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dzpenumbra · 8 months

Text

8/22/23

I went skating again today. It was pretty awkward. The park was split up into basically 3 separate cliques through the hour and a half I was there. There was a group of young college-aged guys on the left side of the park, maybe 4 of them. There was an eclectic group of rollerbladers on the side I usually skate on. And one of the kids that I had met before was there with what looked like his brother or something.

I was kind of a lone wolf again. I skated without earbuds for a good chunk of the session. I didn't really hesitate to get into skating, the park wasn't very crowded. I wanted to skate the low box, but the group of 4 was kinda just camping right next to it doing flatground and I just didn't want to deal with the hassle, so I kinda just roamed around.

About half an hour in, some friends of the rollerbladers showed up and set up a bluetooth speaker on the opposite side of the park... and started blasting corny early 90's hip-hop music. And... maybe it's just me? But blasting music at a skatepark is kind of a no-no... unless you have the park to yourself or you're just there with your friends. Not everyone wants to listen to your shit, it's pretty disruptive, and playing music loud can kinda drown out the sound of people around you, which can actually be pretty dangerous. I just popped my earbuds in there. I wasn't about to make a scene. They clearly didn't take a hint and kept blasting the music the entire duration of my session, likely until after I left.

Look, I want to be inclusive, I really do. I try very hard to treat people based on their intentions. I don't really think anyone there was intending harm or disruption, I just... okay, this analogy might work. A guy showed up wearing what I would best describe as a cartoon version of an 80's punk "uniform". Studs on a random strap, pink caution tape around his... helmet? (sorry, modern helmets weren't very punk...) Jeans, jean vest and big handwritten back-patches on the jean vest. One I don't remember, the other said in all caps "FIGHT NAZIS". Which... I'm guessing is like... a political thing? Like a borderline extremist LGBTQ thing is like the closest I can guess to it? I'm clearly out of the loop here, maybe I just don't understand the reference. I don't even know what that message is really supposed to mean... like... am I supposed to fight people that I think are Nazis? Or are you declaring that's what you do? Like... is that an order? Where are the Nazis? Why not start with something closer to home, like... bigots and bullies... and work your way up to fringe political extremists? I don't know.

It's just weird to me mostly because like... my grandfather fought the actual Nazis. My grandfather was one of the first to discover and help liberate Birkenau. And... I have my theories on how that may have pretty severely fucked up my family, but of course... they'd all have to actually talk about shit for me to even find out, so it's merely speculation. So like... calling weird extremist hate groups in the US "Nazis" is just weird to me... Like... I wouldn't even really give them the satisfaction of identifying with that party, it's been dead for 80+ years.

And then it just gets into this whole mess with like... eye for an eye shit, you know? Like... blatantly advocating for violence, even against hate groups... It just makes me uncomfortable. But hey, maybe that's the intention. Maybe the intention of the caution tape and the spikes and the "I FIGHT BAD PEOPLE" is to send a message that they are a dangerous violent person that is not to be fucked with. And maybe they want to play that role in their social group, even if they are a skinny balding guy in their early 20's. And who am I to take that fantasy from them, simply because it makes me uncomfortable to see anyone advocating for violence.

My point with going into that deep analysis of this guy's outfit was... it seemed like a few of the people in that group were kinda just wearing... what looks like appropriate clothing... Like... actors. Like they were playing a role in a play or something. And I really want people to like... feel welcome and part of the community if they want to ride a board or a scooter or a bike or rollerblades or a ripstick or whatever. But like... there's a culture to skateparks, and that does not tend to be one of exclusion... it tends to be one of sorta... we're all here for the same reason, like... there isn't a uniform, you know? This resonates deeper with some than others, but yeah, it's a general thing. So like... I feel like it's way more important to understand the etiquette of skateparks than to "dress the part". Basic shit, like... be aware of people around you, don't sit on obstacles or just stand in the middle of the park doing nothing, take note if someone is skating an obstacle near you, so you can time your runs so you don't overlap. And... try not to blast music that sounds like a 90's soda commercial for an hour to the entire neighborhood.

Big vent for such a small thing. I felt a lot of eyes on me today. And I'm sure it's due to my past experiences. I don't know. I was the oldest person at the park by close to a decade, I would wager. I don't think anyone else there was over 25. I was skating alone. I just... kinda felt a lot of judgmental eyes on me. It brought me back to an experience I had at the retreat where I detoxed off meds.

When I was in that retreat, I was the second oldest person for about... a month... until my roommate (who had just turned 40) left. Then I was the oldest person there by over a decade. This was a big house that was reconfigured to be a treatment center kinda thing, we all lived there. Most of the people there were LGBTQ, and I was... the only non-staff straight male there. I really tried to include people and treat people like... people. I had a friend in a prior therapy group who was a trans woman and we ended up being pretty close friends, we played music a lot together. I really don't feel like it's any of my business what someone's sexuality is... or their personal journey of self-exploration, self-expression and self-discovery/manifestation. I mean, look at how many times the word "self" shows up there. That's not my business. And I really just try to judge people based on their actions and their decisions, not by superficial shit like race, religion, gender or sexual preference. It should very rarely cause friction in every day interactions.

What ended up happening there was... I was going through a rough patch. I wasn't sleeping well at all. I was forced to change my room when my roommate left, and the new room was incredibly loud. I was getting maybe 6 hours of sleep a night and woken up violently, even with noise generators (sound familiar?). I was very vocal about how it was becoming a problem, and the staff literally turned it into a joke. On Christmas, they got me gag gifts like a book full of boring facts to "help you sleep". ... When I am being woken up by fucking trauma responses every morning by one of the residents stomping around and making all kinds of noise directly outside my room.

This resident was a trans woman who, upon first arriving to the retreat, I had befriended. She liked being outside in the woods and wanted to learn more outdoor skills, within the restrictions of what a mental health facility would allow. I spent a huge amount of time clearing trails and hauling rocks, trying to make decorative art in the woods and shit. I showed her around, taught her the few things I knew, because I was sorta... self-teaching as I went. We got along fine.

Long story short, my depression hit hard as I was detoxing and I was very irritable and dealing with intense family trauma and felt extremely isolated and alone. I felt extremely out of place. It was taken very personally by the trans woman I used to be friends with, and her non-binary friend. These two decided to "ally" and call me out as being "outwardly aggressive" towards them - in a group therapy session - accused me of "toxic masculinity", which was the first time I had heard that phrase... and... honestly, I'm not really sure what they were even trying to accomplish with all of that. If they wanted me to... stop? Or if they wanted me gone? Or just... punished or publicly shamed? I really don't know what the goal was.

I was genuinely taken aback. It blindsided me. Yeah, there were a lot of personality quirks from them that I really... found obnoxious. That grated on my nerves and at times I would avoid those traits. But no more than anyone else. I definitely wasn't singling anyone out, and surely not in any form aggressive. I have no clue to this day what the "toxic masculinity" thing was about. When I was first confronted in the group, I asked them specifically what things I had done that had upset them, so that I could give my side of the story. And they just... didn't seem to have any specific examples. This woman and I shared the same therapist, and he was encouraging this. There was a lot of them talking over me and interrupting me, it didn't really feel like they were in any way interested in what my experience or my life was... they just kinda wanted me to be punished... because I was upset, grieving, depressed and super on-edge. And they decided to make it about them. Like... literally the only things I was upset about that were about them? One would laugh extremely loudly at all hours, and one would clean the bird cage pretty loudly in the room right on the other side of my bed every day and dump the bird shit on the ground right where I would walk my dog, so I had to stop her from eating bird shit every day. That was like... it.

I met with my therapist after the confrontation. I was incredibly anxious. I was like... shaking. These people were 10 years my junior and I was like... trembling like a fucking leaf. He expressed gratitude for me dealing with it, and... somehow got me to sign up for doing it again? As a way to like... help them work through it? And he encouraged me to speak freely and to share my stories with them. And... I really didn't have much of a choice, I guess... If I didn't show up, they would just see that as like... someone not showing up to a "peace treaty" or something.

It was a Friday afternoon. A special meeting scheduled specifically for this. Literally every person was there. Every resident, every staff. I have no fucking clue why, and... in hindsight? It was super inappropriate. It was a fucking witch trial. And I was seated at the apex of the circle in the room. And they just fucking went after me. About how I would constantly be "glaring" and "storming" around the house, and that was clearly about them... not the fact that I was 32, I lost all my friends and family, I had no career and no visible future and I was stuck in a house detoxing off of mood stabilizers with a full house of people who had fuck-all in common with me and had zero intentions of showing any interest in anything I liked. Not for lack of trying. But yeah, that was clearly about those specific two people, who just happened to constantly hijack every group session to make it about themselves. Yep, me going through a severe depression episode while detoxing off of medications and coping with losing my entire family is definitely me being "toxic" and "aggressive" directly towards the person who goes around the house burping as loud as they possibly can so they can get peoples' attention. Yep.

The witch trial did not go well. But... no shit, right? At some point, after figuring out what toxic masculinity was... I tried to appeal to them that like... less than a year ago at that point one of my best friends in that therapy group was a trans woman... That I had a really good friend in college that was gay, my friend's father and his partner who lived nearby were gay. I have an uncle who has been openly gay my whole life. My grandmother was a women's rights activist. I am actually... considered pretty distinctly feminine compared to most males that I meet around my age... to the point where I have been bullied most of my life, and it's absolutely ongoing. I'm pretty scrawny, I'm a pacifist, I'm extremely emotionally sensitive, I love cooking and gardening. Good lord, even my ads on Instagram and Reddit think I'm a mid-30's woman sometimes. I mean... my therapist who I trusted more than anyone else in that building was gay for fuck's sake! I felt like letting them know past relationships would help assure them that I am not... a bigot... Somehow... this had the complete opposite effect. It was like I just chummed the water for sharks. It started sending massive pulses of adrenaline through my system. I was shamed. I was accused. I was insulted. I was dismissed and talked over. In front of the entire residency and staff.

I couldn't take it. Walking hot coals was easier than sitting there and taking it; literally, I've done both. It was not just them... it was all the past trauma of having to explain myself when I haven't done anything wrong. When I was just being myself. Being accused of being "outwardly aggressive" when I was depressed and frustrated with things in my life. Being told I had "anger problems" and having my brain scanned for brain damage when I was just... a moody teenager. A life of being put on trial, being "guilty until proven innocent" (and we have no intentions of even trying to prove you innocent)... it just flooded back in emotional overwhelm. My eyes welled up with tears. I stormed out. I said "I can't take this anymore" or something. And I took my dog and we left. And I went to the front door and was going to go out for a drive, and a staff member came up behind me. A nice woman a bit younger than me who was always very kind to me. She gave me a hug from behind and said "I'm sorry for what you just went through." And I said "thank you" and cried, and she actually cried with me. And then I got in my car and drove very fast and very recklessly on a gravel road in a nearby National Park while singing along to this:

youtube

I miss screaming in my car. I got so fucking good at screaming for a while there. I legit could've been a vocalist for a metal band, I just never had the confidence to try out for one. It did so much good for me emotionally. Not just purely because of the whole like... exertion is a good way of getting stress out kinda thing... but like... the tactile feeling of a vibration like that running through your head, throat and torso is just... it's such a surreal feeling, like a cleansing feeling. I miss it a lot.

So yeah, needless to say... that fucking stuck with me. Like... they dunked me head-first into one of my worse phobias with no warning whatsoever, and then like... coerced me into signing up for it again... and my fawning response was just like... "yeah sure, why not, if it'll help them out (and end this for me for good)". It just added to my confrontation trauma massively.

And now... now when I feel those looks? That's kinda where this came from. There were two trans women at the park. And they seemed nice enough, and they were actually there to skate, which was fucking great. They were the rollerbladers, and a young woman with them too. And... I could kinda feel what my instincts were telling me were kinda... cautious glares. Like I was being scanned as a potential threat, because I'm the embodiment of CIS male or something. And it flashed me back. And just typing it out? I feel bad. I can see how so much dissonance happens in the world.

I was going over this in my head while making dinner tonight. Like... say someone who looks similar in appearance to me... treats them like shit... so they're really cautious around me and kinda judge me a bit and keep their distance. (hypothetically) But in my case... one of those people... lashed out at me. And traumatized me. So... I am being really cautious around them, and kinda judging them and keeping my distance. Because I don't want to upset them or make them uncomfortable, but also because I want to keep myself safe. And the dude hanging out with them with the "FIGHT NAZIS" patch kinda... didn't help. But I could just see so clearly how like... echoes of our traumatic experiences can just... cause ripples over and over, back and forth. Like... me being anti-social with them today... could make them feel less safe and excluded around skaters - despite me having more of a problem with their friends who played loud music and rode ripsticks than with them. And then when they next go to the skatepark, they will keep their distance and be cold and suspicious towards a new set of people, who know nothing about any of this. And the ripples continue.

Shit like this runs through my head all the time. I wish I had a cool way of expressing this artistically. I had some ideas, but nothing as visceral and impactful as what I want to express. This idea that like... you have no idea what someone else's experience is. At all. Me today? I had some awkwardness because of latent minor trauma responses that may have made me look cold or a bit... grumpy? Or even angry? But really, I was glad to see new people at the park that were actually taking it seriously and learning new tricks, and not ashamed to wear full pads. I wish I had had the courage to tell them that, I'm sure it would've made their day. Also, my hip was acting up a little and I was just kinda weak from skating so much the day before, that was grumping me out a bit.

But like... I really want to find a way to capture the expression of how differently two people can experience the same situation. And how you just... you never know what someone else's experience is. Like... that young kid that I had met last week, he was there today and we were acting friendly enough... but like... I tried to get his friend/brother/whatever to teach me how to do slappy 50-50s on some metal, and we all went one after another to try it... and then they rode off together and started laughing. Were they laughing at me? My anxiety said "yes, duh". Who fucking knows. Who fucking cares. Do I need to speculate on that? And how impactful really is the end result of that? What, these guys end up kinda being assholes? Oh well. Big loss... Better to find out sooner rather than later...

But in reality, they were probably not laughing at me at all. There's no way of telling. And I really want to put myself in a mode where I can really... give people benefit of the doubt.

But honestly? I'm just fucking scared to. Because I have a lot in the past. I had friends hide the murder of a college friend from me for 7 fucking years, and they said they did it "for my own good", because they deemed I wasn't "in a condition to handle it". Good thing I had two people 5 years younger than me right there to keep me safe from reality, thank the lord. But my response back then? My first response? "Well, they meant well. They had good intentions. I should immediately forgive them." Clearly fawning.

That's the mess I'm in right now. This like... toggling between fawning and suspicion. Being a naïve childlike entity that sees the good in everyone, even if their intentions are not good... and then flipping to traumatized, scared to walk on the street or else I'll get robbed. I hope I can get some equilibrium with that soon, I can tell it's out of whack.

People who have passed my friend-or-foe test... which is not rigorous at all... can still hurt me. In fact, the people who have hurt me most have been the ones closest to me. And strangers can be really really nice, too. That shit is just so hardwired into the PTSD brain, it's very black-and-white and really hard to break out of.

I've noticed this on agoraphobia support groups, something I'm newly seeing as like... a pattern in a lot of people like me. Where they are in unhealthy relationships... maybe they grew up in really unhealthy relationships, too... and they struggle to leave the house. I bet if you asked them, they say "it's not safe out there", "it doesn't feel safe out there." You feel watched, you feel judged, you feel unsafe. It feels like you're on borrowed time or something, like the clock is ticking before something bad happens. That's been my experience, anyway. And home is... safe, predictable.

I'm starting to wonder if that's a projection coping mechanism. If really... home is unsafe. Home is dangerous. But processing that thought... that would mean... nowhere is safe. Because out there is always more dangerous than home. The wilderness is always more dangerous than the camp. So, with rudimentary blind logic... if home is not safe... nowhere is safe. And the survival mechanisms really don't want to acknowledge that, that's a bit too scary to process. Instead, it doubles-down on home. It's like all of that unsafe feeling that is being absorbed from home is just being redirected over to the outside world, and keeping you trapped in a toxic environment. At least, that's what happened with me. Several times.

Maybe it's just some cases, I don't know. Maybe experiencing bigger trauma out in the world can sorta... make you look past the shit happening in your home, or normalize it.

To be honest, I'm a bit iffy anxiety-wise today. But I loved skating. I didn't really get to skate the box I wanted to today, it was kinda occupied the whole time. But I landed a few popped nollie shove its today, that was a new one. I really wanted to learn shove it off the box. That was my goal as I was riding home yesterday. I tried to do ollie onto the angled box, nollie off... but that was really weird and I couldn't really figure it out. You kinda have to go fast for that. Then I figured I could try nollie shove it, it's actually a bit easier to land. But I never landed it, I was too scared to commit. But overall, I am getting much more comfortable with shove its, just through sheer repetition. I think nollie shove it was the only new trick I landed today. I did try FS noseslide, and kinda got close to it... like I kinda got a feel for the angle I need to be at? But it's still spooky.

Welp, I guess the big thing for today is... anxiety. It's been growing all day. Now I'm looking at the thing I'm being anxious about the most - the tab with the art collective website open next to this. "Figure Drawing Social", $15, 6-8pm every other wednesday. And... I didn't buy the ticket. I didn't send the email. I'm legit nervous.

When I was in college, I got on stage in front of an audience wearing a crop top, silver spandex short-shorts, a clip-on bow tie and a wizard mask... and played improvised drums (which is not my primary instrument). I did not feel the level of stage fright that I do now. So... I'm going to explore that before I go to bed.

What am I afraid is going to happen that's... bad? My impulses are saying... "naw..." They're pushing me away. Why? "Because what's the point? You can't be an artist anyway." That's literally what ran through my head. "Why spend money on that? You're not 'allowed' to be a career artist anyway." Hi, Depression. Like some sullen emo kid sitting on a stoop chain-smoking, "what's the point of going to the stupid party, we're all going to die anyway..." Um... because life is worth living? ... Duh?... These are the people that could potentially help me with my art. Maybe introduce me to an artist who needs an assistant and has the extra cash to like... throw my way for that? Maybe they can help me find out what galleries my shit would work in, and how to go about that process? Maybe just fellow art minds to help me figure out what the fuck I'm doing and come up with a plan to make it work? Hell, maybe just fellow creatives to just fucking make art with. Remember that?

So... what I was going to do was buy the ticket, and email the collective and say I'm new to the area and I'm looking to meet new people, but rent is crazy and I can't really swing renting a studio right now - though I'd really like to if I can find a better arrangement in the future. And I want to meet other creatives and sorta get integrated in to the local art scene, but --- okay, I guess here's where I'm not sure... is saying "I've never joined a local art scene" oversharing? Like... I feel like I toggle between saying very little and telling my whole life story, and I struggle to find the median. --- I guess I'd tell them I'm planning to attend the drawing social (I mean, it has the word social in the name...) but I'm wondering if the... social part of it tends to be towards the beginning or the end? Because in my experience, nude model drawing sessions tended to be very... serious and studious, and everyone was sorta in their own internal world and drawing. It wasn't really like a potluck where you go around and meet people.

I dunno, that's where I'm at. So... I'm not against writing to them, I'm just... I've been feeling hesitation and avoidance. And really? Low risk potential, high gain potential. Fuck it.

Alright. Well... since this entire thing has, at its core, been a stream of consciousness project... I did not plan for today. This has been my final entry into this journal. And I am woefully unprepared. I don't know how to export all of my journals from here, and I didn't prepare anything special at all for this. Because, in my experience... that's just not really what life is.

There doesn't tend to be a big neon sign for endings. Not the big ones, the meaningful ones. Some do, like graduation... or a wedding... or a scheduled divorce or something. The manufactured ones, the planned ones. But like... the organic endings in life. They don't tend to be ceremonious. I'm obviously alluding to death here, but also... growing apart... or moving on... or falling out of what you thought was love... They tend to creep up on you. You just sorta look around you and just realize... "oh, I'm here now... huh..." Just profound change - sometimes gradual, sometimes instant, but always... in more of the form of a novel experience than one of grandiosity. A "new normal", as news stations decided to chant over and over until it was so saturated with cringe and forced fake smiles that I struggle to type it.

Tonight marks a full year of my typing these entries every night. In that time, I lost friends, I lost family, I lost my cat, I lost my car, I moved, I went through many different phases of art, I started practicing yoga daily, I stopped smoking weed, I became vegetarian, I started learning how to care for plants, and... I started learning how to go out into society again and meet new people. It's been a very transformative time. I feel like I've changed dramatically, but at the same time... I haven't changed at all. It's odd.

What now? Now... I'm planning to start an art blog under my art name. I'm planning to update my art progress and share my thoughts on issues that are a bit less personal than here. Maybe addressing some of the mental health stuff in more broad strokes, but yeah. And my stream of consciousness journal will be handwritten. I have one right over on my work desk that is reserved for it. It has a quote written on the first page, here, I'll share it with you.

"...if you have, as it were taken a 'vow of poverty', renounced control, and take delight in things for themselves without reference to yourself, watching, observing, and to some extent knowing, then the question of the rights and wrongs of power and control might become utterly meaningless to you, and the means of power quite valueless." -J.R.R. Tolkien

It's an interesting thought. I'm still digesting what it fully means to me.

So yeah, I guess... thank you for reading this if you did stumble across it. Thank you for participating in my life and this project which has been essentially... me sharing my raw personal expression in a way that is "putting it out there", but deliberately not shepherding people towards it. To see who naturally finds it, what naturally seeks it out. Like placing a paper boat in a stream and watching it float downriver to see what adventures it finds. I've met some cool people along the way, and I'm glad to have made those connections.

