swirling darkness swirling on one half and literally everything else. I can't really describe what the darkness is. It isn't a desire to harm, I know that for sure. I'll definitely bitch and express frustration, and sometimes it gets extreme. But verbal complaining is as far as it goes. I have an overactive imagination I admit. I honestly and truthfully don't think I could kill anything, though. I have a hard time with ants and mosquitoes. If I actually had to hunt for food, I'd fail miserably. I struggle with food I know was alive at some point. I wouldn't attack anyone unless defending myself and I wouldn't do any more harm than absolutely necessary. No, the darkness isn't about harming anyone other than myself. Even then, self harm isn't the core impulse. It's more of a black hole with a constant and unending siren song that seems comfortable yet absolutely terrifying.

And then there's everything else. I've been told and have read many things that depression is a lack of emotion. I don't experience this unless drugs are involved. That year I didn't feel anything was hell. Half of my mind was dead and in its place was a black hole of darkness and profound dispair. When things are functioning normally, I feel every emotion like a mule kick to the chest. Even joy is often painful in a way. I crave the pain of happy things. This means that I love intensely. This also means I have to try to maintain a detachment from everything that comes across as aloofness and unemotional. Of course I fail at this at times too. I come across as motivated as well as obsessive. It's a balancing act between letting the black hole consume my entire consciousness and drowning in emotional intensity.

I can't silence the darkness. I've tried. In my sleep, it follows me. Through drugs and alcohol, it persists. I feel like I am constantly on the edge, something whispering in my ear to jump. I pump creativity from every fiber of my being and chanel it like a fire hose aimed at a teacup because I can't stop. I can't pause for a nanosecond. If I do, the invisible hand will push me off the edge. 

For a long time, I was distracted by partying and then by just trying to survive. At this point, I lack large distraction. I realize though that ignoring the storm isn't dealing with it. I'm not sure if I can actually deal with it it. 

I've dealt with being erased for a long time. I feel almost like my entire existence was very nearly erased at conception. There has to be a reason for my existence, other than just screaming silently into the void. 

Calling me Home

This picture is the closest I have come to somewhat accurately portraying the home I dream about. I have seen this place with its purple sky and twin suns since I was a very small child. Of course if I tell anyone about this, they assume I either have an overactive imagination or that I am some sort of crazy. I've had the crazy label thrown at me quite a bit, for a whole multitude of reasons.  It hurts because it seems as if my reality is invalid. It reminds me that for some reason, I was born not of this place. It is doubly sad and painful that simple differences in physical appearance make me a less valid human being. There are days where I don't feel human at all and this only serves to drive home the message that I am different. 

I've been told by a few people that I really do seem to have a good grip on reality. That I seem to exist in peace while chaos is all around me. It must be at least partially true but sometimes I think it is just a mask I have built around myself. Sadness clutches my heart like a vice and I often feel like crying. I don't because what would be the point? I feel like to cry would be allowing weakness to seep in and upset the people I care about. My strength and resolve is helpful to them. I wouldn't ever tell them how close I am to snapping in half. 

I guess the problem with being so self reliant emotionally is that reaching out is difficult. I don't even know how to convey the absolute chaos inside my head, especially now that external entropy seems to be the normal right now. So many people are dealing with reality, there's little time for contemplation of the internal struggle. I don't have a choice, however. No matter what is going on outside of myself, I am still stuck neck deep in the mire and muck of my own thoughts. I've never been able to escape this, even though I have certainly tried. Not even in the embrace of eternal sleep have I been able to truly get away. 

I have "died" a few times. Some due to actions of my own hand, some due to unforeseen circumstances. Regardless of why, I was always told that I had to go back. That my mortal existence on this plane means something.  What that is, I cannot say. I have danced through the tangle of life and death, of immortality and mortality and I realize that all I want is to simply go home. I do wonder if some of my thoughts are just simply seeing greener grass on the other side. Is home all that wonderful compared to what I experience now or am I just waxing nostalgic for something that I can't entirely remember? 

I am of this life and it is of me. I am intertwined in the reality of others and while I could just disappear, that wouldn't be very nice. I am driven to keep doing, whatever the fuck that might mean. I can't idle or else the darkness will swallow me whole. I can't medicate myself into oblivion even though I really want to.  Consciousness and awareness are sometimes way too much for me to handle. And yet I keep enduring it. I have no fucking idea why as the reward isn't obvious. There are some schools of thought that say the reward is simply to exist. Maybe that's my motivation. 

I put up a really convincing narrative that I have it all figured out.  Truth of the matter is I really have no idea what I'm doing. 

Rain

Today I took a walk in the rain. It made me contemplate my existence and purpose on this world. I reflected on the good things I do and of the study I must continue to be a better citizen. I am also painfully aware that my definition of being a good citizen is different from what some people think. I try to do no harm and work at preventing harm to others. I guess all other things are wibbly wobbly. 

Sometimes I feel like I don't deserve the precious gift of life. I feel like nothing I do really matters as I am just a tiny speck of dust in an infinite universe. I also feel like I share my experiences to an empty room. I know this isn't true because I've been told by many that my vulnerability and creativity is very much appreciated. 

