exposure

i spent this grey day at home in my pajamas studying german vocabulary and listening to german music.  i am a bit under the weather today.  my throat is sore and so are my eyes.  the perils of airline travel.  trapped in that recirculated air for 6 hours isn't exactly the best shit to breath.  but it's worth it to have seen the atlantic again.  it's worth it to have seen that distant sky.  my flight in was diverted to Buffalo due to dense fog at JFK.  a gorgeous sunrise met us there.  me and so many strangers walked to the large window with our cups of airport coffee and stood there gazing together at that luscious, unexpected orange. 

and then to come home to 70 degree weather and bright skies.
and then to come home to such ease and warmth.
and then to come home.
in spite of this little chest cold, i feel lucky and light.  i've been to New York twice in 2 1/2 months.

i spent the first 2 hours of my day scribbling leisurely in my notebook, recounting kisses and attempting to identify my newest desires and latest dreams.  life has changed so much this year.  life has changed so much in the last 2 months.  and something has clicked in to place as a result of returning to the scene of certain crimes.  something has healed.  i no longer feel quite so dire as i did before.  i no longer feel like time is quickly running out.  i no longer feel that i need to be wild in order to feel that i have lived.  i enjoy wildness, it's true, but the past few days i've enjoyed a deep, warm sense of calm.  a stillness.  a readiness for something a bit more serious.

after ending a long term relationship at the beginning of this year, i think i needed to take advantage of a very high level of freedom.  i needed to stay out late and dance and drink and have fun.  i needed to be stupid and i needed to be dangerous.  i needed to stop caring about the clock for awhile; expectations and responsibilities and all the things i had allowed to take root in me that choked my ability to blossom and change.  i needed to cut away so many things.  i needed to turn my back on so many things i was taught.  those horrible falsities and all the beautiful lies we are sometimes so eager to believe.  for years i listened to my instincts screaming at me to leave but i was just so fucking afraid of so many things to know how to do it.  i had come to believe that being myself was a selfish thing.  i had been made to believe that every desire of mine was self-serving and, therefore, shameful.  i am finally taking a clean, deep breath.  all these months and years later am i finally able to look at what i tolerated and ask myself why?

when you've been taught from childhood to believe that everything you are is bad and wrong, you become unable to trust your own instincts.  you become unable to act in your own best interest.  you put other people's happiness well before your own because "that's what a good person does".  you tuck your tail and you smile.  you save your tears for the shower.  you become a master of silent crying.  you become a master of self-denial and self-deception.  you stay put because you've been taught so thoroughly to believe that you are somehow deficient.

deficient.
inadequate.
silly.
dirty.
dumb.
ridiculous.
selfish.
childish.
ugly.

and it is only when you are doing what you're told that maybe a bit of affection is thrown your way.  a crumb.  a scrap.  a pat on the head.

as my mother crept ever closer to her death, i began to see so glaringly that i had been chasing scraps of approval my entire life.  so had she.  she was strong in so many beautiful ways but also suffered from such tremendous guilt.  she too believed that everything about her was bad and wrong:  the legacy that is handed down.

shortly after she died i was able to say fuck it.  if i'm bad, i'm bad. so be it.  if i'm selfish, so be it.  shit can't get any goddamn worse.  i feel like dying too.  if this is what being Good gets me, let me test drive Bad.  my life depends on it.

i used to cry almost every day.  in the last 9 months maybe i've cried 9 times.  and i'm being generous in my estimate.  deciding to stop caring about whether or not other people will label me as selfish is the best decision i could have ever made.  my worst fear is hurting other people and that has led quickly to my own undoing, my own site of deep, atrocious pain.  i am so afraid of being a disappointment that i silence myself, i tie myself in knots, i wake up in a panic in the middle of the night afraid that i am the worst person alive and wondering how i can gain forgiveness for the fact of my horrible birth.  i have let other people do horrible things to me.  friends, family members, lovers.  i have tolerated extreme neglect.  i have tolerated viciousness and cruelty.  i have allowed myself to be convinced that i deserved these things.  this is the self-hatred that was instilled in me at the very beginning of my life.