Take care of yourselves, and take care of each other.

<3 -DZ

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd #Youtube

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dzpenumbra · 8 months

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8/21/23

Ugh, I just tried to take my contacts out because my right eye has been aching, and I got that thing where the contact just stuck to my eye and didn't want to come out... That really sucked.

I don't know why these contacts make my eyes hurt so much. My right eye specifically. Whenever I wear them, at the end of the day my eye is just like... aching in the back. I've had contacts forever and I've never had this problem before... and it's been going on since I got the damn things last summer. I even told the eye doctor about it and she just told me it would take me a bit to get used to them. Welp... it's been over a year... still not used to them...

I finally got to go skating today. It was fucking packed at the skatepark. There were like 15-20 people there pretty much the whole time. I spent a good 20-30 minutes at the beginning just sitting down by a ramp on the ground because it was just so hectic and busy, there didn't feel like there was even room to warm up.

I ended up skating for about 2 and a half hours, until it started to get pretty dark out. I'm exhausted. I landed two new tricks today. I got 50-50 to FS 180 out. I did it pretty slow, because the box is small... so I barely even rolled away... but I landed it. And I landed a flatground manual to shove it. I have never landed that trick before, and I landed it a few times. For some reason, I'm more confident committing to that trick than I am to just a normal shove it. But it has been hard for me to shift my weight properly to land it. 5-0 to shove it is like... one of my favorite tricks on snowskate, so it's kind of a no-brainer that I'd get to the skating equivalent eventually. And I have the same weight shift problem with the snowskate. Although, with a snowskate it's more the problem of having my weight too far back, and with skateboard it's more having my weight too far on my heel edge.

I didn't see anyone I had met before at the park, and I wasn't really feeling too extraverted. I still cheered when people landed cool tricks, despite barely anyone else doing it. I still laughed audibly when people did or said funny things. Like, I participated. But everyone was with their cliques. Except for one guy who was around my age, but light-years better than me skill-wise. And I tried to cheer him on, and we briefly made eye contact a few times, and we skated nearby obstacles for like an hour... but it never turned into a conversation. That's just how it goes sometimes, I guess we were both shy.

By around 7, nearly everyone had left. And some kids came over. And I mean... kids. They were sharing a scooter and just toodling around, and they were asking me questions... and I engaged with them and spoke to them like people, and answered their questions and all that. Then a few more kids came over. Then they started just like... playing tag on the obstacles and just standing around talking on the only obstacle I was skating... the A-frame box I was practicing noseslides on. (I actually started getting much more of my weight on top of them today.) I was super polite and just asked them if they minded moving, because I was skating that and I didn't want them to get hurt. And I think they took it as like... I was yelling at them to leave, and they all scattered. Right... Welp, not my fault, I was way nicer than like... 90% of the people around.

It's surprising how few kids there actually know park etiquette, like... don't sit on obstacles... period... don't just stand around in the middle of the park... keep an eye on the flow of traffic... take note of who is skating which obstacle in your path and time your runs so you don't get in their way... just be aware of where people are in general. Not one of these kids was wearing a helmet or anything and they were just outright oblivious of the multitude of skaters around them. It's a small miracle they didn't get hurt, and not to the fault of the skaters either. Because they'd just drop into a ramp without looking first. They'd just barrel along on a scooter without seeing if the coast was clear first. Just reckless shit. And you know how that ends... some little girl on a scooter breaks her arm because she was being reckless... then the parents sue the fucking town... and then before you know it, everyone has to wear helmets or they just shut the whole park down.

I love how skaters are targeted, as though we are the ones that are going around threatening litigation or something. It's so fucking weird. The number one bullshit made up excuse people use for kicking you out of a spot is "if you get hurt you're going to sue us", it's such a long-standing trope that Andy Schrock put out a shirt that says "I'm not going to sue you, dude." Good lord, it's just... it's never happened in history. The people who will sue? It's the people I ran into today.

One of the kids who was playing in the skatepark was walking back on the sidewalk as I was leaving. I had to pass him and who I assume was his father... and some other guy, they were all walking towards me, facing me. And these people were completely oblivious that a man on a skateboard was coming directly at them, and made zero effort to like... make a little room on the sidewalk. This was to the point where I was legit hitting the brakes on my board because I was afraid I was going to have to get off the board, pick it up and walk around them on the grass. And this was an asphalt path that's much wider than a normal sidewalk. Just... really kinda rude to be walking 3-wide and just... not indicate whatsoever that I'm going to have to change my trajectory.

There was what looked like a middle school baseball game going on or some shit. I guarantee these people were there for that. The third guy finally yielded and I barely had space to squeeze by, I had to fucking weave between them, which was awkward as fuck. And this dude fucking yells super loud right behind me "DO A TRICK". And I had been skating for like 2.5 hours, I'm soaked in sweat, I have headphones in, I have a backpack on with my trick board in it, I'm on a hybrid board that weighs 14 fucking pounds. I get off my board and pick it up so I can go under or around the gate that's blocking the walkway, and I don't even turn around, I just say "I don't do tricks on this board, it's too heavy." And this dude, completely oblivious and now... glaringly obvious to me that he's fuckin drunk as hell... screams "DO A KICKFLIP." (Thanks, The Berrics...) And I just fucking ride away, no look back, nothing. I just put my music back on, get on my board and ride away. And I hear him like... getting upset and talking shit behind me.

Way to ruin my session, man. And for the next two or three blocks, all I could think was... 1). Do NOT yell things at people who are riding skateboards unless it's a goddamn emergency, that is so fucking ridiculously unsafe. 2). This guy, who gets belligerently drunk and starts screaming and shit-talking strangers... in a public park... at a kid's baseball game... in broad daylight... in front of children and families... is considered more of a "contributing member of society" than I am. Because he is likely employed.

And that stormcloud has been hovering over my head since then. The inspiring confidence of landing new tricks? The relief of finally feeling... at home on four-wheels again, feeling natural on a board. It just got completely washed out by that idea that like... I am looked at as a parasite and a leech on society... when I bust my ass for nothing, I get zero appreciation, I get zero compensation, I get zero recognition. I constantly have people claiming they have my best interests in mind gleefully cheering me on every time I get a panic impulse to get any fucking random job off the internet just to get some income coming in and create distance from my parents. And yet when I talk about actually building the career and life that I've been building steadily for several years... my life... they sorta roll their eyes and treat it like a fucking hobby. Like I'm a kid telling them I'm going to be an astronaut someday, and their bitter dream-shattered asses just roll their eyes and go... "yeah... astronaut... welp, don't forget to come up with a plan B..."

It's one thing to give up on your own dreams and settle for something less. It's another to kill someone else's.

And I got all of this... because despite my talents, despite my skills, despite my intelligence and wisdom... I am less of a contributing member to society than some drunk asshole who screams "do a kickflip" at a 36 year old man who was clearly just trying to go home after a long session.

Well, society. You choose. You choose what kind of a culture you are nourishing. And if you just want mindless laborers that have very little awareness that other human beings are even sentient, let alone have their own thoughts, feelings and experiences... keep the bar around there.

I'm a bit upset, if you couldn't tell... XD I just felt like... I felt like I was in high school again or some shit. Like... you really think yelling at a skateboarder to do a trick for you... like they owe that to you or something? If you want to watch tricks, go 25 yards forward and fucking watch them at the skatepark. I'm not some fucking monkey that's here to dance for you. It's really demeaning, and it just really felt like... like I was kinda being mocked. Like... no "hey, how's it going? Can you do any tricks on that thing?" Just "DANCE FOR ME NOW." It just screamed Idiocracy, and it legit scared me. It shook me.

It made me again feel very alien. Very different from all these other people around me. And again, I fear that I'm just... a different breed. That I'm a rare breed - I know that could sound a bit arrogant, but like... I was literally told that, and it's been really hard for me to accept. And I'm afraid I'm just not going to find people like me, because there aren't a lot of us and we're really spread out.

In the hours since I've been home... incredibly tired and a bit sore... I've just been going in and out of moments where I keep thinking... how am I going to make this work? Am I going about this right? Think of it this way... and this is an interesting thought and something not a single fucking therapist or job counselor has talked to me about.

These people think if you just go get some random job, it literally doesn't matter what it is - working at an antique store, working at a vegetarian restaurant, working as a teacher at a community college - that this act alone will benefit the furthering of my art career. This logic chain has not been explained to me whatsoever short of "you might meet someone". Which... feels like a literal dice roll. Like... praying that you're the actress that gets discovered by Nicolas Cage at a fucking coffee shop or something. You really think I'm putting my fate in the hands of random chance to that degree?

So... what I would need to do... if I were to get some job to supplement and move my career forward... I would need to be very intentional about what I choose. Say I want to meet people who could be potential clients, I would need to be around clientele that can afford my pieces. You think I'm going to find someone who is willing to buy a $2000 bird drawing in a fucking community college class? Honestly? Honestly? I don't want to be goddamn rude, but like... BRO. So... if they don't consider the factor of like... who I would be around when I get that job... then they're not really thinking about that at all. Which is literally the only way that my art is connected to that job. PLUS, I would be subtly trying to "hock my shit" while working at a different establishment. You really think that's going to go over well with my boss?

I like the idea of being an artist's assistant. I like the idea of working in a tattoo shop, maybe... depends on the crowd that works there, you know? I don't mind doing jobs that actually put me in a community that might actually be able to afford my shit. Because... people who can afford tattoos have access to money. That shit ain't cheap (unless it's cheap). They also have a passion for art. Being tied into a hippie/new-age community would be ideal... but that gets messy... because die-hard hippies do not have cash... and the midlife crisis housewives may not really show my work the respect it deserves.

I guess my point is... I need to be intentional with my moves, or else I just committed to giving the lion's share of my life and labor away in exchange exclusively for money... with zero plan of how to move forward with my art. That's a big net loss.

I'm talking about my art a lot. Because I'm kinda teetering on an existential crisis with it again. I swear, every time I look at Instagram and see my art... I just go "dude, wow, I forgot how good that is. Fuck you, Depression, that came out really good." And then like a day or two later... "I can't draw shit, I'm not good enough, what's the point." I swear, so many artists deal with this. It really sucks.

I've been chomping at the bit to talk about my art and where it's going for like 3 consecutive journals now... at least. I've literally been stopping myself from talking about work. I just... I wish I was exaggerating... I think I'm the only person in the world who thinks I can make this work. I can make pretty cool jewelry, I'd really like to carve stone and wood pendants, amulets, talismans, that kinda shit, like centerpieces for a necklace. I can work with ink, pencil, colored pencil, paint, you name it. I really like this clothing tattoo idea, I really feel like it could go somewhere. And I also do fine art stuff too, and am willing to stream the entire process. And I can give individual lessons from complete beginner level to some pretty advanced techniques, not just with several mediums of art... but with several instruments for music lessons, too. And I'd like to get back into carving walking sticks, I enjoyed that a lot. And again, I would really like to get into doing tarot readings. I can do a lot of shit. It's really hard to believe with all of that on the menu... that none of it is of value.

I don't think anyone else I've met in a support role actually believes that someone can earn a living making their own creative pieces. Maybe they don't know anyone who has done it? Maybe they don't care about that career that much? Maybe they're just pessimists? I don't fucking know, man. But I'll tell ya... nothing says "I support you" like... "my daughter is a photographer, you know... and she does wedding photography now, and she learned to find ways to be creative with it." Okay. People find ways to enjoy maximum security prisons. That's not fucking freedom. That's being forced to live a different life than you have trained for... because motherfuckers won't support your real skill and talent, they will only support it when it benefits them. Because everyone is so fucking self obsessed that they won't support an artist simply because that artist makes great art... they will only support that artist... if they can find a way to exploit that artist's talents for their own personal gain. Like sweet-talking them into designing a logo for you. Or showering them with compliments until they design a tattoo for you... and then you don't pay them because... "oh, we're friends man, really? You're gonna do me like that?"

What the dude at the park kinda rattled loose... along with the role of Judas in Jesus's story in a spirituality lecture I was listening to while making dinner... Was this idea that... I'm really never going to be able to be free. What these "supporters" don't believe in... is that I will be able to earn enough to support my own survival while exercising my own creative freedom. I will be forced to sacrifice my vision, to create the vision of others, to do labor for others, whatever it might be. I don't think they can actually envision me going through the entire process from inspirational spark... to gathering supplies... to working... to completion... to display... to compensation... without someone else's ideas coming in and making it work. Spoiler alert - the only thing missing is compensation. And literally any one of these people could have helped with that. But they just happened to be therapists, with ethical boundaries. And that somehow also prevented them from showing half an ounce of interest in what it is I actually do, what I actually make. The more I think back, the less I'm certain that any of them had actually seen a single piece that I had made, let alone asked me what's going on behind the scenes with it... which is really the meat-and-potatoes of my work.

The Path is not some flashy Michael Bay clickbait video, it's an intellectual piece comparing a visual representation of the act of getting lost in the woods and reorienting yourself with... the process of learning and developing new skills or knowledge. It was like a visual metaphor for synaptic activity. The owl in my profile pic here isn't just a random bird I picked, it was a specific species that I had several unforgettable personal experiences with. It was the animal I saw in my mind's eye the first time I experimented with a deep meditative divination practice. I literally communicated with one and called it and its family across the pond to me at my old house using owl calls I learned as a kid.

And this act of making each piece be very deliberately important and resonant... it's been a growing trend for me, it's a staple in most of my work. Yet I guarantee none of those "supporters" who claimed to be helping me with the trajectory of my life... even fucking asked me what I did or what it was about.

How many successful people, people who have achieved their creative goals, do you think listened to people who gave them advice... who had never seen their work before?

So yeah, I'm trying to keep the motivational speaker in my head going... the "follow your dreams", "connect with the right people", "don't ever give up" mentality. But man, every fucking time... someone comes along and just... makes me feel like a spoiled, entitled, starry-eyed child. When I don't know how to do fucking anything else, man. I just want to make shit. And get better at making shit.

Yeah, I'm cutting myself off here, because I've gone pretty deep into depresso-zone. No one is saying this stuff to me right now, I'm just dealing with a trauma response. Someone yelling at me directly behind me in public and trying to like... bring attention to me and put me on display... when I just wanted to quickly and quietly skate past without disturbing their game... It set off feelings of being unsafe. My first reaction was "don't yell at people on skateboards or try to get their attention, it's super unsafe." Clear as day, yeah? And then my second reaction was... how I am a drain on society and that jerk passes the citizen test. It's a linear connection. Shock to system -> Feel unsafe -> Feel like a failure and a drain on "society" -> Neurotically reassess career path. Something tells me... "society"... ain't "society"... Something tells me it's my family. And something tells me... this is PTSD being all sneaky-like and trying to sweet talk me into thinking I'm being productive and proactive with my career. But really... I'm kinda just venting emotions, I guess.

This isn't to discount anything I've said in this so far. I do feel that way. I do feel strange and rare compared to the average person. I do feel like I have not been treated fairly by those claiming to support me, and I really really do feel like I deserve better. And I really feel like I have the talent, passion, drive, flexibility and will to learn that is required to be a career artist. But really?

The problem I had with the children... was the same problem I had with the drunk guy. I was just trying to be nice, and polite, and skate, and trying hard to not disturb anyone and not intrude on their experience. And just like the children, this guy decided to put a spotlight on me... and misrepresent me... and make me into an asshole in his eyes. And that just... makes me sad and a bit hurt. I really try every day to be courteous and kind, encouraging and thoughtful. And it's almost never appreciated or even recognized. But to like... twist it against me. That set off some alarm bells and made me feel unsafe.

Welp, this was unexpected. I'm glad I processed it though, I do feel a lot more calm now. I worked on an animation tonight. I had started this thing in Blender, the concept of like... a small circle that grows and divides and then the clones grow and divide... the whole mitosis thing. It keeps playing in my head over and over, I haven't been able to get it out. So... I sat down and started working on it today. But I decided to start from scratch in Krita instead of doing grease pencil in Blender. Yeah, with Blender I can interpolate and copy objects and shit, but like... I don't have a smooth workflow with that. The only reason I would do that would be to save time, and in the end... my inexperience ends up costing me time, so... I decided to go with hand-drawn animation.

I have this picture in my head that is sorta inspired by the Fractal bubble piece, where it's a seed that starts cloning itself... and then they split and split and fill the screen, then the screen zooms out as they keep growing, and the zoom goes out so far that you can't see the bubbles anymore, they become a cellular membrane... and then the membrane grows... and forms different types of cells --- that was one from yesterday that I'm really interested in... learning different types of plant cells so that I have more of a vocabulary of shapes to use in this type of abstract work. --- So the design is kinda showing... first individual growth at a super simple level on a microscale, then growth of the membrane itself, then different forms that the membrane takes... serving as a cell wall composed of thousands of micro cells. And then it can keep zooming further, to show those cells creating an organism of some kind. I'm thinking plant-like.

So... I mean... who am I to fight my muse tonight? I did that for like 2 or 3 hours. It went well. I'm just doing marker frames first, then tweening after I get a good idea of where it's going.

I have also been very inspired to do a series of self portraits of what my anxiety, my trauma and my depression look like. To give those personas a face. I really wanted to do that tonight. I'm just... I'm not there yet. I can't... see them yet. I can hear them sometimes, but I can't really see them, like mind's-eye see them. That's usually when I know it's time to start concept sketching.

That's how all my art usually comes to me, either in dreams or in a sudden flash. Like... I would be driving or showering or walking or laying down to go to sleep or whatever and a super vivid image would just zap into my mind's eye. And it just... it has a different feeling than like... memories or trauma flashbacks or "oh, I should remember to take the trash out later" kinda "notifications". It has an intense gravitation to it, it's compelling and dream-like. It's usually a very emotional experience, and within moments I'm frantically scrambling for a pencil to write it down.

Today, that was the cell division animation. It just kept playing in my head in different iterations and I just decided... "yeah, I'll give it a go"... and I put on some "easter eggs in the Dark Knight Trilogy" video and off I went. And the drawing was effortless and the time melted away without me noticing at all.

Anyway, yeah. That was pretty much my day. Now I really want to go shower to get this gross sweat crust off of me... and get to bed at a somewhat decent hour. I am absolutely utterly exhausted.

Before I go, I just want to take a moment to deliberately celebrate my skating accomplishments today. I feel like I kinda breezed over them. 1). I feel so much more comfortable on my board now. I feel very natural riding, and comfortable riding faster now too. 2). I felt way more comfortable hopping into FS 50-50s today. I felt like I was just... hopping onto a box, rather than the usual "oh, I'm grinding on the coping, I could slip out". And just the act of being more comfortable and being on top of the grind made it much easier to lock in. 3). I landed manual to shove it, which I was never even planning to do. I did shove its when there were people at the park, which was pretty big for me. And I did several normal shove its and landed them somewhat comfortably. I'm still iffy about the landings, I get really unsteady and weird... like I don't trust my own board rotations... But just like ollieing onto the box, with enough repetition it will eventually just become a thing that I do.

All I need to do is get the boneless 360 back and I will have completely eclipsed my peak skating ability back in college.

Alright, shower time.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 8 months

Text

8/20/23

Ugh, it rained all day again today. So much damn rain this year, it's crazy. I was really hoping it would clear up, I really wanted to go skating.

I did my laundry today and washed the painted jeans and the cargo shorts with the deer on them. I seem to be all about leaps of faith lately. I put them both in pillowcases and turned them inside out to reduce abrasion. The shorts came out pristine. The jeans... they came out of the pillowcase in the dryer. And they took some wear and tear damage at the top 2 sections of the celtic knot. It's not bad, it just looks like a normal kinda faded t-shirt design. It actually looks much more natural, like it's part of the jeans rather than on top of them. But... with that lesson learned... I think I'm just going air dry them from now on. The wash seemed to go fine for them, the dryer kinda fucked it... so... I'm just not going to take the risk. It shouldn't be a big deal to just hang them to dry overnight. If the washing machine ends up causing problems, I'll just handwash them in the bathtub.

Handwashing in the bathtub, another spring/summer 2019 memory... -_- I got back to my house after having the counseling center convince me to go to a state mental health retreat for two weeks in the winter, and fucking mice nested in my stove and washing machine. They were shot. So... I didn't have a stove or washing machine anymore. So I managed to get a toaster oven from my mom's basement and used that and the electric burners on the stove for cooking, and I handwashed all my clothes in the bathtub for 4 months.

Why didn't I tell my landlord and have them replace it? 1. PTSD shut me down. 2. related to 1... it was "technically my fault". So... the combination of those. I've struggled with that for a long time. My landlords were nice and they would've gladly replaced it, I was just convinced that... they were going to think I was trashing the place... or a bad tenant... or I would have to explain where I was and why it was so neglected... and I was convinced they were going to get mad at me and evict me and my pets. And we had nowhere to go. So... yeah, that deep deep fear just crippled me and I never told them and ended up having my mom insist on replacing them for me after like 4-6 months.

So... no stranger to handwashing, that's what that story is about.

Other than laundry, today was not crazy eventful. The chick who does cosplay and engineering and all that followed me back and liked some of my posts. I messaged her the picture of the poster she gave me when I visited her on the road trip. She messaged me back late tonight a big all-caps "HIIII <3". It brought a smile to my face. It's just... very alien to me how different others' lives are. She's probably out with friends on a Saturday night and checking her DMs in passing. My life is just... stillness and openness and solitude, and if someone reaches out to me (which is exceedingly rare), it immediately gets my full attention. It's very different, and that takes a lot of intention for me to remember. And weirdly, it doesn't seem like others have that in mind.

