My mental state: a confessional?

I had deja vu today. I thought to myself “I really hate it when I am this anxious, I wish I could just go back to being depressed, at least then I could get some sleep.” and then I realized that a mere few weeks ago when I was feeling particularly depressed I thought “I wish I could just go back to being anxious, at least with anxiety I don’t feel dead inside.”

I can’t go through another 5 year bout of this. I don’t have the energy.

With that said, I don’t want to post this shit on a Facebook status update because honestly, there is less of a chance that anyone is gonna click the link to come here versus seeing it in a status update. I know it isn’t anonymous and that someone will see this, but I can’t afford a doctor and I need to get this shit out of me. It is poison. The problem is, people ask me to talk to them about it and I clam up. I can’t verbalize it right now because it is raw. Maybe when it is over and I’ve begun to heal a little, I can go back and reminisce about this awful feeling, but now, I can’t.

A few family members might come around the blog to see what’s going on. A couple friends might. If anyone does, though, they chose to read it, it isn’t like I made them listen to the incoherent ramblings of an over (or under, for that matter) stimulated brain, just spewing out emotion vomit. I know I am a burden when I am like this, but at least here, the people reading it chose to read it. At least here I can “say” what I need to say and cry about it without feeling like I am wasting anyone’s time, without feeling weak. I know I am weak. I dont think I can handle starting this conversation and watching the other person’s eyes glaze over, or the person listening perhaps checking their phone while I fall apart in front of them. Here I can get this rot out of me uninterrupted.

I don’t know why I am still justifying to myself why I am writing this. Oh well, fuck it.

So, here I am.

Anxiety makes me shake. I have nightmares. My guts are upset, I jump out of my skin at the slightest sound. My heart rate is irregular. My mouth is dry. My skin feels like I have bugs crawling all over me. I cant make a decision. I am confused by regular every day things. I have no desire to be out of my house, yet I feel guilty if I don’t participate in life. I am easily enraged by simple things. My feelings get hurt easily. I overreact to the slightest things. My senses are heightened to the point where a running fan is deafening and the sun is blinding. I can “feel” germs on me when I touch anything in public. I can almost “see” them. I feel nauseated. My breathing is strained, my chest hurts, my muscles are tense. My mind is throwing a million thoughts at me incoherently. I am remembering stupid things from ten years ago and feeling guilt, anger, and sadness that should have long since gone away. I am uncomfortable in my skin, I dread getting in my car tomorrow to drive to work. I am convinced I am losing my mind but at this point, it would be relief if it just shut itself the fuck off. I want to channel these feelings in to artwork but I am too raw emotionally to do so, and when I avoid getting this out of me I feel guilt that I am not creating. I know I am off of my “path” in life and that scares me like a horror movie scares a normal person. I am literally scared witless that I am not fulfilling some purpose that I am not even aware of. It is like failing a goal I was never told I had, just that I had to achieve it. I get the urge to pick at my skin, sometimes my brain tells me to cut myself, like a good bloodletting will release some of these demons. I am flailing my arms and legs on the inside while trying to maintain the appearance of steadiness on the outside, and, frankly, I am fucking exhausted. I wear my masks proudly, cracked, rotted, and decayed as they are, they still cover my rawness.

That’s where I am. Who knows how long I will be here, but that is where I am.

I had the urge to work on some photos today. I had the urge to make a painting. Neither of those things happened because the thought was overstimulating.

So, it’s out there, the darkness has lifted from my soul, only to be replaced with electricity. I go from nothingness to everything all at once. It is overwhelming.

To anyone who has read this far, I hope this helps to explain some of the things I may have said or did, or what something I might do or say in the future. In the meantime, I will continue to try to find this elusive path I’m supposed to be walking.

Peace and love, friends.

ThirtyThirty CraftyNine — Day one.

Hello, Phuktophiles!

I made a promise to myself that I was going to stop neglecting you as I have in the past. How am I doing?

So, in an attempt to quiet my inner monsters, I decided to construct a “playground” of sorts for my brain. September is going to be that month, Phuktophiles. Here’s the deal: I write pretty much daily in what was supposed to be a “therapy journal” from back when I was in therapy. I was told to write down symptoms, anything that I ate, emotions, how much coffee I’d had, and whatever else I deemed worthy of mention so my therapist could break down what triggers my mood swings. Well, I still write in it, but it is less about symptoms and more about all the things that make me want to snap. That journal, my friends, has saved my life, has made me want to die, and has shown me a lot of things about myself in free-writing and brainstorming that I wouldn’t have guessed about myself. As a matter of fact, when people tell me that they are going through some shit, I tell them to write it all in a journal. It is therapeutic, for sure.

Anyway, Phuktophiles, I have been writing for YEARS, wait Y…E…A…R…S…, about how I hate that I don’t spend enough time being creative and doing creative things. I’ve decided that September will be the month that I stop that.

I made a page layout for every day in September to put in my journal for inspiration on this thirty day journey (which will hopefully turn in to a longer journey). #ThirtyThirty means thirty projects/ideas/reveries in thirty days. #CraftyNine means crafty September. Now, realistically, I know I will not have time or energy to create thirty individual projects in thirty days. My job doesn’t really leave me with much at the end of every day, but I WILL do something … ANYTHING creative every day for thirty days. I have to. I have to challenge my brain. If I don’t keep my brain occupied on something, I get lost in the self-loathing and worthlessness that so often cripples me when I get depressed, which I have been feeling lately. So, without further ado, my page layout for September first.

No great artist ever sees things as they really are. If they did, they would cease to be an artist. — Oscar Wilde.

This one is pretty self-explanatory. It’s true. Well, true to an extent, I don’t think it is that black and white. That being said, my imagination far exceeds reality when it comes to good things happening for me. LOL

So, I shared with you the motivation, and I will share with you the projects. I haven’t done today’s yet (raining … not taking the camera out in that), but here is yesterday’s project: POLAROID.

Polaroid, Rose bush, September 1

Polaroid, Into the Morning, September 1

Land, September 1

The old Polaroid is still kickin’, over 50 years old and still kickin’ … though, it did take it a while to give me a usable image LOL

The weather then took a turn. I went for a 2.5 mile walk with intentions of going back out to shoot some more, but I got drenched in the storm, but managed these out of my digital SLR:

I also loaded a roll of BW film in my Elan II. Eventually, when I save up a couple rolls, I will get in the darkroom at Cleveland Print Room and develop these negs.

Let us not forget that I also put together a page layout after getting caught in the rain (Adobe Illustrator):

Reverie

So there we are, Phuktophiles. Expect quite a few posts in September as I get all these projects done. I hope you enjoyed your visit to the bouncy house in my head.

Kisses!