I don't think I'm destined to be famous. I think that fame would corrupt the message that I end up conveying. I don't think sheer numbers are really the important part either. Still, sometimes I crave the fame just a little bit. It comes from a place of never being noticed. A childhood filled with the pain of being ignored. Of being told my imagination and lived experience were meaningless. That my flaws and deficiency were what mattered the most. Thirty years later, I am still hurt. The pain clouds my every decision and manifests itself in all of my art. It also allows me to appreciate the deep and profound beauty in most things. I also am aware of the suffering and pain all around me and it it's depressing, to put it mildly. There is so much and so little I can do. Maybe sometimes we're just meant to watch flowers in the rain. 

On Social Media

UNFRIEND ME IF...ya really want to.

I'm not gonna do it over anything said on fuckbook.

I know, racism isn't a simple difference of opinion. I also know people are freaking out on a global level for more than one reason and that's bad enough.

We all slip up and say/.do stupid shit. That's part of being alive. However, there's fear, ignorance and trauma responses and then there's being an intentional genitalia for the sake of who knows what reason. Attention? Cultivating an echo chamber (which I guess boils down to attention)? I don't pretend to know enough about the human psyche to understand why people say inflammatory things when they know people will get upset. Sure, I'll make wise cracks and sometimes they fall super flat but humor is my deflection. I've learned at least somewhat what punching up looks like too and I admit I'm still learning. Sometimes, you just have to let go, though.

What I absolutely am not saying is that people being upset right now is invalid. It also is completely understandable why some things people say upset others (upset is a mild word but I can't think of a better one). But I'm seeing people that have known each other for decades tear each other apart over shit people said on the internet. It is SHIT people say on the internet. We have the world at our fingertips. Unfortunately this means we can blather our thoughts without thinking things through at a moment's notice.

I am human. I admit that. I love all of my friends, especially those I've known for an incredibly long time. I value long friendships that have survived differences of opinions. I hate seeing people I know fight with each other when we should be fighting the bullshit that has gotten us to this point. Nothing is going to happen in an instant, though. This shit storm has been brewing for at least 200 years. No amount of protesting is going to change that overnight. But we're starting. We're coming together as a species to try and make it so everyone is treated with fairness and respect. Keep fighting for that. Always fight for that. Don't fight each other because if we are doing that, we aren't fighting the actual problems.

Black lives matter because all lives matter not because they matter more (and even if they did, feels pretty shitty to be dismissed as lesser because of something you can't control even in the slightest bit, doesn't it?) I'm not trying to be sanctimonious and get up on a high horse. I don't know everything and my perception is 100% limited to what I experience. In the grand scope of the universe, that is very little.

If you go because of this, or anything I say on this soapbox, I'll be sad but it would be unfair to call you out for how you cope. I won't be sad because you disagree with me, I'll be sad that you didn't come to me to discuss why.

None of us are perfect but that would be boring as fuck anyhow. Shine on, friends. Always remember, suffering sucks but it isn't an Olympic sport. Be kind and just listen to each other.

A Spiritual Day

Today started with a grim image of the future. Everything was in ruins and the bombs were dropping. Chaos spun through my head and I felt helpless. The smell of blood and fire consumed the air. I started to run but there was nowhere I could go. I knew this, but I couldn't do anything but run.

Something snapped me back to reality. Soft fur and tiny meow slowly worked its way into my consciousness. I can only hope this special soul knows what she means to me. 

I decided to go on a walk to see the roses in bloom. My path happened to go by some railroad tracks and a building with absolutely stunning street art. As I approached, a shirtless man caught my attention. He told me that my pocket was open. I'll admit, sometimes I'm so lost in my own head that I don't acknowledge people on the street. Sometimes my creep radar goes off and I'll try to politely avoid interaction. This time, I felt that I absolutely needed to listen. We got to chatting and it struck me that the guy was probably hungry. I had some bacon jerky on me and I offered him a bag. He was genuinely appreciative. He asked sheepishly if I had the means to get him some ice and a soda. A simple and easy ask since there was a convenience store a couple of blocks up the road. When I came back, the guy seemed surprised. I figure that people have said that they'd do stuff for him but instead of helping out, they would just vanish. Such is the nature of the streets, unfortunately. I stuck around for a little while and continued to chat. The guy was all over the place but had a genuineness about him that I could definitely feel. I felt, through a connection of conversation, a sense of the divine nature of the universe. It was incredibly powerful. I thought in that moment that we are all revolutionary in our own way. I may not have the spoons to be an out loud activist but I can do other things. I've always been consumed with the notion of helping people. I do this because I feel it is the right thing to do. As a child, I was fascinated by the stories of Jesus my grandmother told me. Of course as I got older, I realized that those stories are often twisted by evil people and used to oppress and demean others. I have distain for anyone taking a message of peace and love and corrupting it for personal gain. I hold the myths in my heart and try my hardest be like the human I look up to while acknowledging that he was human too (at least partly). Today I felt like I got close. Of course I have to be mindful to not be boastful. As beautiful as this moment was, I have to keep in mind that I gained a lot from the interaction too. 

I said my goodbyes and stuck around to photograph the amazing art on walls surrounding the railroad tracks. After that, I took a walk through the rose garden and caught a few pictures there. The beauty of the day was intense. Pictures don't do it justice although I did try to capture a small part of it. The infinite nature of the universe was manifest for just a moment today and I do not feel worthy of the experience. 

All of the photos from today can be found here: https://photographywolf.smugmug.com/A-Spiritual-Day/