A lot of people from my past have looked at the emptiness and silence in my life with envy. As though they would look at someone in solitary confinement in a prison or a Carthusian monk and just ooze with fucking envy. The grass is always greener, eh? Well... take a week and try it. Fuck, take 2 goddamn days and try it. Take one weekend, go to a shack in the woods with no electricity and no people, nothing but silence and you... for 48 hours. Every single person that has looked at me with envy... they would be clawing at the walls after 4 hours. Because they are envious of something they have never known. They just desire something different, they don't even know what this life is even like!

I, however... I do know what their life is like, because I had visited it quite a bit. And I somewhat envy them... and somewhat don't. It's a balanced picture, and it's simply a different life. But yeah, it's just a weird thing that I notice the more I kinda dip my feet back into the social pool... how goddamn different every other person's life is compared to me. How strange I am.

So... I have a strange upbringing, I am a strange person, I live a strange life, I think in strange ways, I express myself in strange ways ... Why the fuck do all these people think I should be in a "normal" career? It's so odd.

Nope, not doing career shit tonight. XD I overdid it on that last night.

The only other thing I did today was throw together an imgur album of one of my art pieces and posted the link on two subreddits. Not a lot happened with it. Lots of views on imgur, but not a lot of traction on reddit.

I don't mind blogging, as you can clearly tell. I don't mind doing video projects... but it does feel very odd when your video is really intended to be in an art gallery setting... and you just give it away for free to people on fucking Instagram next to an ad for some guy trying to sell you on his fitness program. It sometimes feels trashy, it sometimes feels... like selling myself short? But I honestly don't know where else to put it or what else to do with it. And it is really devastating to have like 2-3 months of daily work with almost no days off... turn into a half-dozen likes, a few of them probably not even finishing the 10 minute video. It's hard.

I know the answer to this is... go make in-person connections. That's the one thing I had on my agenda that I didn't get to today - messaging the guy from the art collective. The drawing session is on Wednesday. I've gotta make sure I have an unlined sketchbook that isn't completely spoken for to use.

So yeah, I kinda was in this mentality where I was like... "maybe if I just post the same piece on different social media sites... I'll see that my problem isn't that my work isn't engaging people... it's that I'm just not active on social media at all." I became a social media ghost for fucking years. ... Despite leaving very clear and elaborate messages on my social media saying I was leaving and "here's where you can reach me" and leaving my new usernames and my phone number and shit... ... Yeah, depressing-ass shit.

I guess it just takes a lot to fucking impress people nowadays. I don't know. Or I'm just around the wrong people, I don't know. I'm a little worried with how tough the cost of living is around here that no one I meet will be able to afford the shit I make. Like... I'm specifically doing things handmade, with natural products as much as possible, even making my own inks and paints and tools sometimes. That comes at a premium. I'm not just making an AI generated design and feeding it to a print factory in China and having that shit shipped to me. I'm building my own pen, brewing my own ink and straining and pressing paper out of wood pulp. (Not literally, though I've absolutely entertained the idea and it might be a future project, I have a book on how to do all of that...)

Isn't it weird? How if I were to cut as many corners as possible and make 1000 identical pieces that my hands never even touched... I would be considered a professional artist. But if I craft my own tools and bleed and sweat into my pieces... I'm considered a "hobbyist"?

Oh yeah, I remember, I don't want to talk about work stuff because I remember re-reading the first few paragraphs of my post last night and audibly laughing and going "wow, a bit grumpy tonight are we?" XD

Okay, well... here's something of note. I dusted off my old Imgur that I haven't used since the peak of the pandemic. There were two albums on it. One was a gallery of my two pets who are no longer with us - my dog Cerry and my cat Maxine. There was a picture of my dog sitting patiently and a little confused with my hoodie on and the hood up over her head, and her front paws through the arms. She looked cool as hell. And it's the same hoodie that I ended up painting! And the video was my cat sitting on the bathroom counter at the old house looking at me filming her and very gently and softly chirping at me and purring very loud. And... it didn't hurt. It hurts now, that hollow feeling in my chest, that grief feeling. But when I stumbled across them, it didn't pain me. I was happy to be with them again. And it was nice. It was kind of a haunting nice, but it was nice. Less like running into a ghost in a haunted house and more like chillin with Force Ghost Obi-Wan on Dagoba. I miss them both so much, my life is so much different without them.

The other album was a photo set of the first hike my dog and I went on after the pandemic started. It was in May 2020, right after the snow thawed. It was really nostalgic, I remember that hike very clearly. I forgot I posted all of those.

I haven't played the social media game... in ages. And by social media game, I mean... regular status updates, keeping people informed of where I'm at and what I'm doing... posting selfies... The last selfie I took... okay, this is gonna be dark. The last selfie I took was the exact moment that I made the decision to put my dog down, because it felt like one of the biggest moments of my life and I wanted to capture the facial expression of someone who just made an impossible decision, in case I needed it for a future art project. It's... haunting, I can't bring myself to look at it. But before that... the last selfie I took was probably 2020 for my dating profile, I just needed a more up-to-date picture.

I have been out of the social media game/habit since around 2016-17. It just hasn't been part of my life. I haven't had an active social media account that is my fucking birthname... since then. So... it's really no surprise to me that my entire life went completely downhill not just when I got in that relationship and that consoling center got their hands on me... but when I got off of social media and the internet junkie populace decreed me digitally deceased.

It was interesting to look back and see how there were moments when I really did try to re-enter digital social circles. And just fell flat. People just... didn't care, I was just another thing to scroll past. So I didn't bother continuing to put the effort into that, I'd rather put that time and effort into work and learning new skills anyway. I'd much rather share those experiences in-person anyway.

So yeah... I'm not super talkative today. I got it all out in my novel last night. The big theme of the day was trying to be a bit more brave on social media. Trying to face my past traumas with that. And opening my eyes to how different the rest of the world's lives are. And... seeing that not all of Reddit is bad... and surprisingly... a huge chunk of the toxicity and scary shit I have been encountering was just condensed in local subreddits... scary shit like... wanting to make it mandatory to inject homeless drug addicts with a medication that makes you ill when you do opiates for like 30 days? Without their consent? Like... mandatory... non-consensual... medical procedures? And I'm not really a fan of the crime shit going down here either, but like... I'm definitely gonna draw the line short of mandatory medical procedures, that... That's fucked.

I might as well vent about this. Yes, crime and drugs are directly correlated. Yes, even doing certain drugs in public is criminal. But the act of getting high is not directly tied to committing crime, it's correlated. Correlation does not equal causation. So... if you want to stop homeless people from jacking off in your driveway or leaving needles all over the place... bust them in the act of committing a crime. That's all you can do. You can absolutely enforce crimes. Crimes are enforceable regardless of who the fuck you are or whether you are high or not. Regardless of whether you are someone who works on Wall Street or someone who works at McDonalds or someone who lives by the dumpster behind that McDonalds... if you're jacking off in someone's driveway, you should go to jail and be seen by a mental health clinician. But, from what I've been hearing, the cops just don't respond to non-violent crimes anymore. So... they just do whatever they want. The panicked general populace, completely at the whim of this, is now saying... "well, if we get them off the drugs, they'll stop committing all this crime". Which... is a false equivalence, to be honest. A vast majority (I'd honestly say nearly all) of these situations are people with mental health problems that are not being treated, and drugs are definitely not making it better... but it's a stretch to say they're causing the crimes. So... they think that if you go and round up all the drug-using homeless and throw them in a pen and inject them with a drug that makes them physically ill if they get high within 30 days... while they violently detox in the streets without medical supervision... they think this is going to make the crime rate go down?...

There are not easy solutions to any of these problems, because... you know... these are human beings... with stories. And every single one needs something different to make things right in their life, because they're people. This isn't "what chemical do we use for the fruitfly infestation in our house". And it really kinda sickens me to hear people talk that way. Even if these people have turned into pieces of shit, they're still people. So yeah. My heart sinks every time I see this.

Here's a weird thought. When's the last time we've referred to any species of living being as "inhumane"... that wasn't human. How much fucking hubris can you have as a species to name the act of being fair and just and civilized after yourself... and then unfurl the toilet roll sized list of the biggest inhumane offenders... and they're all human. XD Ugh, we're such weird, weird apes.

So yeah, basically... I realized that my stigma of reddit came from reading the wrong subreddits, local subreddits because I had the intention of trying to meet people locally that way. And there are actually a lot of chill people and a lot of small communities where it's somewhat easy to meet people with similar interests. And it's not a bad place for me to be, both personally and professionally. As long as I keep myself away from... those people.

Yep, anyway, I'm gonna go now. Fingers crossed the weather clears up for skating tomorrow!

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 8 months

Text

8/19/23

Alright I'm just gonna start this by saying... I'm really not pleased with how Instagram works. I don't know if its the design of it (algorithms)... if it's the fact that I don't use the app to interact with other peoples' shit that often... or that others don't use it the way that I do? Or a combination of the three? I don't know. But I really... ugh... I'm tired of blaming myself for something that's clearly not my fault.

You can't fucking say something "isn't a career", and then even remotely insinuate that you are required to devote at least an hour or two a day to merely just browsing fucking social media and commenting and shit... when that isn't even in your fucking job description. I'm just venting because I put up not just one... but two posts today. And so far? 3 fucking likes. I doubt people have even seen it. And for those who did, it's just another thing for them to scroll past. My more impressive piece... somehow has just gone completely unnoticed because I posted it first... and has gotten zero interaction. My deer drawing on my pants. My realistic deer drawing done in fabric ink on my cargo shorts, that I'm really proud of. Zero interactions.

Here, I will show you exactly what Instagram has deemed is just... not fucking worth even looking at.

It's so deeply demoralizing to be just... completely unseen. For years. For over a decade. It fucking sucks. (I swear, if I hear "you just need to put yourself out there" one more fucking time...)

I truly have believed for so long that like... the mark of a true career artist is not their skill, it's their passion and their perseverance. It's their ability to endure, because what the fuck else are they going to do?!

I don't want to go too deep down a rabbit hole of existential dread here, because yeah... This is really the reason I struggle to regularly post on social media. It's really like having a small gallery showing and inviting all your friends, and fucking one person shows up, looks at one painting for 5 seconds, says "I like the colors" and then "I have to go pick up my kid, keep up the good work!" I'm under no delusions here that I'm not going to get paid for that. I'm not going to be able to pay my rent on that. And I won't be able to put out a solid body of work if I reserve my art time for a few hours on the weekend. This deer took a total of close to 10 hours in 3 sessions. So... what took 3 days here... would take 3 fucking weeks if I was working some side gig. Try keeping up with Instagram's algorithm demands at that motherfucking pace. The deer isn't even the whole fucking piece, this is just the start.

So... I'm a bit upset. Did you notice? XD I guess just kinda frustrated that like... I spent my whole life working and training and I got really fucking good at something... and I'm incredibly inspired! And I'm working myself to the bone! And I don't even need compensation to keep me productive, I don't even need reception to keep me productive, because my inspiration flow is external and continuous. I just need to keep my arms in shape so I can work for more than a handful of hours at a time without burning out my arms and fingers. It's deeply deeply painful to put this much time and dedication into something that is... so all-encompassing to my purpose on this planet... and to get so many fucking genuine compliments of awe-struck people completely baffled that I, myself, with my own hands, created that from nothing. Reactions that people can't fucking fake, so I know they're real, I know I have talent. And this... all of this... means absolutely nothing. Because I can't pay rent with compliments. And my rent is through the roof. And I'm not willing to sell my soul. And my process does not work by trying to second-hand decipher someone else's inspiration, it works through direct connection to something beyond me. My own inspiration. That process is all I know, it's what I have trained for over 15 years.

I know very well... that if I spend the majority of my time behind a fucking desk or a counter or a stove somewhere just trying to keep the lights on... my connection with my inspiration will wane... and I will get physically sick... and I will feel completely detached from myself, lost, aimless, purposeless. I will dissociate, I will go into crisis mode. Just like I always do, every time I ignore art.

I literally tried to stop myself from going down this rabbithole and then just swan-dove down it anyway. XD

Welp, good thing we live in a society that is driven by popularity and wealth rather than skill, passion and integrity. It really seems to be doing a lot of good for us...

Okay, I promise I'm done. I just needed to get that out. I really don't want to dwell on that because I had a good day today, despite it raining all day.

I've been super hungry today... I woke up 4 hours into my sleep cycle, downed a heaping bowl of raisin bran and went back to sleep for another 2 hours... and somehow woke up starving. Depression, maybe? Not sure. Maybe my dinner last night was just much lighter than I thought. I started the day full-on consumed by the idea of reaching out to the friend who Facebook messaged me 2 years ago, whose message I just discovered last night. The friend that I drove 12+ hours and crashed on her pullout couch on my first time meeting her in person, who I used to play minecraft with back then. She has an Instagram that I discovered a few years back and she does really well-made cosplay stuff. Yeah. She's art-inclined. She was in school for Engineering when I met her. I have no idea how she makes it work, but she does it. And... I hope I'm not selfish for thinking this... but reconnecting with her could really change my life... because we already have some form of established relationship, and she could possibly help me find a place to fit my skills that will actually help pay the bills. Or hell, maybe even she herself needs an assistant, who knows? At very least, its rekindling a friendship from a decade ago.

I messaged her. Instagram does the whole... message request thing, so I could only send one. I wanted to send her a picture of the pristinely preserved poster that she gave to me when I visited her in her apartment when she was in college, that has been sitting in my acoustic guitar case ever since she gave it to me probably over 10 years ago at this point. I thought that would be the fucking coolest way to announce who was contacting her. But... I felt like sending an image as a first contact... if it wasn't an image that's shown... to a woman... yeah... Didn't want to risk getting screened there. So... I announced myself the boring way, told her I just saw her FB message (without saying "sorry", proud of myself for that) and said "tag, you're it". Still waiting to hear back from her, but it's Friday night so... yeah.

The other thing I decided to do spur of the moment? Contact the "former friend" who commissioned the logo design from me. Finally. Just... sending the text that I had prepared. Just pushing the green send icon. To tell him I'm not the right guy for the job. And I'll tell ya, it was not unlike doing a shove it when I was skateboarding the other day. I even said audibly to myself, "just jump forward". The advice I give to myself to get myself to land it when I do shove its. (I also didn't say sorry in this message, which was tremendously difficult and a very big accomplishment for someone who deeply struggles with a fawning response.) I got a huge shot of adrenaline when I sent that message. I haven't felt one like that in a while. But I just put my phone away and immediately went over and started to heat up my clothing iron to heat-set the paint on my pants.

I heat-set both the jeans and the hoodie. It took like... a minute, each. I was just like... "why the fuck did I stress about this so much?" XD I hope I did the right heat, I tried to follow the labels on the clothes. I hope I did the right time, the paint said 30 seconds... and I did a minute or more just to play it safe. I honestly have no way to tell if it's heat-set, I guess I'll have to find out the hard way.

That's what prompted the Instagram posts. Because my skating jeans and my shorts are going to have to go in the wash. My jeans because they're getting kinda nasty from me sweating in them and I need them for skating. My shorts with the deer on them because I need to test just how permanent these paint markers really are... Yep, that deer was a fucking test run. That wasn't even a finished piece. Imagine what a finished piece would look like...

So... I decided it would be wise to take some pictures of what I've been up to the past few weeks and share them. I did the shorts first, got a really nice photoshoot of them. I wrote a really well thought out description and added about 10 hashtags... not that it really seems to make a fucking difference... it's super rare that hashtags get me any new attention. I posted, then did the jeans and repeated the process.

The rest of my night was yoga, showering, prepping homemade salsa - which was very short on tomatoes, and the habanero that I got was really mild for some reason... so it did not come out nearly as good as was hoping... - then cooking dinner, eating and... here I am. Yep, that was my day. I didn't even draw anything today, unfortunately. I did take the trash out, that was good. But I did not end up doing laundry. The night just got away from me with all the prep and cooking and all that.

This kinda brings me to something I've been wanting to do before I end this journal project, it's been running through my head all day. One story that I haven't told. My side, at least. I'm sure I've told bits of the side effects, the traumas caused. Visiting Facebook last night brought it back, and I just really want to get it off my chest to prove to myself that it's really not as bad as I think. The quote my therapist and many others have thrown my way, that I seem to perpetually forget and remember over and over - "you were doing the best you could with what you knew at the time."

I was listening to a Don Quixote audiobook while I was making dinner tonight. At least... I was trying to. All I managed to get through in my over an hour of cooking was basically the life story of Miguel de Cervantes; translators notes, I think it was? I knew nothing about this story other than its legendary satirical status, and the iconography of a flamboyant and... I guess stupid?... knight who fought a windmill thinking it was a dragon or something. Thus... why I wanted to actually absorb the actual tales, because culture is important and I wanted to actually know the actual stories, not just second or third-hand recaps. Welp, with my extremely limited knowledge of Don Quixote, this was my personal story that I equate in my memory to that.

It was summer 2019, as a lot of my traumatic experience stories tend to date to... I was smoking a lot of weed back then, for the first time in over 10 years. It started as a way to make getting off of Xanax easier, and to help with sleep, then it sorta became more of a spiritual and creative tool, and eventually it just became something I did regularly as though it was tobacco, because almost all of my tobacco was mixed with weed. I stopped buying weed from dispensaries because my brother wouldn't go on trips to pick up with me anymore, and I really felt weird leaving my dog in the car while I waited in line for up to an hour, it really didn't feel right... and I didn't want to leave her alone at home while I drove for like a 3 hour trip just to get weed. It was a whole thing. So I ended up buying this absolute dogshit gutter weed from a guy I used to go to high school with, who lived up the road. He... yeah, you can form your own judgements on him in the next "scene".

So... he came over to my house and smoked with me on my porch, he brought his small dog with him too. My dog and his met, it was fine and uneventful. His dog was getting old. We smoked and I got pretty high, and I am just flat-out not experienced at all with being high around other people, much less around people I don't entirely know or trust. It is not a muscle I have flexed, and I get really freaked out. Well... I started freaking out a bit. Mostly because he was sitting on my porch telling me... my "parents were right" and I should give up this art dream and go get a "real job". While he was day-drinking on my porch and smoking with me. And that just sent me immediately into surreal "you are not safe" mode. Which... guess what? Was a correct reaction! That was not a healthy situation for me to be in, with someone calling their self my "friend", and yet again... placing judgement over what I do with my entire life... my career... based on zero knowledge or even interest in what I do, or what I plan on doing. Ignorance. And siding with my parents, knowing absolutely nothing about them or their perspective... that was nothing short of foolish.

I somehow managed to handle that anxiety attack. I came back from it and did not spiral. I don't think he even goddamn noticed. The conversation just moved on. I don't know if I confronted him, I very very likely did not. What ended up happening not long after ended up snapping me out of it anyway. His small dog, a Toto kinda dog but greyish white, rolled over onto his side and started yelping uncontrollably and grinding his ear into the concrete slab floor of the back porch. I was so insanely overwhelmed, and the dude just got up and treated it completely normally, like this is a regular thing. And started talking about how his dog had ear problems and he had no idea what it was and it was really "annoying" and shit like that. I remember he was talking about pulling like... really long strings out of his dog's ears and not knowing what was going on. And I was like... dude, I'm really high, don't talk about this in that kind of detail... XD It was really freaking me out. Also, go to a vet!!!

He ended up leaving not long after, his dog somewhat recovered enough to go home peacefully. The thought of ears stuck with me. What caused that? What made it come on so suddenly and so severely? Could I help him by figuring this out?

I'm not sure if I was experiencing it before, but I definitely experienced it after that incident with that dude's dog - I was having my ears pop constantly that summer. I really couldn't figure out why. Maybe humidity and pressure changes? Maybe because I just started to be hyper-aware of my eardrums and kept just compulsively trying to pop them... like when you're really high and you suddenly become aware of your breathing, and you have to like... manually breathe... and you get afraid that you might have "forgotten" how to automatically breathe, and if you stop manually breathing you might asphyxiate... Honestly, it was probably just one of those things. But I started to become hyper-aware of that all the time. And the big one... the one that sent me down the rabbit hole... I saw my dog, my retired service dog, my co-pilot, rubbing her ears a lot, and rubbing them on the carpet. That set me off.

I was never taught how to groom or care for a dog. Because my family did not take good care of their dogs, and were too prideful to ask for help or instruction, or go to a groomer. They still are to this day, it truly pains me to see it. When my dog died, I gifted her grooming tools to my mom and actually took the time to like... give her a little clinic on how to use them right there, on her dog - not asking if she knew how to use them, just going straight into showing, so she didn't feel ashamed. But I was never taught how to clean my girl's ears. And she has been very prone to ear infections since a young age. I had to learn how to clean her ears on my own, which is fuckin spooky when you have a German Shepherd and she starts grunting like she doesn't want you in there anymore. And, I hate to say, but in my deeper stages of depression and... what the fuck is the term for when a counseling center misdiagnoses you and puts you on trial runs of medications for conditions you don't have for 2 years while you're in an unfathomably toxic relationship, do they have a word for that? Well... in my deeper stages of that... I didn't take good care of my dog. And she formed a blood clot in her ear from scratching at it. And she had to get surgery for it. The surgery left a big scar and left one of her iconic pointy German Shepherd ears floppy for the rest of her life. I... still haven't forgiven myself for that, even though it really isn't fully my fault. But man, it still... the guilt. Yeah.