a friend of mine recently passed on a saying to me: we recieve the love we think we deserve.

i've been turning it over and over inside my head.  i've aimed it right at my heart like a gun and i've rolled around in it like a child in tall grass.   i obviously thought i deserved very little;  that love was something i could only aspire to give but not necessarily receive.  during the last few months of my life, i've loved myself in a way i lacked for a very long time.  i decided to attend to my own needs and not leave it up to chance or benevolence.  i've had more fun that i can describe and i've written some of the best prose of my life as a result.  i've met so many interesting people and have had my faith in humanity restored by such seemingly simple things as dancing with strangers in dark clubs and watching the sunrise in a different time-zone.

i walked down market street in san francisco last night to meet a friend for drinks and as i crossed the street, i thought i stand entirely on my own...  god, this feels fantastic. 

not quite full disclosure...

sigh.

the past couple days have been alternately great and gruesome, fueled by live music and gin and wine and food and rain. i am worn out, not sad, but have been feeling a bit anxious for the last 3 or 4 days. i've been having strange, sad dreams that leave me feeling guilty and full of regret when i wake up. i've even been feeling the urge to pray lately (which is something exceedingly rare for me). and then i realized that i'm right smack dab in the middle of a very strange anniversary of mine- my college graduation. it is the day i became disowned.

i'd made a statement once that if anybody ever tried to get in the way of my art practice, i'd cut them out of my life quick and sure and without any regret...
and i found myself in a situation where i had to do just that.

i'd need to write a memoir in order to explain what happened... suffice to say that my resolve to become an artist had been tested in the most extreme and unbelievable ways that, at that point, all i wanted was to graduate. i no longer cared about grades or honors or anything other than getting the damn piece of paper. i was hanging on by a very thin string and was living in constant fear that a complete mental break would seize me at any moment. i'd begun having panic attacks... something i was not at all familiar with and it took me awhile to identify that that's what was going on. they'd hit, one right after the other, as i sat quietly on the BART train on my way to campus each morning. it felt like i was about to have a heart attack. the uphill walk from the BART station to campus would work to calm me down but the panic would find me in short order once i was sitting in class. i couldn't even keep track of how many bouts of this crap i'd suffer in a single day.

12 hours later, i'd fall asleep on the train on my way back home and, surprisingly, i never missed my stop.

i was preparing myself to become homeless. i actually wanted to be homeless because it meant i'd be out of the situation i was in. walking in the door to death threats and hunger strikes isn't a happy experience.

so i walked across the stage and got my little scroll and was almost immediately carted off 500 miles away to my mother's house. it was hard to be without jared but i didn't want him to see me lose my mind. he was in a very painful, angry place as well. the situation had re-opened so many things and ghosts and traumas for the both of us... so i made sure he and inga had a new place to live and then i left. they were safe and knowing they were safe was such a huge comfort. and i felt safely hidden from anything and everything that could hurt me at my mother's house. i slept and slept and slept and cried and cried and cried. i woke up to fresh coffee and i'd sit out on the back porch with my mom and we'd talk for as long as it took. my brother and sister stayed by my side and the full weight of the family history was dealt with... together.

all that talking and crying kept my mental slip at bay and i've been working ever since to bring normalcy and regularity and truth in to my life. it has definitely been a hard, confusing year but at least there's been no yelling, no death threats, no hunger strikes, and no deception. there's been lots of writing, lots of walking the dog, lots of painting and drawing and crocheting and reading and talking and (lately) wine with the neighbor.

and so i've been feeling a bit wild, a bit out of sorts, but also extremely thankful for the fact that my life today is nothing like what it was on this day a year ago. i'm in a much better place. i'm safe and healthy and generally happy. i no longer fear for my sanity and i feel optimistic and strong and capable. jared and i are happy and in love. both our careers are moving forward and our home is warm and safe and full of art and honesty.