So... seeing my baby... rubbing her ears again... And feeling my own ears popping in sync with it... And feeling this eerie, spooky feeling like I was in a haunted house or a horror movie or something... and not being able to see any visible wax buildup or anything in her ears... It was too much. Nothing was making sense and I needed answers. And I started connecting dots to this video I had watched not long before by the YouTuber Adam Neely, who does music theory videos, he's really good. He did a video on infrasound, which... maybe you've heard of something called a "mosquito alarm" or something to that effect, it's a machine that makes an extremely high pitched sound that only young people can hear to deter them from loitering (aka to hurt their ears or upset them so much that they won't stay there). Infrasound would be the other side of the spectrum. Infrasound is very low frequency sound that is sometimes used in movies or... get this... haunted houses... because it is often imperceptible in our conscious listening, but we still process the sound... and it tends to produce a feeling of unease, and induce anxiety. In my scientific mind... it ticked all the boxes. I could explain away my ears popping as anxiety or hypervigilance, I could explain away my surreal, horror movie feeling as anxiety, but I couldn't explain my dog's reactions, or the other dude's dog's reactions either. And this, felt like it could explain all of it.

I remember that day, I went out to the stream at the edge of my yard. I was making a Zen Garden in the stream, I would go out there every day. I would sort through the gravel for beautiful stones, and I would make different shaped pools, and contour the stream, and dam and dry flooded areas, and make waterfalls. I even got to the point where I started trying to control the pitch of the waterfalls by making small pools where the water fell into, and adding or removing stones to alter the pitch. Then I tried to get the waterfalls to either be in tune, or harmonize. It was a really fucking cool idea that I really want to revisit someday. Anyway, I went to the stream, and went out to the pond edge of it to just kinda chill and reflect before the sun went down, and I looked out over the pond and what did I see? The new windmill they put up, on the far side of the small neighborhood directly across the pond. Pointed directly at me and spinning.

My gears started turning... I went... wait... do those things make sound? I mean... it's gotta make sound, it's like a giant fan... Do those make... infrasound? Go Google it for yourself. They absolutely do.

I started going into science mode. "I need evidence". I can't fucking test it, by like... asking the dude to turn it off or something, see if my dog feels a difference... I ended up finding an app that claimed it could record infrasound. Still don't know if it's legit, but... I did it. I recorded samples from my porch and yep, that thing was definitely showing infrasound readings clear as day.

This is where my embarrassment starts. Where the shame stuff starts. And the big thing carved in my head from therapy environments because of how lifechanging it was for me: trauma = shame. Shame hits people with PTSD different, from what I've seen and experienced. And at that phase of my life, I was much more concerned with safety and moving life forward, rather than letting fear of Judgement or Shame rule my life. Well, Judgement and Shame had other plans, and what ensued still haunts me to this day.

I drove over to my parents' house... I think the next afternoon. I walked in and insisted to talk to my mom. She refused to talk to me and started getting visibly angry with me, started yelling at me. I had multiple articles bookmarked on my phone, I had the recording, she did not want to see fucking any of it. She got mad and told me to leave her house immediately. I still don't understand that reaction, it had to be panic or trauma or something, it just makes no fucking sense to me. You see your adult child really scared, but just looking for a second opinion on what they've found before actually believing this theory. And you get angry and refuse to listen or look at what they found, and tell them to leave your property. Hindsight? Kind of a red flag...

I, lifelong PTSD-ridden as I am, naturally blamed myself. Yes, me going to my family for a second opinion was "clearly" an act of aggression. Yes, me seeking support in a time of crisis was "clearly" an imposition on them. Yes, me showing up at the house I grew up in unannounced was "clearly" uncalled for and invasive. What was I thinking?! You can tell a bit about my history given that these sentences were not sarcastic in my head at the time, I only shook this cult-like brainwashing very recently, within the past few years. I still struggle with it.

Now I was on my own. But I needed to do something. And my dog and cat were still at home alone. And that windmill was still spinning. And I needed to figure out what to do, what was even happening. So... I... went home. I passed a neighbor's kid on the way into my driveway, he had gone fishing by my house before, I offered his mom to give him guitar lessons if he wanted but they never followed up. They were cousins of the guy whose dog freaked out with the ear thing on my porch. I told the kid about the sound and asked if their dogs had any problems with their ears too. The dog thing? I figured dogs were more sensitive to sound than humans... I don't know, I was grasping for straws. I didn't really get much out of that, but in hindsight... it must've been weird for the kid to be flagged down and talked to about windmills and sound waves and shit. This kinda "tinfoil hat vibes" stuff pre-Covid was kiiiiinda embarrassing. (I mean, it's still embarrassing, it's just more people are publicly doing it now and it's getting oddly normalized.)

I ended up calling my vet that was around the corner. I pleaded with them to just tell me if this was a thing that other dogs in the area were dealing with, if there was a pattern. They told me... HIPPA. They fucking HIPPA'd me about general info whether there was a pattern of dog ear problems in the neighborhood. And I got a bit upset about that, I was legit just trying to gather scientific data. Honestly, this entire time... all I fucking needed was someone to fucking talk to. Someone to just make sense of what was going on and try to find some kind of answer, because it's one thing for me to suffer... I'm not going to sit here and do fucking nothing while my girl suffers. She doesn't deserve that.

Sounds like I'm still there. I'm absolutely reliving this right now. So... that's what led me to... Facebook. The last place I could think of. None of my "friends" would talk to me, they already lost their shit on me and peaced out because I asked them to show their support of my art/streaming career in a time of need. I was well and truly isolated. And I really needed someone to help me get perspective, to help - and I say this dead serious, I was literally saying it verbatim the whole time - to help prove me wrong. I was begging literally anyone to prove me wrong. Help me find a narrative that makes more sense than this, that has more evidence than this. From the very beginning, I did not want the windmill theory to be the truth. Because that meant I had to fucking move, and I had no plan whatsoever. And I was still detoxing off of meds and shit, I was in no condition to be moving. But I wasn't about to just sit in that haunted-ass house and watch my dog suffer every fucking day if there was something I could do about it.

I got off of Facebook in 2016 - meaning... my account was inactive. My ex and I got back on FB and posted a tiny bit when our relationship was doing okay. I used to fish back then, so I'd post fishing pictures and pictures in my garden and all that. But that stopped very quickly with how toxic the relationship was, and I never went back. Welp... I went back. And I posted about the windmill. And I wrote the most honest case I had. That this was my theory, this was the evidence I had found, can someone please prove me wrong? I don't remember if it was that day, or a later point... but I can actually hear in my head the dude who sold me weed saying on the phone to me "you really need to delete that post man, people are gonna think you're nuts". Or something, like he was "looking out for me". Again, little seeds planted along the way. I swear his fucking voice is like the embodiment of my anxious and self-destructive thoughts, like a fucking demon, man. What a dick.

I remember my former best friend in middle school commented on it. The first time I had heard from him in years, and the last time since. He commented something level-headed about how he would look into it and get back to me, and he didn't. That one still haunts me. Like... I'd really like to reconnect with him now that I'm a much more... complete person. Now that I actually know who I am. But I'm just so worried that he's going to look at me like some delusional nutjob.

It is so fucking hard to type when you hear what sounds like a bluefin tuna flopping on the floor above you. Especially when it's a sensitive topic, and it's 2AM. It makes me physically jump. If it continues happening past 3, I'm 100% calling the on-calls.

Anyway. Yeah. I did go back and delete that FB post. Pretty quickly. And I never went back to Facebook. All of my social contacts accumulated throughout my life were left behind because of a panicked attempt to keep my adopted animal daughters safe, and just try to understand what was happening around me. That moment was... what I equate to my solo-pandemic. It was the same exact feeling for me as the beginning of the pandemic, except it wasn't happening to anyone else and everyone around me was being aggressive insensitive assholes and telling me it wasn't real and I was crazy.

That night... was very bad. I'm not sure if I deleted the post the next day or that night... but I spent a huge chunk of the night just pacing around my apartment. Good lord, it's all flooding back, that night was so fucking cinematic I can't even put it into words. It would honestly make a good comic strip or short animation or something. But it would honestly just look like a garbled dream or something, like... it would be too strange for fiction. It would make too little sense and be too unbelievable to be presented in that medium.

It was past midnight. I had made it several hours of not having anyone talk to me, but it was just spiraling, I was completely alone, I had nothing but silence and space to think. And my dog kept fucking rubbing her ears. And I just hit a breaking point and said "I need to find a place to stay tonight that isn't here, I can't subject us to this anymore." I saw it this way... If it was physically affecting me and my dog? We were away from it for one night to see if it made a difference. If it was in my head? At least we were in a safe place, with "supportive people".

I got my dog ready, I got a small bag packed with essentials. But... I couldn't bring my cat. I couldn't get her to go into her crate. And that... I mean... it was fucking horrible, man. I was on my knees in the living room crying next to the crate because I had to leave my cat behind. This panic just kept pressing harder and harder like the house was on fire and I was just subjecting my pets to essentially low-grade torture being in that home. And the more I thought about it, the more I inflated that narrative and it kept feeling bigger and bigger and more imminent and more urgent. In the past, I would have been too ashamed to talk to anyone about any part of it, and I would have distracted myself with TV or video games and just let my pets suffer. Like a sociopath. Out of fear, out of shame. I was trying to overcome that. To not let Fear rule my life. And somehow... I put the steering wheel right back into Fear's hands, quite literally.

I left my cat behind. I took my dog out to my car. It was probably around 1 or 2AM. We got out to the car and, I shit you not, there was a fucking possum between us and the car. Big guy, hissing and everything. And Cer shockingly didn't bark. She was just like "what the fuck is that thing..." And it took off, luckily. I was already committed. I got her in the car and started driving. It was foggy. I was calling people, trying to find a place to stay. There weren't a lot of numbers to call. There was the number of a nurse that I knew at the retreat the consoling center sent me to, she seemed nice enough to potentially offer me a roof over my head. But she lived almost 2 hours away. There was a guy I used to live with for a very short period of time in the city, we tried to join a band, but he wasn't answering.

I drove to the dude who sold me weed's house since it was just up the road. I sat in his driveway for like... 2 minutes? I don't know if I called him or not, but I ended up leaving without even knocking. He gave me hell for it the next day because he had to go to work the next morning. At a gas station. You know, priorities... It's not like the entire thing was caused by him freaking me the fuck out, telling me my parents were right, telling me I was going crazy and yelling at me while I was high.

Then I went the only place left in driving distance. My parents' house. Yeah, I didn't have a lot of options. My younger brother, who I thought I was close with, lived in their house at the time. He hadn't taken over the garage that I used to live in yet. I parked in the driveway and left my car running. I called my mom's cell. Nothing. I called the landline. I could hear it ringing from the car. Nothing. I called at least 3 times. Mind you, this is the house that I grew up in since I was 11. My former bedroom there was still unused and had a fucking bed in it that was prepared to be used (and never was used) as a guest room. I... honked my horn. That was enough for a light to finally go on in the house. In my brother's bedroom. I don't remember if I called him or if he called me, but we were on the phone shortly after. I told him it was me. He was very clearly angry. Very obviously angry. And he said "you better not wake up mom and dad, they're going to be furious with you." ... Like I was a teenager or something. And I told him very fucking clearly, very articulately - "I am deeply scared and feel unsafe right now. I don't know what is going on and I just need a place that feels safe for the night that is not my house. If what I am afraid of is real? I need a safe place to stay. If I'm just freaking out? I need a safe place to stay. Please let me and my dog stay here tonight." He refused to let me into my family's home. He refused to hear anything more I had to say. He told me I was crazy, I was freaking out, I'm scaring people and I need to go home. And he fucking hung up on me and turned his lights off.

All he had to do was unlock the door and go back to sleep, and I'd leave a note saying "I stayed the night in my old room because I was alone and detoxing off of meds and deeply scared, and I just needed a place that felt safe for the night. I will leave without disturbing any of you in the morning. Signed, your son." But no. He hung up on me. And told me to go fucking home and go to sleep.

I left. I drove. It was like probably 3AM at this point. I connected with the nurse person, she helped me calm down a little bit. She was blown away at how my brother treated me, and she wished me good luck in finding a place to crash. I surprisingly got another call back that I took. It was from the guy I lived with and was trying to join a band with back in the day. I remember vividly as I was driving back on the road that led to my house... the phone cut out and I lost service, and I saw a fucking shooting star moving super slow across the sky in front of and above my car, going north. It was huge. Another surreal moment, it felt like... you know in books the illustrations at the beginning of chapters? I felt like the possum was one, and the shooting star was the other. And it started to snap me out of it a bit. I remember thinking of how cool it would be to find a meteorite, or to make jewelry out of one, or just to polish one as a precious object.

I got service back when I got back by my house. It was kind of a... crossroads. The kid on the phone said I could go and talk to his dad. His dad lived 15-20 minutes up the road. I had never met him before. Despite how me and this kid had a big falling out years later, that was a really thoughtful thing to do. To call his dad who I found out later he did not get along with... to wake him up... to say "my friend is freaking out and just needs someone to talk to and help him calm down and feel safe". That should really be a more normal thing to do... Weird that the kid himself didn't offer that considering we were supposed to be friends and he was already on the phone with me... but, I'm sure he had his reasons. So... I said "fuck it". And I drove to his dad's house.

I got there, I pulled in the driveway. It was awkward as fuck. I had my dog with me. I introduced myself. We sat on his porch and I told him a super condensed version of where I was at. I'm having weird ear popping shit and surreal feelings. My dog having ear problems, my "friend's" dog was having what looked like similar but worse problems. I didn't want my dog to end up like that. I had a theory it was infrasound, and that it might be coming from the windmill. I took a recording, here's the data. He looked at my phone like it was in Japanese for like 5 seconds and faked interest, then handed it back to me. He said the results were nonsense, that it doesn't mean anything. ... I... don't really know how he came to that conclusion... but yeah. Probably just acting confident to make the situation end quicker. And he just echoed the same shit the others said to me, just... in a less aggressive tone and with slightly more of an appearance of compassion. That I was being paranoid and this isn't a problem with the windmill, it's all in my head, I just need to go get some sleep.

After the way I had been treated so far that night, that was the kindest anyone had been to me. To tell me that this physical evidence of at very least a contributing factor (maybe the infrasound wasn't even coming from the windmill, maybe it was another source, who knows?) was "nonsense", and without any other credible connection... I guess GG? And I just resigned. I had no explanation, somehow less evidence than I started, and no theory at all about what was going on with my dog. He proposed "allergies", because... he had allergies and there was a lot of pollen that year. And I guess it was good enough for me. We said our goodbyes and I got my tired and confused pup back into the car and we headed home as dawn broke. I remember very clearly the color of the sky and fog rolling over the fields as I drove back home. Daylight definitely eased the fear.

Yeah. That was... that was a very defining moment in my life. A very small moment that came from just... normal everyday interactions... and then my trauma was set off... and I tried to be responsible and smart and use science and logic to provide security, to assuage the panic, to seek answers rather than jump to conclusions. I still feel like this was absolutely the correct way of handing that situation, over 4 years later. Then... in response to my trauma being set off... my healthy methods of addressing those trauma responses were met with... trauma. I was yelled at, threatened, gaslit. That fucked me up in ways that... I really struggle to put into words. It was like... that summer? It was like fucking They Live or something. I keep using the term "Twilight Zone" because it's the franchise like this I'm most familiar with that is the most similar. That summer was legit like one gigantic Twilight Zone marathon. Where I just woke up and every person in my life was suddenly just saying shit to me that made my jaw hit the floor in disbelief. "I just told you I'm having a panic attack... and I just need a place to crash where I feel safe... and you're telling me... to get over it and go home?" Like... Those moments, and that many in quick succession... it fucking rattled me in ways I am just now recovering from. It went right past anxiety and panic responses. I was straight up in shock. I wasn't angry. I wasn't scared. I wasn't nervous. I was completely and utterly in disbelief. I struggled to process how it was really happening, whether it was actually reality. I was looking at the equivalent of some 3000 ft tall octopus god that materialized out of the fog and my mind just... couldn't process what was happening. It was just... still. In disbelief. Shock. I really don't know how to articulate that feeling clearly. It really did feel like... "Lovecraftian", like the kind of horror that your brain and body just can't really process at all. It just short-circuits your brain and you just kinda... almost go catatonic for a bit there. Then you need a forklift to get your fucking jaw off the floor.

So yeah, not long after that I was seeking sanctuary of any kind. I didn't give a fuck about the windmill after that. I discovered the real threat. The real danger. It was under my nose the whole time. It was the reaction to my fear. It was how others around me would react to my anxiety and my trauma responses. My anxiety was never the problem, me not expressing my anxiety outwardly my entire life - instead internalizing and suffering great mental distress, fucking up my entire life and permanently physically damaging my body - that was never the problem. It was a symptom. It was a symptom of an environment where it was not safe to express fear. Where expressing your anxieties without zealous conviction of them being absolute truths, rather being inquisitive and seeking support to form educated, informed decisions... was viewed as... delusion? Somehow? Or... a threat? I legit do not understand it at all. But I have verified this in spades over the years since.

So... yeah. On one hand... I would do anything to go back in time and just never connect the dots between that dude's dog's ears and my dog's ears... and connect that to my feeling of surreality in that house... and connect that to infrasound. But, on the other hand... that cinematic journey... was probably one of the most important catastrophes of my life. Because it illuminated exactly how unhealthy not just my family was, but the other people around me as well. How damaging that environment was for someone who had been clinically diagnosed with PTSD for several years at that time, who was tapering off of medications alone, who no one would check in on despite living less than 5 minutes away from him, who no one believed in, who no one supported. It is very lonely out here, starting from scratch and being in a new city. But holy fuck, I feel so... so much more free. I feel safer being my authentic self.

Which really makes me dread... having to give that up. And I really do fear that giving up my art as my primary time/labor sink... will turn into me losing myself. To someone else's will, I guess. Or, like... I lose my agency in my life. Or like all of this was for nothing. Just because I was too scared to go out and meet the right people, or too scared to apply to galleries, or too scared to reach out to my old teachers or something. I don't feel like it's too late for that. I don't feel like it's time to give up yet.

I have come so far and sacrificed... nearly everything... to get where I am today. And there are really two things outside of material possessions that honestly... they're all a coin flip, I don't really care too much, very few are essentials... two things that I have left. My idea of who I am and what I want to do with my life. They're not that different, either.

But I'm not here to talk about my career, because that's a bit much for tonight, I've already stopped myself like 4 times before that fun campfire horror story.

There's a reflex that kicks on whenever I think about related jobs, or something to just pay the bills. It feels like giving up. It feels like turning into the people who treated me like shit, like I'm doing what they did. They all fucking gave up. Or never even tried. Taking the easier route and learning to love it. Yeah, I could be an artist... or I could just go be an artist's assistant or a teacher. And then do that for 10 years... and then go... "remember when I used to make art?" "Yeah, I still do it in my spare time, but man... I'm just so busy nowadays, who has the time?" Kinda like the way I treat video games nowadays, there just aren't enough hours in the day.

I could mentor or tutor. I could teach private lessons - art, music, art history, you name it. I could host events for intuitive and improvised drawing, teaching the meditative techniques that I've learned, the kinda occult shit you won't learn at the community college. Come by the studio, smoke a bowl if you want, maybe break out some wine, or meditate or do some breathwork first, get yourself in The Zone however you like to, and we're going to do some fun art experiments. I could read tarot. I could do art pieces on peoples' clothing, like tattoos. I could sell jewelry. I could sell carved staves, walking sticks, even carved and decorated wooden wind-chimes was one I really want to do. I can sell mini Zen Gardens, and cool little accessories for them, like hand-polished stones, or hand-made mini rakes. I could also finish my abstract series and submit it to a gallery, or submit my bird illustrations to a gallery as a series as well. I can paint peoples' grip tape. I can do all of these at the same time. All I need is to find people who are actually interested in paying for these things. And with that big of a menu, it's really hard for me to believe that I won't be able to pay rent. Like... if I charge $50 for a 3-card tarot reading (which is cheap)... I'd need like... 60 readings per month make a profit. That's an average of 2 per day, every day. I'm never going to get that many, I get that. But... with other forms of income added in? If I offer more comprehensive spreads for higher prices? If someone there wants to buy crystals or minerals from my display case, or a necklace or talisman or something? It could make up the difference. But I really think if I can find a way to do private one-on-one art/music lessons, group activities with a ticket fee, and tarot readings... I could stabilize on that. I think I could. All I really need is... to get connected socially. Because streaming and social media are very unkind to people who don't have built in social networks.

So... that's the next step. So today, I was in social "fuck it" mode. I reconnected with someone I know who, in my life, is the closest person I've ever met to a female Adam Savage. If we synergize, this could be life-changing. I'm planning on going to the nude model drawing session at the local art collective this week, and I'm planning to email the person who runs it to see if I could just meet up and talk about the local art scene, maybe before the session? Or after? Or another day? Just to make a one-on-one impression and get to know them.

So yeah. A lot is turning around and I'm very grateful for it. And I really want to say this before I go. Thank god for skateboarding. I had a lot of mental health tools in my pocket, skills on deck, ready to go. I just... didn't have a place to go to socialize with people similar to me that didn't cost fucking money. And... the skatepark is exactly that. It accepts all kinds. Skateboarding is the true American spirit - give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. We all just want to feel some wheels under our feet and push ourselves to take a leap of faith. And to feel the rewards of taking those leaps of faith, that rush of accomplishing something you previously didn't think you were capable of doing, that you battled over. That's what skating is all about. Now that I've gotten over my insecurity about being "bad"... mostly... I actually feel like... a local skater. People recognize me. I'm a regular. There's a place that people can expect to see me. And that's how things start. Skating helped me break through and get there. And it would've been much fucking easier if one motherfucking person would've gone with as support and just sat on the sidelines and watched. But hey, all's well that ends well.

It's late. I gotta turn in. If you stuck through to the end here? Thank you for reading this story. It's... not the happiest of tales. But let's consider it a cautionary tale. You never know what someone else is going through. My brain just kinda... ground to a halt here. Like I was going for some mic-drop ending and just kinda... sputtered out. Just... you never know when you might need a shoulder to cry on, or when you just suddenly feel like a scared 6 year old who had a horrific nightmare and just need someone to talk to about it, or someone to just silently pat you on the back for a few minutes, to help you feel a sense of comfort and safety in a world that can feel so infinite and empty and cold and mindless. You never know when you might need that. So... don't be afraid to offer it if you can, because you might be that person for someone else. That's what community is about, that's what friendship is about, that's what relationships are about. Give and take, mutually support each other. Compassion. That. That's really the most loving and kindest thing we could all do.

Good night!

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 8 months

Text

8/18/23

Today was a divergence from the norm. Not that there really is a norm for me anymore, but yeah... you know what I mean.

I didn't sleep great, it was really hot out. More humid than hot, I guess. I don't know why I woke up, I have my suspicions it was hunger but I honestly don't know. I struggled to get back to sleep. I checked my email and saw that my building manager emailed me back.

I was immediately pretty embarrassed, because I had deliberately emailed the assistant manager, and the manager emailed me back... so... kinda awkward? But I saw the assistant later in the day when I picked up my groceries and she was friendly, I'm guessing the weird is just in my head.

My building manager told me that the way they handle noise complaints in-house is for me to call the emergency on-call people in the building, leave my name and my apartment number and let them know what's going on. Then the on-call person will go and talk to them for me. It will be handled anonymously, and then followed up on the next day by email. That's what I was told. I told my therapist this today and his eyes kinda bugged out a bit. I had to explain to him that like... in this building, it feels like "emergency" means like... "there's a funny smell coming from my heaters at 2AM". And I literally did not call my former landlords for help when there was a big chunk of the wall rotting in. (I really should have told them, I know... it's a PTSD thing for me and I'm getting better about it.)

So... basically... I am going to have to wake someone up at 2AM or later... and call them... and let them know that my neighbor sounds like their moving furniture at all hours of the night for the 3rd night in a row. I have to treat it like calling front desk at a hotel at 2AM, I guess. Yeah, that makes more sense for my brain.

I feel bad for the on-call people, I met one the first week I was here, she was super nice. I just feel bad waking someone up at 2AM because... I can't sleep. Feels contradictory. But yeah, I mean... they're getting paid... so... it is what it is.

So I'm kinda getting ready for possibly having to do that tonight. If not, it will most likely be next Tuesday. This does seem to be a recurring trend around Monday-Tuesdays. It sucks but once it's over with, hopefully it's over with for good. And, as I said to my therapist, it's better than banging on the ceiling with a stick... which would most likely come off as angry and provocative. I do have to say, last night? I was seconds away from doing that. I had my staff raised to the roof and ready, at 3:30AM. But I talked myself out of it. It's for the best.

So... today was super low-key and chill. I didn't skate, I didn't really do art... (that's a lie but I'll get to that). I haven't even done yoga yet. Just a super slow moving chill rest day, after 3 days in a row of intense skating. I'm glad I did it, I really can tell I needed a day off. Once I get in a groove with skating and snowskating, all I want to do is be at the park. And my body needs to recover. So... yeah, today was a good excuse to celebrate my accomplishments and just chill.

I got groceries, that was good. It was more expensive than I was planning... it always fucking seems to be... but it was a lot of bulk stuff so that's good. And I didn't have any problems with the order, which is always great.

The big landmark of the day was therapy. My therapist actually deliberately took time to point out that my entrance into the session today was confidently positive, and he could tell a big difference in me. He said I usually say I'm doing "okay" or "mixed" or "hanging in there", shit like that. Today, I was doing well. There was some talk about how in the past... this has been mistaken for "mania" by untrained eyes. That made me go down some difficult memory hallways, but it's good to know that this sensation of actually doing well... actually making progress against my struggles... is not an illness or illusion within itself. And I'm really going to struggle to forgive the gaslighters who planted those seeds in my head. How fucking evil is that? To convince someone that they're delusional and acting dangerous or "reckless" when they FINALLY make unassisted progress with their crippling anxiety and depression. All because "you changed".

Yeah, no fucking shit I changed, I was an insecure paranoid lump of depression! No shit I changed!!! Why the fuck would I stay as that?! That's not me. That's a state that I am in. I am so much more than that.

That was another point covered today - my struggle to kinda... distinguish between anxious thoughts and others. And I explained the intense reactions I got when I was talking about snowskating the rotary the other day... where I was worried I might have like... given the kid bad advice to skate there and he's just going to get busted... or made myself look stupid for skating at a spot that is like... an obvious kick-out spot. I don't even know the specific fear I had, but it was fucking intense Twilight Zone feelings for like... 15 seconds. And... I'm guessing the conclusion on that is... that was a trauma response? Not an anxiety one? And I'm pretty sure that trauma is like... leaking information to the wrong people. Having my boundaries be too thin and just handing a dossier to an enemy spy or something. That, of course, flashing me back emotionally to many different traumatic incidents of betrayal where that did happen with very close people, including family.

So... I really tried to emphasize that I'm now struggling to identify the anxiety in that at all. And I fear that I might actually deeply struggle to identify the anxious thoughts in the first place, which would explain a lot of my struggles so far. The way I tried to explain it was... the thoughts sound the same in my head. They're all the same voice, the same tone, and I don't really think there are physical or emotional tells either? Or I'm just not used to them? Or I'm just not tuned in to them? So it's really hard for me to distinguish between anxiety and just... self-protective conscience, I guess.

Let me give an example that just popped into my head. I fucking miss walking barefoot, I am always barefoot in my house, all the time. But I don't walk around barefoot in the apartment building. I just pictured myself taking my trash to the trash room down the hall barefoot... and corrected myself... and went "yeah, it's a good idea to put shoes on for that." In this case, this is not for personal safety. This would be for like... other peoples' weird phobias. Not wanting to upset someone and have them tell me to put shoes on because... apparently the bottom of my feet are dirtier than... the bottom of their boots? Somehow?

Is this anxiety? Is it common courtesy? Is it avoiding potential conflict? I don't know! I'm leaning towards anxiety, honestly. And... I guess... it's all a numbers game in the end.

Oh shit, here's a really fucking good story that feels relevant. When I was... I guess in my mid-20's... It was right before I went for my solo thru-hike... I finally started to "date" again after my college ex "love of my life" broke up with me. I went on a few dates with this chick who I met on a dating site, the first person I dated since my college ex. I decided, on impulse, to take her on a trip to a beach 5 hours away in another state - like I used to do with my college friends back in the day. No plan, just spur of the moment hopping in a car, I'll drive, adventure time. We had only been going out for about 2 weeks, so only a few dates. She actually went with me.

I don't remember anything but us getting to the beach and the hotel room after. I remember getting to the beach and it was night and a storm was rolling in. I think the plan was to hang out at the beach and maybe find a place to park nearby and sleep in the car? Again, no plan so we were just winging it. A big lightning storm started rolling in from across the ocean. And I remember being on the beach, and seeing the lightning crashing, and just being so fucking scared out of my mind that I was going to get struck, but still allowing myself to be out there. I don't think I've ever felt that fucking vulnerable in my life. I don't even remember if she went outside the car with me. I think I just like... ran a short loop along the beach in the rain and looped back. After that, we decided to get a hotel room (I covered all of it) and I remember that she wanted to sleep in separate beds. And that was... upsetting to me. Because I hadn't shared a bed with anyone since my ex, and I missed that sense of closeness so much. I was really disappointed. And I get why, now that I'm older, who knows what baggage she had. But yeah, she broke up with me not long after that trip. Refused to even drive me to the trailhead, and she had agreed to be the person to do that ahead of time... so I had to have my mom do it instead. So... not only did I do a 3-day thru hike alone... barefoot... but I did it a day or two after that chick broke up with me. Yay.

Back to the point of the story. Now? The most recent storm we had, I was scared to sit near my big windows when lightning was crashing outside. So... here's the juxtaposition I'm struggling with. Was the beach trip... reckless or brave? Was the self-protective caution trying to keep me in that car, that I managed to override in order to have my adventure... was that healthy fear? Or was it anxiety? And, comparatively, is my anxiety of being scared of being struck by lightning... while sitting on the floor on the middle floor of a 3 story building that is not the tallest building in the region... is that fear... reasonable? Or is it anxiety?

Where is the fucking line? How can I tell the difference? That's what I'm saying when I say "those two voices sound the same". I told my therapist "the voice that says 'watch out, there's a pebble up ahead' when I'm skating sounds and feels the same as the one that says 'don't call the community college about the teacher job, you're just wasting everyone's time, you know you're not qualified for that'". It's the same mechanism, and it really feels like the same experience... so how the fuck can I tell the difference? How can I classify it?

And... if I can't classify these thoughts as "healthy anxiety" and "damaging anxiety", then it really doesn't matter how much practice I do with skills or how many tools I have at my disposal, because I don't fucking know when to use them!

Skating has helped dramatically in my dismantling of my anxieties. Really trying to visualize what I think is going to happen that's making me scared of a trick, rather than just going... "yeah, I'll just not even bother trying that trick"... Actually engaging with that fear and accommodating for it has made a gargantuan difference.

Oh, while we're here, maybe a bit of a sidetrack... but Dan Corrigan said something super memorable in today's video and I wanted to quote him. He said that the best skateboarders are the best fallers, they can fall correctly and safely and keep getting back up to try again until they land it. I think that's super applicable to all kinds of shit in life.

Maybe I'm reminding myself of that for a reason. See... I'm so consumed in this... "early threat detection" method. Identify the anxiety as soon as possible, so I can thwart it with tools. When really, I just need to know how to handle the situation if it goes wrong. I don't know if I'm articulating myself clearly. Like... if I'm worried that I'm going to upset a person at the community college for "wasting their time" or whatever... I mean... okay... so... say that actually happens. Say I go there in person and I show an interest in part time teaching and I get a meeting with someone... and I say "yeah, so... I have a bachelors and I've been making art for 15 years" and they go... "yeah, you need a master's, it says it clearly right here on our application you dumbass stupid little dumb dumb-head idiot." Well, first off... that person is straight up getting fired if they do that... super unprofessional... Second, I can just follow up from there. "Are there any jobs you can think of in art education that I could qualify for? Any help would be greatly appreciated." Is that scary? That was like... a kneejerk response, first thought, no preparation... and an honest one, too. No embarrassment, no waste of time... in fact, it's demonstrating very clearly that I value their opinion. That's me taking the "fall" and rolling the fuck out of it rather than falling flat on my face. And I am actually very skilled at that.

I'm scared of skating because I haven't fallen enough and I'm afraid I don't remember how to fall correctly. I'm scared of social stuff like that too. Sending cold-call emails is a big one, calling people out of the blue, shit like that. Why? My first impulse says it all. "I have no one to proofread before I send it". And why would I need someone else to proofread my shit? Because I'm afraid I missed something, I'm afraid --- I'm afraid that I'm sending those messages from summer 2019. It's a trauma thing. UGH. THAT is why this is so much harder than anxiety.

God dammit and my therapist told me that too, he was just a bit quick with it and I didn't entirely follow. Anxiety is a whole other beast when trauma gets its hands on it and proves that anxiety right. Do that enough times, that's ingredients to make a shut-in. And a lot of my trauma is around reaching out to people (both close to me from the past and complete strangers) and... getting some really bad life-changing shit come back my way. Where if I had one friend give me their thoughts on the emails? They could have cautioned me that I was oversharing, or being too... spiritually cryptic or woo-woo... and spared me the embarrassment, and possibly even the trauma.

You know... when I was at the retreat where I was detoxing off meds... I had a roommate that was just entering his 40's. He was a good guy, I mean that, he just had been through fucking hell and you could tell. He was very emotionally detached and... inexperienced, I guess? And that led to anger mismanagement and outbursts, because he just didn't have any experience working with it. It was just stuffed down and down and down until the pressure cooker popped, and that's just not how you manage emotions. I learned a lot about that in my family, a masterclass on repressed emotions... I learned that a great indicator that someone is severely inexperienced with a specific emotion is if they seem a bit... child-like in their method of expressing it. Like a child throwing a tantrum. That's a good indicator of someone who hasn't refined their method of dealing with that headspace since... around that age. I think, at least.

But anyway... we had a moment one night where I was trying to bond with him... and he was sharing stories about his ex who I guess recently broke up with him... and I wanted to share with him the email that I sent to my ex. I sent it on Facebook, actually... I think... of all places... I wanted to share it because I could tell he was being vulnerable with me and I wanted to meet him there, and I wanted to share something I had never shared with anyone... something I felt was like... one of my greatest mistakes, my biggest shames, involving what I considered the "love of my life". Like "I never should've sent that shit, I pray she never read it". And... he didn't give me time to share it. I remember having it up on my phone and ready to read to him, and it would've been my first time re-reading it since I sent it. I literally don't know what it says. I remember years later... going back and reading the email... and it was really heartfelt, it wasn't bad. And honestly, I'd like to read it again. I'm so fucking tired of frantically running from this shit.

What my therapist told me today, and I've heard this in other places too and fucking hell is it solid gold. Write this shit down if you're reading this. When looking at the past, keep in mind - "I did the best I could with what I knew back then." I swear, that shit makes a big difference if you're anything like me.

Welp... I just signed into Facebook and fucking read that. My heart is pounding. Facebook is not a safe place for me. Facebook is a trauma within itself that I'm not getting into tonight. But I just found a message on there from two fucking years ago. It was my friend that I played minecraft with over 10 years ago, who I went to visit in person for the first time on my solo road trip. I drove 12+ hours straight and got to her apartment that night, our first time ever seeing each other in person, and passed out on her pull-out couch. I was so fucking exhausted, I had all the windows open, chain smoking and periodically pinching my thighs to keep myself awake on the highway as I was getting into the city she lived in. That was like... the least safe I've ever driven in my life. I have seen this chick on Instagram a lot, I've even liked some of her posts from my art profile. But... i don't think she knows it's me. And after I saw that facebook message from 2 years ago... that was her reminiscing on how we hadn't talked in... 10 years... It shows me she still remembers me. And she grew up pretty damn close to where I'm currently living, no more than an hour away. And she went to college for engineering and is now really into doing her own cosplay from what I see. She'd be a really good person for me to reconnect with, at least see if she's in the state. Or just to be a friend, you know? So, that was a cool impulse decision to open that up and see that.

Reading the message to my ex? That was... man, that was a rollercoaster. There was some cringe in there. Specifically... the stuff about the I Ching, that I was fanatic about at the time - though honestly, I recovered from it gracefully in the message through self-deprecating humor. And the fact that it was like 5 fucking pages long was kinda rough... It just kept going and going. It was literally a summary of my life from when she left to where I was at the time. And there was a lot of apologizing for my family. And asking her if she wanted to get coffee sometime was corny... but I immediately recovered from it... I think it was intentional. I think it was a coy way of like... breaking the awkwardness and saying what someone would expect an ex coming out of the woodwork to say... like "let's give this another shot", and then springing that at like... page 4? XD But I immediately followed it up by saying... getting back to our roots, back to where we started when we met. Because when we met, we used to just go get coffee and dinner after art classes and just talk for hours, as good friends. For like... a year and a half before I finally grew the balls to ask her out. All-in-all, it shared a lot. I don't know why I felt compelled to share all of that... rather than just... ask for a meeting or phone call and then share after the fact? I'm going to chalk that up to inexperience. Which I also commented on very self-aware in the message.

But a good thing I need to notice in here? The entire message was very coherent, and I'm reading this 4 years later... I was likely high at the time, I was smoking a ton of weed back then, and none of it sounds any different than how I communicate now. At all. It clearly sounds like my voice. I could even hear my own inflection in the phrasing when I read it back. And that. That letter is probably my biggest "cringe" trauma regarding writing, sending letters, cold-calls, etc. That's one of the core reasons why I feel compelled to get a second opinion on important emails and texts and applications and shit. I don't trust myself. I don't trust my writing. And I'm a writer! (See how that might cause a problem?...)

I have written here every fucking night for almost a year now. I post it publicly. I don't even edit it. And I'm scared to write an email to my old drawing teacher, who really took a liking to me. I'm scared to write to my old painting teacher who I hugged at her boyfriend's funeral. I'm scared to write my former friend - who I was a groomsman for - to turn down his graphic design commission. I'm scared to send an Instagram message to this chick who already took the plunge and sent me a cold-call FB message 2 years ago! And my justification? I just need someone to look this over for me. Just to see if there's anything I'm missing. Just in case. The implication, of course, being that I have already screwed it up and I'm just not seeing it.

And I will stall on sending those things, those applications, those emails... for weeks, months... years... until eventually, you just come to terms with the fact that it's not stalling anymore, it's avoidance. All because your own parent and your former best friend (who happened to be a crisis counselor and became a psychology professor) falsely diagnosed my unsupported battle with panic attacks/isolation, my discovery of my spiritual self and my reconnection with my confidence... as delusion. And they ground that into me until I believed it myself. And to this day... I can still feel those roots deep in my brain.

That's why I apologized for my family so much in the message. That message must have been sent after they turned on me. And I was apologizing to her, because I was trying to after-the-fact protect her from them. To apologize for anything my mother might have said to her, because I remember distinctly them having a private conversation the first time they met without me present... I was in the next room with my leg elevated all fucked up on Percoset transcribing music by ear. I remember it clear as day, I was transcribing Tides of Man for all instruments. And I have no idea what they talked about, but she left and never came back with no explanation very very shortly after that... like one or two days after that. And I have strong suspicions my mom might have played a part in that, still to this day. So yeah, I think that might've been a big motivator in why I sent that message... maybe that's when I connected the dots that she broke up with me right after I moved back home and right after she first met my family.

Anyway. Yeah. I guess... it turns out... the worst-case-scenario ghost memory in my head of me writing some nonsense incoherent babble to some poor woman who dated me for 8 months in college... That's kinda the ignorant take on what happened there. That was an extremely heartfelt letter I wrote to someone who literally changed my life, at an extremely pivotal time in my life. My first experience staring death in the face. And transitioning from college into the "real world". I don't take those things lightly. And I felt, because she was present at important times... that meant she was an important person in my life. Because... that's how kids who are raised with absent parents think. If my parent was present at this time, it means they were an important person at that time. Even if they were essentially a glorified background actor, rather than being supportive or nurturing. I truly believed back then that if someone was present in the room with me at the time of an important event, and wearing the uniform of someone important... that meant they were important to me. And in the years since, I have learned so fucking much more than that. I have learned that the standards I keep for myself in those roles... that's the standard I should hold others too as well. I would not sit there on my phone silently while my boyfriend faced a choice between likely death or amputation. But... at the time I wrote that letter, I hadn't received this insight yet. I was still in the mindset of "it was a blessing that you even showed up". She didn't even want to drive me to the hospital, and put up resistance when the paramedics at the festival we were at insisted she take me. God, so many red flags, in hindsight... XD

Wow... that was a really unexpected trip down memory lane. All because... I struggle to write emails, to make phone calls, to put in job applications. Because it brings me back to that time of my life... when I was more than willing to do all of those things. And I did. And I was pretty damn good at it. But people very close to me turned that against me... redirecting my deepest fears tracing back to my first series of panic attacks that failed me out of college... and turning them against me... to stop me in my tracks. To stop me from doing what I was doing. For whatever reason they had, that is still unknown to me. They turned me against myself, and I'm still weeding out that infection to this day.

That kinda makes the email I sent to the building manager last night seem like a titanic feat, doesn't it? I'm very proud of myself. I took most of the day to just chill and celebrate my accomplishments. I do need to figure out job stuff soon enough, but not today. I played a lot of Elden Ring and... I started playing around with making a bead-sanding machine out of wooden skewers and gorilla glue. It didn't quite work, I'm not an engineer, I've never really tried to build anything like this before. It was basically just a skewer with a hand crank glued to the end, so it has a right angle bar going off the end, then another right angle for a handle, and then I inserted the skewer end through a hollowed out larger wooden dowel as a support that was held in my vice. It turns, it does what it's supposed to do, but it was a bit too flimsy and didn't hold up to pressure very well. I ended up just sanding by hand, it ended up being easier. So... I kinda did work today. Because I built a simple wooden machine and sanded like 4-5 beads.

And I will need to try to heat-set the pants tonight, so I kinda need to go and do that. It got super late, it's definitely time for bed. (Hey, guess what? Haven't heard any thump-thumps tonight... Guess something changed up there...)

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 8 months

Text

8/17/23

I'm fucking exhausted so I'm going to try to keep this short.

My upstairs neighbor was thumping around every 10 minutes until 4 AM last night. I actually got to bed at a reasonable time and my bed was literally shaking. I have no fucking clue what they were doing, it was just like one or two thumps at a time so it wasn't even walking around but it was loud, like... sounded like someone was moving furniture. Steadily from midnight until 4. It might've continued past then, that's when I managed to fall asleep. I was fucking livid. But more just like... in physical shock from being jolted awake that many times in a row.

I still sleep with my staff in my bed. It makes me feel safe. You have no idea how tempting it is to take that thing and just bang on the ceiling (their floorboards) really loud. But honestly, I don't want confrontation, I don't want hostility, I don't want a war. I just want peace. In all senses of the word.

My back was hurting a bit this morning. I think it's because of sitting and doing art for hours on end. Speaking of... I just finished the celtic knot on my pants. The right leg one, at least... Just in time, the pants are getting mighty stinky since I've been wearing them skating for multi-hour sessions three consecutive days in a row, where I ended up pouring sweat. My plan is to wait until tomorrow night to give the paint time to dry, heat set the paint with an iron, then... maybe hand-wash them? Maybe just run them in the washing machine with other clothes? I don't know. I'm scared to put them in the wash, I haven't done that yet with this paint. I'm sure it'll be okay, but... I mean... I just sank over 6 hours into these pants this week. It'd be frustrating to lose it all immediately. But that's a problem for another day.

I did yoga focusing on my back, because my back was aching. It helped a lot. I ate breakfast, played some Elden Ring, then decided to go skating. Before I went... I sent a message to the Assistant Manager of the building. She's the woman who has been very friendly and kinda flirty with me. I wrote her about the neighbor. I fucking just finally got over it and did it, just like trying a new skate trick. I just wrote up what was going on - that I'm new to apartment living so I don't know how to handle this, how this wasn't a problem at all during the winter, how it only really happens a few days a week, and how last night was so loud and constant that I was genuinely concerned someone might've been having a medical emergency or something. It was deeply unsettling. I didn't put in any part about PTSD or anything, which is good progress for my fawning response. In fact, I didn't really feel any anxiety about writing that email, which was good. So I kinda just asked her... how the building usually handles things like this, whether I should go up and... guess(?) what apartment is above me? Should I leave a note? Does the apartment help mediate things like this since they have a "quiet living" clause in the lease, kinda similar to "quiet hours" in a college dorm? I figured the best way to figure this out once and for all was just to fucking ask. And I decided to ask the chick that I think has a thing for me rather than the head Manager, because... I don't want the Manager to feel like I'm wasting her time with a noise complaint. And I want the Assistant Manager to feel like I value her opinion, something Assistants don't often feel. We'll see how it turns out.

It's been a long time since I've done the whole "fire and forget" method with emails. I've gotten in that habit with this journal really well, but writing directly to someone is just a different animal.

Skating was good today. There was just one other person at the park. It had been raining through the night and a bit of the day, so the park was pretty wet... but I was able to work on some stuff. I tried ollie-to-manual on the A-frame box and got it one time. The other guy landed switch flip and switch front shove, which was very impressive. We both exchanged knowing smiles and cheers of encouragement, despite both of us having headphones in. It was a really nice vibe of kinship. Like... there wasn't pressure to talk or interact even though we were the only ones there. And we still interacted.

There is really nothing like the smile on someone's face when they land a trick they've been battling. Good lord. It's very similar to beating a boss in Elden Ring for the first time. I fucking love that about skating. It does get sweaty sometimes and people do like to compare and play skate and compete against each other and shit. And to each their own. But man, I love that people can really just get out of their own experience, and watch someone land their first boardslide after battling it for like an hour, and cheer as though someone just did something insane. Because they know how big every accomplishment is. And I love being someone at the park who helps project my warm emotions to help amplify their experience of accomplishment. To celebrate with them. You can say all day that kinship is about pushing people to go further, shit like that... I prefer the act of sharing in celebration of their accomplishments. Even just showing up to the damn park is an accomplishment worth celebrating.

That said, I was a bit shy today. Not with the ollie-to-manual or trying to boardslide the parking blocks again... but with the shove it. My shove its look infantile, and I'm very aware of it. And yeah, that's me comparing. In time, I'll get over that. I am where I am. Once the other guy left, with a smile and a wave, I started working on shove its. I had the whole park to myself. And... the fear was back. I couldn't make myself jump forward. It's so silly! Like... okay, this is how fucking irrational the fear is.

My fear is that I'm going to land too far on the back of the board and slip out backwards. Or... my balance won't be right and the board will go shooting out forward and I Looney Tunes my feet out from under me and fall flat on my back or smack my head. That's my fear. It's like a stereotypical banana peel fear. Now... here's the physics of a shove it. I pop the board with my back foot and scoop the tail backwards so that the board rotates horizontally 180 degrees, I hop and land back on the board over the truck bolts (ideally). Here are the physics of ollie-to-manual. I pop the board straight up, land with most of my weight on my back foot, riding on the back two wheels, and hold the board in manual until I get to the end of the box, then gently pop off. Which one of those two sounds like it's going to put me on my back? Yeah, seriously, the manual is so much more likely to toss me on my ass in exactly the way I'm fearing the shove it. But... I'm not scared of the ollie-to-manual that way at all. Figure that shit out.

It took a few tries but I got there. I landed quite a few shove its, over 10. I tried to do them moving faster and faster. Carrying speed with tricks is the real test. You can shove it on flat all day, but that doesn't mean you can land it moving or land it off something. And yeah, it was spooky, but I made progress and landed a bunch.

Ugh, a mosquito got into my apartment and bit my arm, it's all itchy now. :( We really got a bumper crop of bugs this year, all the rain and flooding and shit, it's been an absolute nightmare. When I rode home I was really glad I brought my sunglasses, because I rode through several clouds of swarming bugs and they just like... pelted off my face. It was gnarly. Some women out walking their dogs stopped me and asked me about the bugs after, I looked back and saw the gigantic cloud of them I just rode through, that I was completely unaware of because the light wasn't illuminating them from the direction I was going. It's nice to just... have normal human conversations with people. And nice to be treated as a human and a peer by neighbors. Skaters have gotten a lot of prejudice over the years, but this woman seemed totally fine talking to a guy wearing all black with a metal band t-shirt riding a skateboard with aviators on. And it was much appreciated. But I was wiped and headed out.

Yeah, so that was my day. Didn't land any new tricks, but I'll say this much... if I get my boneless 360 back, and learn how to consistently shove it? I will be at my best skating ability ever. I will have eclipsed my ability in my prime, in college. That's such a crazy thought. 10 years off the board, and I'm already getting better than I was back then. Because now? I have new tactics. I don't just avoid tricks that are scary. I have developed an override switch for scary tricks that I didn't have back then. I would just say "I can't do that", and just do different tricks. Now? Now I try.

The fucking neighbor stomped again. ... -_- I sent the email at like 5PM so I didn't expect a response today, but like... Okay, let me just explain my thoughts here. Say I apply for the teaching job. Say I get the teaching job, and I have to teach a class at 10AM 2 days a week. I really need my sleep schedule to sync with that, I need to be up at... I'd say around 8 or 9? So I can do yoga and shower and eat before class. So... for 8 hours of sleep, I need to be in bed at 12. It's fucking 1:45 right now and asshat upstairs sounds like Jack Torrance slamming the fucking tennis ball against the wall. I will not be able to sleep like that. And when I don't get sleep, my mental health immediately goes to shit. I get super anxious, I get depressed, I get irritable, and my trauma responses are like a hair trigger. It is the primary reason why this summer has been so difficult. So... if I get that job... I better be able to protect my sleep. Because if I get that job, it's gonna be hard enough just getting to sleep normally with how anxious I'll be, how scary it's going to be, and how intense it's going to be for my mental health to be the focal point of an entire classroom... Doing that on half a night's sleep? I'm genuinely afraid I'm just going to just straight up have a panic attack and have to excuse myself. Or just fucking lose the job.

Yeah, maybe I'm paranoid. But I think it's important to calculate that. And this is a known variable, lack of sleep clearly amplifies the fuck out of my anxiety, panic and trauma responses. I just don't need it. And for what? So some asshole in the apartment above me can stomp around at 2-4 AM as though they live in a barn or some shit? I put in the email that I didn't think this was malicious, and I mean that shit. I think these people are fucking stupid. I think they're oblivious and stupid. It just does not occur to them at all that they live in proximity to other people. Like a fucking object permanence thing. Like the second other people disappear out of their sight, their neighbors just don't exist. They live on the top floor of a 3 story building. And they wear shoes inside. And they do not walk with care at 2AM. Which is so fucking foreign to me.

But yeah, this shit needs to stop. If it was a weekend, I'd give a bit more leeway, but this shit happened on a motherfucking Tuesday and Wednesday night. Give me a fucking break, man. Bro is stomping around at 4AM on a Wednesday morning directly above someone's bedroom. At this hour? I fucking tiptoe around my apartment. And I'm always either barefoot or in socks, at all times.

They say "were you raised in a barn", but honestly? I have never in my life heard as much fucking domestic noise as I have apartment buildings in urban areas. People just straight up let their front doors slam behind them. Regularly. It's fucking mind-blowing. Not only is it loud as fuck and super inconsiderate of your neighbors, it's really not good for the doorframe, and that shit doesn't belong to you! Shit is so fucking strange to me, like creatures raised on another planet. But hell, maybe I am the weird one. All polite and mindful and quiet and shit.

Alright, I've got to get to bed. Fingers crossed this week's grocery guy isn't as bad as last week's, good lord...

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/16/23

Just got off stream. 8 out of 10.5 of these celtic knot patterns on my jeans are outlined now. I don't know why I thought the outlines would be quicker than the fill, that was actually really silly... the fill is much quicker. You don't have to be accurate at all. The outline is very precise, even when you're following guide lines, so it takes much longer.

Stream was dead tonight, no clue if there were even viewers, I turned off my viewer count ages ago. Too depressing. I just periodically look up to see if anyone has chatted recently, when I break my art-trance long enough to remember to check.

My brain is super scattered today. I guess I'll just take this from the top, first thing of note from the furthest back. I watched a video about generalized anxiety last night. It was by the woman who made the video that had a safe place exercise for people with PTSD that really was a cornerstone in my transition into this apartment. She was recommending something that I, for a long time, pushed back against. To treat your anxiety as though it's a different person, as though it's separate from you. I disagreed on this for a very long time, because... there are useful anxieties. There are helpful anxieties. Anxiety is there to keep you safe. But when it becomes a disorder, it jumps around to all kinds of shit and blows shit way out of proportion. But it's still the same "muscle" that raises the hair on the back of your neck when there's a wild animal in the woods in front of you. And that is clearly part of myself. A very deep, primal part, but part of me none-the-less. So... I always felt very weird separating those parts, because you can't really split good and bad anxiety either.

Like... where do you define the line? Because I often think people are neurotic for washing their hands all the fucking time (not like... Covid-wise, like soil-wise). Like... okay... you got some dirt on your hands... and you're going to walk around limp-wristing like you have human shit on your hands, and then scrub scrub scrub. It seems a bit... overanxious to me. Always has. The same with throwing away perfectly good food because of arbitrary shelving dates and shit. But most people consider that "normal" fear, and not an anxiety disorder... Where... if I was doing that? That would definitely be an indicator my anxiety is getting a bit out of hand. It's really hard to define that line.

So... I always kept my anxiety as part of me, my depression as a part of me. I never made a distinct division to treat them as though we are... separate people. But she was really encouraging that. I really do understand why, and after this much time and experience working directly with anxiety, I get the reason... but I fear that I would struggle with it pretty deeply if I were given that advice in the past. Like... feeling like I was using my anxiety as a scapegoat, when I knew damn well it was part of me, like I was trying to trick myself or lie to myself. Hell, maybe that's just me, but it caused some real problems in the past.

Now that I've jumped that hurdle, her points really do make sense and seem helpful. The point is less to detach from responsibility - which I fear could sorta lead to a "victim" mentality of like... being possessed by a spirit or something... - but more to be able to clearly identify which thoughts are anxiety and which are common worry, as they happen. To classify your fear reactions. And I can do that with panic, that's fucking easy. If I start feeling like the world is about to end and there's a giant hooded skeleton on a beastly horse behind me with a flaming sword or some shit... that's probably panic. Or trauma. The big bad ones. But anxieties have been tougher to identify.

Like... okay, let's go to skating already. Most people won't even get on a fucking skateboard. But for some reason... they don't feel like roller skates or rollerblades aren't as dangerous? And bicycles, good lord, don't even get me started. You have no idea how fucking dumb it is to me that people are totally on-board with getting on a metal framed two wheeled vehicle... but think you're going to immediately die if you get on a plank of wood on four wheels. It's mind-boggling to me. Bikes are so much more dangerous. They're very difficult to dismount, they go way the fuck faster, they are teetering at all times and one big gust of wind from the side could send you off. Skateboards? You're pretty capped at a low speed, unless you're nuts. You can get off the thing any time you want. It has a stable wheelbase. It just makes no logical sense to me whatsoever that a skateboard would be considered more dangerous than a bike. Like... out of bicycles, rollerblades and skateboards, I would put skateboards as the safest hands down. That looks like people being irrationally worried to me.

So, that was my way of trying to make the skateboard anxiety battle relatable, now I'm going to get into my shit. So... the past several sessions I was in a bit of a rut. I wasn't moving forward skating-wise. I would just sorta push around and try the same few tricks. Then, yesterday, I faced "the fear" and learned ollie-to-manual on a box and FS 50-50. Today? I still had those tricks. And I added in 50-50 to FS 180 out, which was harder than I thought. Just adjusting my feet while the board was grinding took a lot of getting used to. And I landed ollie-to-manual on the whole A-frame box, which was a hell of a feeling! But the big one, the one I really want to talk about? Shove it.

I landed at least 7 shove its today. I have been doing nollie shove its pretty regularly. When you go out of nosemanual, it's basically just pivoting the board off the front wheels and spinning it around 180. The front wheels don't even leave the ground half the time. I could do that pretty consistently. Today, I was feeling much more confident and consistent on my board. I decided today was the day and I just needed to do it. It's a big hurdle for me.

On snowskate, I have shove it locked down. It's a go-to trick for me. But skateboard is just way different. At least, the mind game is. So... here's what got me. I fell. I was doing an ollie-to-manual on the box, I put my wheels down too early and landed weird and spun out and fell onto my back. There was a giant sweat-print of me on the ground and everything. I was saying to one of the kids there earlier, I honestly don't know if I remember how to fall. It's been a long time since I fell. Well, today I fell. And I remembered how to fall. It went fine, I'm not even sore. I rolled out all the momentum, there was no blunt impact, it was fine. After that fall, I said fuck it and went for the shove it, worst case... I fall like that again... but slower. The thing that gets me with the shove it? It's a trust trick. Faith, really. I have to trust that the board is going to be under me when I land. So, I pop and rotate the board, and I need to hop slightly forward to be able to land it. And if I do, I'm fine. But slightly forward means... you're in the board's path now. You're either landing on it, it's hitting you in the ankle, or you're landing on the tail and slipping out. You just have to trust the board to be where it's supposed to be, where you put it. And just... hop. And once you get it, it really doesn't feel bad... but the fear is the enemy there. The anxiety in my head is... "the board is going to go shooting out and I'm going to fall on my back". Guess what? I just fell on my back... with speed, too. This is nothing.

So... would you define the fear of the board shooting out an irrational fear? An anxiety? Or a healthy fear? To protect you from slipping on black ice or something. It's the same mechanism. It feels the same. It can be just as hard to overcome, to master. I guess, in the end? The goal is to take anxiety under advisement, and act separately from that. Not let fear control you - not let fear make decisions for you. And my battle with skating, my journey of self-improvement through challenging my fears, has been all about this. Taking the fear under advisement, then going and seeing for myself.

But social anxiety can get a little weird, and that was something I wanted to touch on. The experiential sensations of... well... I guess what I'm really trying to get to the root of is the big difference between somewhat reasonable fears (I'm on a skateboard and I'm about to do a potentially dangerous trick = reasonable fear) and somewhat ridiculous fears. For example, I was talking to a kid at the skatepark about snowskating at the rotary park last winter, second time I've talked about it now. And I didn't have a cop talk to me once that whole winter. Not once. I just had that one night when the cops parked at the top of the rotary and watched me skate down the sidewalks in a blizzard, likely because they were bored as fuck and it was miserable out. They could have easily stopped me at any point. So... I'm telling this kid about how fun it was to skate there over the winter, and I started to get this intense overwhelming feeling... kinda like shame, I guess? I can identify it when it happens, I think it's a trauma response but it might just be intense anxiety, I really don't know. But I really felt like... like I shouldn't be telling him this. Like I'm going to get him in trouble, or maybe I'm going to lose access to the rotary park now because I'm chatting it up. Like... there are literally No Skateboarding signs all over that park (that I didn't see until Spring), $150 fines and everything. Which is fucking dumb as shit, but I get it when there's traffic on all sides. Snowskate is way different though, you don't get enough speed to go flying into traffic. It's like... a physical impossibility. It's way safer.

But I just got this intense feeling, very distinct, like... embarrassment? Or... "stop talking". It really felt like a voice inside me that said "you shouldn't have said that". Again, like I was giving the guy bad advice, or was going to get the spot shut down from too many people going to skate it. Or maybe that I was dumb for skating a spot that was clearly marked with signs, and I just somehow got super lucky like... 3 times a week all winter? I mean, I skated that shit all season, from first snow to last slush. But, I mean... if I was there with like 3 other people... maybe it would've been a different story? Idk. I still can't parse it.

My point with all this... it was a very distinct feeling. My only physical... (I guess?) anxiety reaction. It felt... surreal. It felt on par to like... telling a scam artist my PIN number or something. It's really hard for me to put that feeling into words. And it's kinda emotional, kinda sensory? Just... a moment of surreality is the best way I can put it.

So... going back to the woman's video. I can definitely label that voice there, that surreal interaction, that surreal sensation... as a separate part of me. It's me... but a different part of me that is intruding and taking the steering wheel. Which part is it, though? Is it anxiety? Is it a trauma response? Both?

I don't remember the whole video, it was three steps... okay, I remember now. XD It came back. So... the first was to separate and identify. Which I guess I'm still in the process of. Goddamn would it be fucking helpful to have someone else to help with that. This is precisely what I was trying to do with weed. And holy fuck would it be good for it. Check this out, I think I just found it. A way to describe to others what I was trying to do in 2019.

Weed makes your emotions and experiences very exaggerated and very powerful, right? It makes everything feel like an adventure, it makes funny stuff hilarious, it makes fear horrifyingly immersive. It makes feelings very distinct, at least for me. I have theorized for a very long time that, at least in my experience, it serves as an emotional amplifier. What I wanted to do initially was to smoke before therapy, inevitably go into a deep panic state, and then be there in a safe environment to unpack it and explore that place. To find the root of my fears, the root of my trauma. To figure out what these fears were really about and why they were happening - like a spirit journey. Now that I've done a ton of that work already... I'm not entirely focusing on that so much. Journaling does a pretty damn good job of that for me. What weed could do for me... is amplify those emotions, to make them more distinctly recognizable... so it would be easier for me to correctly label them.

So... if I was high and I talked to that kid about the rotary park, I would have 100% freaked out. That's a big part of why I'm saying this. I was dead sober and I started to feel that twinge... that almost... blinking into a shadow dimension, Twilight Zone kinda moment. But I came out of it within 15 seconds. If I was high, I would have been plunged into that feeling, it would've been a perceptive and sensory experience as well, and if I didn't excuse myself to handle it, I would've been in that place for a long time. So... I truly believe that these moments are not caused by weed, I don't think they ever were... I think weed just makes them much more immersive and surreal. So... if my goal is to learn how to label these moments as anxiety, and... subsequently... something that doesn't have power over me, that is very unlikely and that I can let go of... If my goal is to label those moments as quotes credited to my anxiety disorder or a trauma response... what better tool than something that makes them clear as day. The only catch? I really don't want to do that alone again, I want to make sure I'm well experienced with letting go of those feelings... See, there's the catch.

Okay, I'm a bit scattered today, bear with me. I'm frustrated because I'm in a state where I often can't tell what is excessive anxiety and what is --- I guess the surreal feeling is the marker for me, isn't it? I mean, it's clear as day now. If I start feeling like the person I'm around is betraying me... or I'm trusting the wrong person... Nope, okay, that's not just bog standard anxiety there... that's trauma, it's gotta be. Okay. Hmm... See? See how difficult this can be? General anxiety is a somewhat similar beast, but it is not the same weight class as specific trauma. And the whole... "trusting people/betrayal" thing? That's definitely trauma. Like "oh shit, did I just give them too much?" Or "oh shit, are they stabbing me in the back right now?" That causes intense surreal feelings, and that's definitely trauma.

Goddammit, then how can I tell what the anxiety disorder feels like?!?! See how frustrating this is? Like... the shove it anxiety just kinda felt like... I couldn't get my leg to stand on the fucking board. I felt kinda frozen a bit. And then I just... trusted it and hopped and I did it first try. I just had to push it out of the way and send it, like I was a rude person at a water park pushing a scared kid out of the way at a waterslide and diving down headfirst.

So yeah, good lord did I get sidetracked! I really thought I was on to something there, and I may still be. I feel like weed might help me identify the difference between normal healthy fears and the ones that I'm blowing out of proportion. Meaning... not just being able to distinguish the narratives of the fears, but the sensory experience of the different fears. To be able to make those fears essentially sound like different voices, so it will be easier for me to just immediately go... "oh, that's not my voice... I know you... you're my anxiety disorder". And then I know clear as day that it's okay for me to let that worry go right then and there.

THAT is what the woman was recommending. Then, as a second tip, she recommended actually drawing a visual representation of what you think your anxiety disorder looks like. To further aid in this association. And I really want to do that, I think I can, too. And the third tip she had was to be nice to yourself and make time to recharge yourself doing stuff you love. And luckily, I have plenty of that in my life. But a lot of it is strenuous and work... so... I added another one to the mix. I had been playing Rimworld again a little, but... I decided to go with Elden Ring instead. After listening to deep-dives on the lore so much, I missed it. I made a character named Chim Qayr'ri (just say it out loud, it's funny) and I have no idea what build I'm doing, I just made a Wretch that looks as much like Jim Carrey as I could, and then I ran it through the "similar face" nightmare algorithm 100 times... and this mutant is going around Limgrave smacking fools with a club. I know a Fromsoft game is probably not the most relaxing of all games I could've picked... but it's very pretty, and very rewarding.

So yeah, that's what's been on my mind a lot today. This whole... overcoming anxiety thing. I'm getting so much better now that I'm practicing so much. I wish I had done it more, honestly. But I'm glad I'm here regardless. Skating has helped me so much. Like... some woman wandered over to the skatepark and I just took out my earbuds and walked over and started talking to her for like 15 minutes. It's so much more natural and way less overwhelming now. And honestly? If I had money? I'd go out and eat places, you know? Go to coffee shops and meet people there, go to that vegetarian place near me, you know? It's just... Everything's just so fucking expensive now. Especially when you have zero income. It's terrifying. Even a cup of coffee... I look at the number and I just immediate equate it to a relative grocery cost. Lunch at the vegetarian restaurant? That's like... the cost of all my produce for a week. It's really hard to pull the trigger on that once, let alone regularly as an excuse to try to meet people.

It's a huge part of why I'm really trying to figure out this employment thing. I need some kind of income coming in just psychologically so I can feel okay spending money. And so I can feel a bit better introducing myself. Streaming is just... it's a shit show. --- I'm not going to get into this tonight, I just wanted to connect the dots a bit.

The skatepark gives me a place to go. A place that people frequent, that has regulars, that has a community of creative people. I'm really glad I've started to become a recognizable part of that community. People recognize me. It's... odd. But it's not new. It's like... FINALLY. So, that's nice. I'm a little worried about winter... but I think taking this momentum and using it to get integrated into an actual art community would be super important. And if I can get in to either a teaching or masters program... or a teaching job... that would provide me some reliable social interaction over the cold months, interaction that would pay off in more than just the experience too.

Alright, enough blabbering, I'm ridiculously tired. Another hour and a half of skating today. I'm gonna go wind down.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/15/23

What a day!

I went skating 2.5 hours today. I was a bit anxious and reserved at first, but the college-aged guy I met the other day showed up after a little bit and we waved, so it made me feel a bit more at home. It's fucking odd to have people recognize me, I missed it.

I skated the same side of the park I usually do, just doing the same old bag of tricks. But at one point, I tried boardsliding that round rail again... and it wasn't that bad. That was sorta... the beginning of my "real session", I guess you could say.

I have been pacing myself so I don't skate huge stretches non-stop, I'll just do a run out and back trying a few tricks, then stand around and rest for a bit, unless I'm really working on something. Partly to pace, partly just out of awkwardness. During one of those long standing around sessions, I overheard the people next to me talking about teaching... and art... It was the college aged guy I met the other day and some other guy a bit older than me, who was really good at skating. Like... he was a hair away from landing switch tre flips. That's really good in my book.

I actually approached the guy after his conversation. I asked him if he knew anything about requirements to be a college teacher, that I was interested in getting into teaching but I wasn't sure if I could with just a BA. He unfortunately wasn't able to help, he's a teacher for a home-school group, likely much younger kids too. But I actually approached a stranger and initiated a conversation today. ... I actually approached a stranger, introduced myself, and had a conversation with him. Like... for me? That's fucking massive.

I noticed something though. I was nervous and fumbling for that conversation. And that conversation was about work stuff, career stuff. Fast-forwarding with some spoilers, I hung out and had conversations with 3 different people today. The college aged guy from the other day who ollied the jersey barrier, the homeschool teacher and the kid who landed the BS 180 the other day, who had the beaming smile when I cheered for him. And I streamed for 3 hours. Of all the shit I did today, and I'll tell more detail on how anxiety inducing a lot of that should have been... the conversation about my career and work was where I was stumbling over my words and felt like I could barely form coherent sentences. Like, I even felt like I was close to stuttering at points. There is no doubt in my mind now, that's a big trauma trigger for me. And no fucking duh it is, good lord, with how fucked up I was treated during conversations about my work shit? I'm honestly... kind of afraid it might be my biggest one. And that is really bad - how the fuck am I going to build my career... if things of potential importance to my career... make me turn into a fumbling mess?!

I doubt the guy noticed, honestly. At a certain point after that guy left... I cruised over to the other side of the park and started skating the low box. This was where the whole fucking game started to change. I learned how to ollie-to-manual today. First time doing it. I'm sure I've ollied over cracks into manuals before, I've ollied out of manuals before, but never ollie-to-manualed on a box. And I did it a bunch of times. It wasn't nearly as scary as I thought. I didn't hang my trucks up on the edge one time. It's actually much easier to balance manuals that you've ollied up into rather than coming down out of an ollie onto flat, at least in my experience. Once I felt what it was supposed to feel like, it was surprisingly simple. It took a bit of a grind to get my first one though, probably a good 10 back-to-back tries? Maybe more?

This inspired me to keep building off of that. They have a "rail" that's two concrete parking blocks raised on cinder blocks and waxed to shit. I boardslid most of one of them, a few times. That was fun. And not just like... the side of it... it's flat on top, so you can actually feel it when you get on top of it, and I got really on top of it a few times. Just doing that started to bring back a lot of feelings of... board confidence. Just... confidence being on my board. Confidence is such a big part of skating that is really starting to come back now. I feel so much more natural on the board, and not just my trick board, on my hybrid too. Once the board starts really feeling like a natural extension of you... that's when shit starts getting real.

I then had a short conversation with the kid from the other day, I gave him a tip that I learned from watching skate videos, to try to lock the box coping in between the truck and his heelside wheel (for front 5-0). He then went and did a 50-50 like that and fucking nailed it first try, super smooth too, and looked back really happy. I talked about how I was scared of that trick, and he seemed anxious and didn't really know what to say. I ended up going and devoting a bunch of time to trying FS 50-50 on the 8" box, and I landed it a few times. Yep. I didn't just learn one new trick today... I learned two.

I can't even explain the difference between my nervousness and social anxiety when I got there, versus cruising around the whole park and trying new tricks by the end. It really helped that at the end, it was just me... the college aged guy and the kid. Being in a park where the only people there are people whose names you know makes a really big difference, to me at least. Maybe it shouldn't... but it did.

So yeah, it was a really good session, and I skated for a good 2-2.5 hours. I cruised home the new route again, I go by a big church now, which is cool. I love church architecture, it's nice and quiet over there too. This route feels so much less sketchy compared to the main drag I used to take.

I got home, made dinner, ate, and then streamed for 3 hours. I actually just ended stream to hop over here. I worked on my pants the entire time, doing the white outlining for the celtic knot. It looks really good, the paint is being cooperative, my paintbrush... not so much...

The majority of the stream was a fucking nightmare. It was silent. A guy showed up, someone who I've "known" for a long time... aka he has dropped in, talked about himself for 5 minutes and then left a bunch of times over the years. I have no idea why he keeps coming by the stream, he obviously doesn't like what I stream, he literally only comes by to tell me what's going on in his life when I didn't ask. He only stopped by to brag about how he lost weight, then left. So weird. Like... I'm a stranger to you... why do you care that I know that? So odd to me, and like... really not what a streaming site is designed for... Just go to a Discord group or Facebook or something.

Then I had a person come in and tip me 100 Bits! 100 whole bits, can you believe it! That's... that's $1. That's one fucking dollar. The single apple I ate on the way to the skatepark was more expensive than the random tip I got. But, you know, it's a "big number", so you're supposed to get all excited for these people and jerk them off for their generosity. Seriously. It's so fucking degrading, and even more so when you've been doing it for fucking 7 goddamn years, and you're just like... okay... you're just throwing quarters at me at this point... Normally I'd appreciate the tip, you know, if it was a viewer... it's money I didn't have... but... here's what set me off...

This person had made an account specifically to - and they told me this overtly, as a point of pride - go around and find "small streamers" and give them Bits, and "leave them with a smile", then head off to find another one. So... they go into my stream with no viewers, they give me one viewer, which raises my ranking on the search results and raises my chance of drawing an audience... they give me one dollar... they expect a huge "thank you"... then they leave and bring my viewer count back down to zero. And they are "helping me". That shit gets under my skin. You're just doing it to feel like you're helping people. You're the kind of person who gives money to homeless people simply so they can brag about it later. I mean, how can they really care about the people they are claiming to want to help? They don't even remember their names! You want to really be appreciated by a streamer? Watch the fucking stream. Put your agenda away and just fucking sit down and watch the entertainment that is being given to you for fucking free and actually process what you are watching. If you like it, follow them, subscribe to them (so they can get $2.50/mo of support from you), maybe gift some subscriptions to other people, so more people come and hang out? And go tell a fucking friend. Go talk to your friends and genuinely, honestly tell them about the good time you had in that stream. That is how you help a stream. Otherwise, you're going into an empty room, saying "I support struggling poverty-streamers", throwing a dollar at them, and strutting out the door thinking "I just made their day"... while they're going... "crap, I thought that was a real tip, I thought someone actually liked my art." It fucking sucks, and these people are just... oblivious.

After that, I got a "troll" with an IQ that could fit in a Sudoku square. Their opening line was trying to get me to read something backwards that was clearly some kind of genital-related phrase intentionally (?) misspelled. I asked them what their age was, if they were over or under 18 and made a comment about how... good lord, it was a Monday night... XD And he followed up by saying "your art is banal". And I was really proud of how sharp my comebacks still are. Good lord, I've been in isolation for like 5 fucking years and I still have wit that outclassed this guy like a 13 year old green belt taking on Mike fucking Tyson. I asked him where he learned that word, presupposing it was likely from misspelling "anal" in google and accidentally learning something useful. And then I went on to let him know that I appreciated his critique, but his opinion was really only of as much value as the time gone into forming it. I then decided to continue musing on how fucking odd it is that someone would be trawling low-population art streams at 11PM on a Monday night just trying to trick people or bring their self esteem down. He left, no mic drop, nothing. These people are just as bad as I remember. They've got their one prepared line, maybe a follow up, maybe a backup line... then they run like children. Meanwhile, I'm on camera... I'm using my voice... and I made him look silly. I doubt he learned a lesson there, but one can hope. The internet makes people act really fucking stupid sometimes.

Just a bit after I told my empty stream that I was getting ready to wrap up, I got raided. It was a streamer that does pixel art, they brought 23 viewers with them. It was appreciated. Most of them left, but one stuck around and chatted for a bit and even checked out my Instagram, which was nice. They didn't follow my Instagram or my Twitch though... So yeah. It was nice to get some interest and actually explain the piece a bit, and they seemed actually interested in the medium, so that was a nice chat. I love talking shop, I never have people to talk shop with.

So... despite the stream being an absolutely nightmare... I got about half the knot outline done. I streamed for 3 hours. And I did have some positive interactions. I am, however... tempted to try streaming here... or on Instagram. I just don't know if I can use OBS for that, I really fucking hope so. If I can use OBS, I'm absolutely going to try doing art streams both on here and Instagram. I really... ugh, I don't know if I'm reading into it but... I really don't like what Twitch has become. It really feels like people are just using it like a social media site? Or kinda like Omegle? Like... it's not people coming to watch a host who is providing entertainment for them... unless you have a built-in audience... they come in and start acting like the center of attention, when the camera is literally pointing at a different person. It's weird. I kept thinking over and over tonight "this site is a like a fucking magnet for narcissists". Not just on the camera side, but viewers too. It's weird.

So yeah, that was basically my day. And now I'm fucking bushed. I'm wiped. I'm just going to go take a quick shower and head to bed.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/14/23

I feel so remarkably better when I've gotten a full night's sleep. It's absolutely insane. Not just physically, but mental-health-wise. Despite being rainy most of the day, today was really good.

I took my momentum from last night - the conception of the jean piece - and decided to not just elaborate on it... I started it. I immediately started sketching ideas, before I even hit the yoga mat. I wanted to elaborate on that stela idea, telling a dual story through scenes descending down each of the pant legs.

I went with a male kneeling but bowing his head (instead of extended child pose), hands at his knees under the lunar eclipse, and a female kneeling with chin and chest raised, hands in Anjeli mudra under the solar eclipse. I wanted this to represent the catalyst of the narrative... what I'm calling a Reckoning. A moment that I have had quite a few of within myself, but I think a lot of people had when the pandemic hit. A major reverent life event that makes you really take stock of your actions - your self - and really consider where you're going from there. In the case of this one, I'm telling this in the context of a shared event... one that affects all individuals in communities. That's where the eclipse comes in, because good lord... imagine experiencing an eclipse in 4000 BC... You had to be thinking the world was ending... So, the eclipse is really a representation of that, of a major event that makes you and your community take stock... and the duality illustrates potential outcomes based on how that event is processed both at an individual and a communal level. (At least that's where I'm at now).

So I'm still back and forth about the gender assignment, because historically solar = masculine and lunar = feminine... but I honestly didn't really distinguish between the different eclipses. I could easily do a female under the moon and a male under the sun... but... for some reason I'm just being pulled the opposite direction. And maybe that's part of the duality? Maybe a juxtaposition? Maybe a comment about males' resistance to integrating femininity vs. females being more accepting of masculinity? Not really sure yet, honestly. I guess check back for more info on that when I learn more. The real emphasis here was on the gestures and the intentions behind the figures. The man is bowing in resignation, submissively, closed off from the reckoning, rejecting it. The woman is praying in reverence, open to the reckoning, accepting it. That's sorta the takeaway from that scene.

The next scenes in the series are people seated at tables. I wanted the scenes to be nearly identical composition, but very different narratives. On the Light side, there are five people sitting at a big table, Last Supper-style. They're all talking amongst themselves and sharing. On the Dark side, there are five small single tables crammed up next to one another, with individuals at each one with their heads buried in their cell phones. On the Light - taking the reckoning as an opportunity to bond, come together and form a healthy community. On the Dark - continuing to run from the reckoning, hiding in distractions and indulgence, maybe fearing judgement? Being in one's own world, I guess.

The third scenes are sorta... an end result of this. Like... the eclipses are the catalyst, the dinner is the reaction/how the reckoning is processed, and the last scene is the result. On the Light side, I want to continue the theme of going from one figure to five figures... maybe to ten from there? To echo the rhythm from the table/chair legs in the scene above? I'm not entirely sure. Maybe just repeating the five figures, I'm still in the basic stages of this. But the idea of the Light one is a field of corn, with beans growing up the stalk, and squash at the base. What Northeastern Indigenous American tribes called "The Three Sisters". Companion crops that all mutually benefit each other. The corn provides the beans a trellis, the beans nitrogen-fix the soil, the squash gives ground cover to prevent weeds from competing for nutrients. An image of harmony, prosperity and mutual growth. On the Dark side is a row of corn on bare ground. I was tempted to put an invasive species in there too, but I changed my mind and instead wanted to elaborate on the isolation and detachment theme. I kinda want them to be abnormally productive, to kinda imply genetic modification... sorta unnatural looking. But just the plants on barren ground. The juxtaposition in outcomes being...

On the Dark side - by resigning to calamity and turning inward, we respond by dividing and creating our own bubbles, and the end result is something very artificially "productive" but devoid of substance and diversity... at the expense of a community and the ecosystem. Each plant is identical, each is frantically producing fruit that alone lack nutrition, and each is working entirely alone.

On the Light side - by embracing calamity with reverence we open ourselves to new ideas, even within ourselves. Where Dark feels judged, Light finds perspective. We respond by coming together to share ideas and resources, building community and collaborating. The end result is a garden of diverse foods that all mutually benefit from the others. Not just a stable ecosystem, but a flourishing one.

I'm still not entirely sure on this, because I don't really want to play into the "light = good, dark = bad" trope. Because there are benefits from the dark side of this narrative, and there are detriments to the light side. So... just wanted to add that, but I guess this piece is sorta... more focused than being a commentary about just isolation vs community. It's more about how we individually react to looking in the mirror, and how we carry that into society, and what that causes on a societal scale.

The whole plant theme came from my bean plant. It's been acting weird for a while. I'm genuinely shocked it survived, honestly. Its sibling who was planted next to it did not make it. The containers I had them planted in had poor drainage. I made the containers out of big plastic yogurt containers, but the holes were a bit too small and there wasn't enough room between the bottom of the holes and the dish underneath for drainage. The right-hand plant got root rot and died, I had to unravel it from the trellis. The left-hand one survived, but ever since... the leaves from the time period where it was deeply struggling have not grown at all... but the ones above it are getting huge. I pinched off the head so it won't grow any more (it's already over 6 feet tall), and it keeps sending out suckers trying to grow taller... but it won't grow its existing leaves below that point any more. It's very confusing, I'm not really sure if there's anything I can do to help it, or if I'm just going to get beans from only the top 2 feet of the plant. <shrug> But yeah, I got the idea of... flourishing, prosperity... but in plant form. And the first thing that came to my mind was beans. Nothing says "abundance" when it comes to vegetables quite like beans, in my experience. My first green bean plants, good lord... they produced so fucking much, and just wouldn't stop! I swear, my ex and I ate green beans every damn day that summer. And beans are just iconic for their rapid growth. So... I learned a bit more about the Three Sisters and decided it fit pretty well with this idea of community, prosperity, harmony, all that.

So yeah, that's basically the idea as it stands right now. I'll improvise some kind of spacers to separate each scene, likely in some form of organic cellular-type design.

Today, I committed to the Celtic knot design. All day, I listened to Heilung and first added in measurement markers (which is super tough on fabric at the seam of a pant leg) and eventually did the entire design in colored pencil. The entire pant leg, pocket to cuff, on the Dark side.

I decided I was going to paint it today, and I decided to stream that. It's been a long time, so I figured "what's the harm?" I made some dinner. I picked the first two of my chili peppers! I was expecting them to be spicy, they were not! They had no spice at all! I was genuinely shocked, I really didn't expect that. So... I decided to make a from-scratch salsa, which I've never done. I've been making guacamole, but I've never made salsa. So I took the little chilis, and I added in some chopped pickled banana peppers I had left over, and a big tomato that the last delivery guy got me by mistake, and a bunch of onions and some green onions, some lime juice and a few dashes of the ghost pepper hot sauce I have to add some heat, tiny bit of cumin and chipotle chili powder. That shit is good, dogg. XD I might make it a bit spicier, but man, that's gonna disappear real quick. I just made a quesadilla with pepper jack/mexican cheese mix and green onion, and had it with that, and man, that was a really good dinner. Just wanted to share that.

So, I got on and streamed the same shit I was doing earlier. I got the camera set up where I could work and film, and set the mic up and all that. I finished the pencil outline, then started inking the black fill... and finished that too! I was surprised, I didn't think I would finish it today, but it went way faster than I was expecting. That kind of work is so goddamn meditative... and the music is just next level. It just sends me right into trance mode, I swear. 2 hours went by and I had no idea. So... all that's left there is to do the white outlines and do some grey-wash shading to add dimension. Then I need to do the pencil on the other leg, and do the inverse of it on that leg - white fill, black outline and shading on the fill.

I had been back and forth with the fabric paint for a while now, and I've been very vocal about that. I love the opacity, the legibility, but I don't like how it can just... flake off. Especially for pants. So... I tried to water down the paint today. When I did the hoodie, I just used the paint right out of the jar. And I layered it on really thick, to be fair... especially the white. The jar says I can dilute it with up to 25% water, so I went for it. The pants drank up the paint like it was nothing, and I was careful not to flood any areas too much, so... I think it came out really good. I'll have to see in the morning when it's dry, it can be a bit deceiving when it's still wet.

So yeah, that was my day. The sun came out around sunset and I was tempted to go out for a bit, but I knew it was going to be super buggy if I did, so I decided to just keep going and got a tremendous amount of work done. I'm very content. Very pleased with myself. From normal jeans to a Celtic knot 6 cm wide running the whole length of the leg that just needs outlining. :)

I guess that'll do it for tonight. ... I guess I might as well get this out. In just over a week, I'm going to be ending this journal. August 22nd was the date I think I started doing this last year, at least the first dated journal I could find. And it's the 14th today. So... 8 days. It's gonna be a bit weird not doing this... but, in case you missed me writing about this before, I'm going to transition into doing a private handwritten journal for myself, and an art blog for the public. To split this gigantic-scale project up into two healthy habits once it's finished. So... this is going to be no more. I think I'm going to try to download all of my entries and archive them, that's the goal, I need to learn how to do that... it would be a nightmare to do it manually... but yeah. This has been a hell of a journey through an incredibly transformative phase of my life. It's been scary as fuck, as someone with a social anxiety disorder, PTSD, who rarely leaves his house, who is often scared of people... to just stream-of-consciousness dump my brain in a public blog? O.O But the value this as created for me... I really can't even put it into words. Not just as an artist or a writer, but as a person. So yeah, I'm gonna miss this. Just wanted to say that before I go.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/13/23

This is gonna have to be short tonight, for several reasons. The biggest being that I've been fucking typing all goddamn day for two days straight and my right forearm is gonna get worn out because I still type completely wrong. I type normally with my left hand, but with my right hand, I use pointer and middle for letters, thumb for space and pinky for backspace/enter. It ends up putting all the strain on my pointer and middle fingers, rather than distributing it across four fingers. So... that arm gets worn out, and I really need to be cautious of injury, because I've definitely hurt it before.

I've been typing a lot because I've been active on reddit, posting in support groups. I've been doing it basically all day.

I... I am really fucking frustrated with how much difficulty I have with just... cold-calling people and shit. Like... okay... there is a listing active for Part Time faculty in Art and Art History (probably religion classes too) at the Community College up the road from me. Walking/skating distance. I went to this college for 2 semesters in 2007. It's a community college. It's a part-time position. And I'm not applying because... they say on the listing that you need a Master's degree - requirement. I only have a Bachelor's.

I can't get myself to just fucking walk up there and talk to someone there and say "hey, I used to go to school here, I actually took Comparative Religions and Science and Spirituality at this school while you were building this facility. I have a degree in Art. I've been active as a freelance artist for 13 years. I study ancient history, religion and art every day. You need an Art and Art History teacher. ... ... Pay me?" And then I can just hold out my palm and just sorta nod and gesture my head towards my hand in a coy, inviting manner.

Or... I could just fucking call and ask to talk to someone who knows about hiring stuff, and just... tell them my situation and that I'd love to help out. But I just get hit by a fucking brick wall. Every damn time.

"What if I don't actually want to teach?" "Why bother, I'm not qualified, I'm clearly not qualified. It says very clearly that you need a Master's, why would I waste their time asking... 'but are you suuuure?'" "Will I really be able to emotionally handle going from complete isolation to standing in front of like 20+ students and having them stare at me for an hour without having a panic attack?" "Am I even going to get paid anything for doing this?"

I just feel like... a sense of looming regret. Like doing this is going to be something I regret having done in the future. And I don't know if there's something I'm picking up on that is right on the money, but I can't see it yet? Or if I'm just self-sabotaging. They feel the goddamn same. The whole "it's not paranoid if there really is someone out to get you" thing.

So I really have to actively push back and say, "would it hurt to try?" Hell, maybe if I can get a meeting with someone there who does hiring and they turn out to be a really nice person, I can actually explain my situation a bit (without getting too personal) and maybe we can come up with a custom plan that works for everyone. Who knows.

I spent some time looking up places to cold-call today, because despite how much I'd love a more comfortable arrangement? It's going to be cold-calling no matter what I do. I listed the solo-artist tattoo shop that is in my building. It's a guy who runs the place himself. I have no idea how the fuck this guy can afford to rent an entire commercial space in this building to run a solo shop. That has to be expensive. I can drop an email and say I live in the building, I'm an artist but really... I'm not looking for an apprenticeship, I'm kinda just looking to be an artist's assistant right now? Just hang out and help with some of the leg work, maybe draw up stencils for him, help clean and organize, inventory, reorder stock, shit like that. I know most of the ins and outs of tattooing from my past experience, it was just... a while ago... It might be more incentive for him to hire me if I'm actively not trying to apprentice, which I'm not. I think tattooing is behind me. No promises, but it's most definitely not a goal. I'm much more concerned with just... getting myself around other artists. Making friends who know the business, know the art world and can help mentor me and guide me to the right place to get my art around people who appreciate it.

The second one on the list was the art collective. They're doing another nude model drawing thing on the 23rd. I am going. I've decided. I'm even going to buy a ticket this time. I don't care if I'm sitting in the back the whole time. I'll just order a ticket and shoot an email to them and say "I'm new to the area and I'm looking to meet art friends, I'm planning on coming to this drawing session. Does this tend to turn into a social thing after the drawing or would there be other times that would be better to come by and meet people as well? P.S. I live a block away and I'm free all the time and I would rent a studio with you but my apartment is criminally expensive right now."

The third one was a new place I found downtown. It's... it's a hike. It's a 4.5 mile trip on the ol' hybrid board. I could always just take the community car thing for it, but... if I were to get a job here... yeah, that'd be super expensive. They take a spiritual approach to artwork, in a way that's... it has hints of art therapy to it... but it's less diagnostic and treatment focused and more narrative focused. Which is definitely appealing. And I really do feel like those kinds of people would understand a creature like myself, and vice versa. They have an open studio Thursdays from 12:30-2:30... so I'd have to get up early for that, but I could definitely reserve the car for that one. The con side to this one? The position they were hiring for was... graphic design and social media management. Fuck that. And... if I were to manage to get some kind of position there, getting there reliably (especially in the winter) would be rough.

So, those made the list, but then the next place I clicked was... a gallery. And... I started to implode a bit. Not hugely, just a little at first... then more and more... like cracks spreading on a windshield or something. And then it just started getting super loud. "You don't have enough similar coherent pieces to have your own exhibit." "None of this stuff looks anything like any of your stuff." "This looks like art you'd see in a gallery, and your art doesn't look like this... so... fill in the blank..."

It was a contemporary art gallery, so that might be part of it, but... idk. I just don't know where my shit will fit. Once I really started thinking about my work being on display in a gallery, the walls just started closing in. It's really upsetting. I don't even fully know why, I just... I struggle to believe it will ever happen or something? And I'm not even sure I want it to happen? I mean... The Path... shit like that? My concept piece videos? I could absolutely see that playing in a gallery. 100%. My bird illustrations, maybe. Even my abstract pieces. My mandalas? I don't know. But all of them together? ... I feel like they're going to see it as an incoherent mess.

Because I am an incoherent mess. XD DUH. It's the same problem with social anxiety, it's the same problem with posting on social media, it's the same problem with my art shit. I have too many interests, too much to say, too many things I want to do. I am like 5 people living in one body. I want to draw and paint and sculpt and skate and make videos and explore the woods and garden and take care of animals, I want to do it all! And I refuse to settle for one thing, because every new thing I explore and learn how to do contributes new insight that benefits all my other work.

Comparing it to music - I started with guitar, then vocals/lyrics, then added in composition, then piano, then drums, then bass. And when I say "then", I mean I went through a phase where that was my primary instrument. I still play all of them. After doing vocals, my lead guitar became much more lyrical, much more inspired by the melodies I wanted to make with my voice. After doing drums, my rhythm guitar was much more informed by what the experience of playing that song on drums was like, and could adjust accordingly. After doing bass, my composition changed completely, I started thinking about tone and resonance and space in completely different ways. Every piece helped inform every other one, and my understanding of music as a whole started to expand dramatically. Not just from an academic standpoint of sitting and studying music theory, but from first-hand experience. From... empathy, compassion, perspective.

So... my diversity in artwork has provided me great gifts, and helped me reach ideas I never dreamed of. But I've feared for so long that the artifacts of this intellectual journey of art... the relics of my process... just don't really demonstrate how profound my creative insights are.

To use an analogy - the polished stones that I made when my cat was sick and died. Every day I would polish these stones by hand with diamond and ceramic sanding pads. Every day. For hours. The entire process was a... coming to terms with death process. A meditation. My grief literally eroded those stones. My pain, my suffering, my sadness, my despair... in watching my beautiful lovely girl waste away in the end of her days. And those emotions, that horrifically painful experience of having Death himself as a roommate for weeks on end, wondering if this is the day he takes my surrogate daughter... All of those emotions transformed these normal everyday pieces of driveway gravel into stunningly gorgeous faceted stones. I don't even know what kind of stone it is, I just know it looks like there are flecks of silver in it. But if you just walk by and look at it? It's a handful of polished rocks in weird shapes.

I guess what I'm saying is... I feel like my art doesn't speak for itself sometimes... and since no one has ever asked me what my art is about... Okay, I'm going to correct myself here. ONE TIME I was asked what a piece was about, and it was at my senior show in college, and it was my bandmate who asked me. That's it. So... I really do fear that I'm going to send in a proposal to a gallery, and they're just going to look at the piece... and just go... "yeah, we'll pass". Or... the ever-so-common, "this isn't my thing".

Is that a reason to not try? ... Jury's out. But I'm leaning more towards, no. I should still try. Same with the college teaching position, even if I get denied, at least I tried.

I played a bunch of Rimworld today. It was storming off and on all day. And I finally started sketching designs for my black jeans. It's getting weird and I'm loving it. First, I want to do celtic knots down the seams on the sides of the jeans, running vertically. I want to do black outlined in white on one side, and the same thing inverted... white outlined in black on the other side. I learned how to make celtic knots and it was really cool, I had never done that before and it's a very interesting process. I came up with a repeating design that I'm happy with, so I'm set to start working on that, that should be cool. I decided I want to go with a sorta... Duality theme. With Light on the left side and Dark on the right. And my starting concepts are... to do the bubble/membrane concept at the bottom. The idea is to do the same type of texture drawing the connective tissue as black on the Dark side and leaving the jean underneath as a fill, and do the bubbles as white on the Light side and leave the jean as connective fill. I don't know if it's going to look good or not, I've never done it before... but fuck it, right? I think the narrowing pattern of big circles descending down into smaller and smaller bubbles tends to be the most compelling, and I think it would work well at the bottom of the pants. Then... above it, I want a narrative piece on each leg - the left I want to have a woman kneeling with her back arched and hands in Anjali mudra at their heart, head back, chin lifted, heart lifted to the sky. And she is praying up to the sun in solar eclipse, with the dark circle of the moon in the middle and the glowing rays of the sun shining behind. In the same spot on the other leg, (I think) I want a man in extended child pose, a more traditional submissive prayer pose, with the moon in lunar eclipse above, with the dark shadow of the earth over a glowing crescent moon. This is subject to change, the genders I might swap, the pose on the Dark side I might change for symmetry's sake.

I've been watching a ton of these videos of this guy who clearly knows a shit ton about archeology and old religious art, and he compares it to Elden Ring, which is like... entirely based on old religious/spiritual artwork and architecture and mythology. It's fucking so goddamn interesting, I really can't put into words how compelling this is for me, and how much of a new love I have for this game now. It belongs in a fucking museum. I want so badly to go replay it now! I have to hold myself back!

I kept seeing a trend popping up, from Babylonian carvings, and Greek, and it reminded me of Egyptian art... this idea of telling a story sequentially through artwork in a stela. Like telling a mythological story through a series of pictures carved vertically from top to bottom, or as the papyri I was remembering depicted, from right to left on a scroll. I am tempted to take the same approach with these pants... and sorta... get narrative with it. And tell a story for each leg, going scene by scene from top to bottom. And tell mirroring stories, with similar themes, similar composition, but different narratives.

It's crazy how one drawing, one concept can unlock that. It was just this idea of Duality, dark and light, left is light/right is dark. Then... the duality of down and up... one person submitting their heart down to the earth in prayer, the other lifting their heart to the sky in prayer. And a unified cohesion being... the composition, the mirroring, and somewhat the narrative. What's the narrative? Fuck if I know. I think eclipses are incredibly powerful and iconic and worship inspiring, so I drew the parallel. Where I go with it? We'll just have to find out tomorrow, I guess.

I'm cutting myself off, I want a shower before bed and it's super late. Bye!

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/12/23

Today was a roller coaster of emotions.

I had a really interesting dream last night. I don't remember the set-up to it, but I remember the last two scenes. I was sitting on the floor in a hallway outside of a big gym-like room waiting for a yoga class to start. The room started filling up with people, all doing synchronized movements. I went in and saw two girls that I recognized from high school and college, friends that I had partied with. One of them was the chick that flirted with me all the time, and I flirted back... but it never went anywhere. It was a really weird dynamic, like for years she was waiting for me to make the first move or something, and I was always waaaaay too passive for that and I really don't like the whole "guess if you have consent" game. Really have never been a fan, it's so much more comfortable for me to just talk openly about it. It's just as exciting adrenaline-wise, the same actions occur, I really don't get the point of the stupid games other than to pantomime stories we've read and TV shows we've consumed. And I'm a romantic! Figure that shit out...

So... that chick was there, and a friend of hers that I recognized, but didn't remember her name, we never really talked much. When I approached them, the room started like... swelling with people, there was barely even room to stand. And it looked more like martial arts or Tai Chi or something, rather than yoga. Everyone started to take seats on benches that I was just unaware of or magically materialized. And I took a seat with an empty seat to my left. And the chick who I used to flirt with was sitting nearby with her friend, and I encouraged her to come and sit with me, but it was that same kinda... stonewall game thing, like "playing hard to get" or something. Which, I mean... why play a game you're intending to lose? Again, makes no sense to me...

So, I just completely lost interest... XD I ended up outside somehow and I was in a gravel parking lot by a car... and the other chick was there. It was her car. We were going to go somewhere, maybe on our way to pick up the chick that used to flirt with me, I don't remember. And we got in the car... and it was weird, I was sitting on the left side in the drivers seat, but I didn't feel like I was driving. Maybe the car was dream-mirrored or something... But I noticed that the cupholders were filled with pennies and other copper coins from different countries. And by filled, I mean... fucking filled. I was shocked they weren't overflowing. And it was all the cupholders, there were two in front and more in the center between us, something like... 4-6 cupholders completely full to the brim with copper coins. And she was very casually explaining about them, completely oblivious to how not "normal" this was. She was explaining about how frustrating it was that they were now stuck in there, they were stuck together. And I was just like... "yeah, that explains how they aren't overflowing." And I tried to pry some apart and they separated, but there was a kinda... black oily fluid between them holding them together with surface tension, adhesion I guess it's called?

I had seen this before. Because I had a nasty habit in my old car of just putting my change from drive-thru windows in the cupholder, then putting my iced coffee on top... and then the sweat from the iced coffee would mix with the grime from the coins and ash from my cigarettes, and would make this gross black fluid in the bottom of the cupholder... and I'd never clean it... and as time went on, the moisture from that fluid would evaporate and make it more of a sludge. Pretty gross, right? Welcome to nature.

So, having seen this before, I was completely unfazed. I didn't judge her at all, I understand how this can happen. I was just shocked at how many coins there were. And then I had this inspiration flash... where I could see myself in my mind's eye hammering coins with a mallet into flat surfaces and doing something with them... so I told her "if I was you, I'd make art out of this. It's like... free materials." And she lit up like a Christmas tree and got really excited. And I looked over at her, and she had changed from before.

Inside, she was a blonde with a bit shorter than shoulder-length hair worn down. Now, she was a brunette with long hair kept in a ponytail. She looked familiar, she was kind of... an amalgam of female artist archetypes that I have encountered in my life. And I was just really fucking happy. I really enjoyed that moment, it was a really really nice dream. Like... I honestly don't have sexual dreams at all, never really have... and even if I did, I would want this dream more. Moments like that, where you're just completely on the same page, and my gift... the thing that illuminates my life and brings joy to the mundane in my everyday experience... someone else sees that. Someone else gets to share that, to benefit from it. Good lord, it made me so happy, so fulfilled.

I woke up and immediately journaled, which is why I remember that so vividly. I remember commenting to myself how... I felt like a muse. And it made me smile.

This was after 5 hours of sleep. I went on reddit (on an alt account that is drama-free, thank god... it pays to carefully curate your subreddits) and checked the replies I got to my post I made last night. I put up a post on a support group subreddit about fawning, I shared my experience and asked for some tips from people. I didn't get a lot of tips, but I got a surprising amount of feedback from others like me. It really helped me feel less alone in the world... less... stunted. Because fawning makes me very often feel child-like... and that's really embarrassing as a 36 year old man... but knowing that other adults also go through this, and that it's just one of several trauma responses... it helps. It definitely helps.

I put the AirPods in and managed to fall back asleep. That's a rare occurrence. I got up feeling rejuvenated, prepped some frozen strawberries, made my tea and got ready for yoga. As I lit my incense (part of my yoga ritual, I light two sticks of Nag Champa Super Hit), I got two rapid-fire texts... and then my phone started vibrating like crazy. I was baffled.

I looked at my phone and... it was someone from a number that wasn't in my phone trying to FaceTime me. The texts said "Hello <my name>" and "This is Number". And I was just like... um... ... what?

I knew it was the chick from the other day. I knew. But... I wasn't about to say that. Because... this is a weird way to like... reestablish communication for me. This felt super intrusive. And... odd. Like, this could be anyone. The only calls I get are from telemarketers, the only texts I get are appointment confirmations and like... two-factor codes. To have someone text me, address me by name, then not identify themselves? That was... confusing for me. And the FaceTime was incredibly overwhelming, I think I've only FaceTimed... maybe 3 times in my life? It was a lot. So... I decided that the incense was already lit, I'm in my yoga time and that's what I'm doing right now. So I created that boundary and did my yoga. And I enjoyed the yoga quite a bit.

I got breakfast and sat down and then followed up on the texts. I wrote "Number?" Because... instead of identifying herself... yeah. She said "I just called you", "That my number". So, I responded "I don't know who I'm speaking to". I mean, I did... but I wasn't certain. And she immediately identified her name, then typed my name, then typed "Lol". In a rapidfire series of texts, which... I've only seen Zoomers do that. Just... being honest, when I see people split up their messages and rapidfire them like this? I immediately think Zoomer.

It's like they're trying to make sure they don't lose your attention or something. I've never gotten it. And I've spent my fair share of time in AIM, texting, in Skype chats, in Discord. I'm no spring chicken to this shit, but the rapid-fire broken communication spam text thing... I've only gotten that from people younger than me. And it still boggles my mind. I don't like it. It feels very... mindless... and it makes it very hard to read the entire context of conversations, because it makes a wall of sentence fragments, donowalling the rest of the conversation. It just gives off this intense air of... impulsivity. Alright, that's off my chest.

So, after she finally identified herself... I said "Hey <her name>, hows is going?" And she said "Hey <my name>, everything is okay" End scene. Exciting, huh? XD Not even kidding, that was the end of the conversation. She spam messaged into FaceTimed... to say "hi".

I don't want to come off like I'm talking shit, this is completely a culture difference here. Like I said, I've encountered this before. And hell, maybe this isn't just a younger person thing, maybe this is a city person thing too? I don't know, I am absolutely not an expert as far as texting and phone etiquette go. But I had been going over like... how I have issues with boundaries and saying no for the past 24 hours... and here was someone who basically just invited themselves into my living room just to say hi. And that would be perfectly fine with other people, that would be endearing with other people, it would be flattering and sweet. I'm very sure in the context of the social circles she frequents, this is probably very very normal stuff. I don't want it to feel like I'm shitting on that. The action itself was not the problem at all.

The problem was... it showed very clearly how little she knew about me. And rather, how much it kinda felt like she was assuming about me. And one thing I have learned over decades of interacting with people from all different walks of life... you really need to try your best to meet in the middle for social interactions. I have to go outside of my comfort zone to interact with and meet strangers, they might have to understand that I get overwhelmed by that because of my history. That's the give and take. And this experience really felt... very overwhelming... very forward... and there weren't really a lot of questions about my comfort zone on that. Which kinda confirmed what I was afraid of when we met in person, because I kinda got the vibe that she was more enthralled with the experience of being genuinely listened to... than really knowing or understanding the person she was speaking with.

We all have our challenges. I tend to get really focused on the experience of the other person, and often get paranoid and assume the worst of other peoples' experiences. Others may be more centered in their own experience. It is what it is. But this kind of thing can and does cause conflicts. So... I was very delicate around it and was very well prepared to set up some boundaries for that today. I didn't have to, in the end, because the conversation just... ended... but I was prepared for it, and that's what matters.

I went to the skatepark. And man, am I glad I did. I was hesitant because it was a Friday afternoon, I was "worried it was going to be packed". ... Oh no, I'll have to meet people... XD In hindsight, it's silly.

I cruised up on the hybrid board. I got there and set up all my shit, and there were a few people there. I just sorta posted up on the outer side of the skatepark where I normally skate and decided a few tricks to work on. Mostly, I tried to commit to getting more comfortable with reliably ollieing and landing in a manual. I have always been decent at ollieing and manualing, but I just have never been able to reliably ollie into a manual. I always land with the ball of my foot in the center of my tail and it's way harder to balance a manual with your foot in that position than it is with your foot flat in the middle of the board, where the center is under your arch. It feels like landing on tiptoes or something.

I didn't really get it today... but I got close, I had some improvement. I was practicing ollieing over a broken piece of wood and landing in a manual after it. Once I feel more comfortable with it, I'm going to try to ollie onto the box and try to land in manual there. That's my progression plan.

I was the worst person in the park today. And honestly, I feel really weird with that. I'm the oldest... visibly... I have the lowest skill level... and I have the most ostentatious grip tape art. I often feel like I'm just begging for people to judge me. Ugh. But... I am yet to find a shred of evidence that people are actually judging me. People have actually been really friendly. Today was a great example.

There was a kid... probably late high school or early college-aged. Blonde, skinny, baggy pants. And he was a bit above my skill level, but close. He could almost kickflip, he could almost FS 50-50 on the low box. He was pretty shy, but... so am I... So god knows I wasn't going to judge. But what's great about skating is... there are a lot of ice-breaker opportunities. Everyone is trying tricks, and everyone (for the most part) is familiar with the tricks we're all trying. So... I saw this kid trying BS 180 off of the angled box, and I know how hard that trick is. So when he came really close and almost rode away, I just went "aww so close!" and he nodded and seemed happy to have someone on his side, you know? But what really did it was... the time he landed it. And I cheered! And he was fucking beaming! He had the biggest smile on his face! Like, he was battling that trick for close to half an hour, probably 15 tries? Maybe more? And he stuck it! I know that feeling, man! And that was a great way for me to make a solid human connection over a shared understanding. Maybe some more seasoned skaters would not bad an eye over a BS 180, maybe some of them can remember when they battled that trick and can cheer on that person's accomplishment relative to where they are ability-wise... I guess I have a bit of an advantage given that I deeply struggle with that direction of rotation. So I can really relate to how tricky that is for someone around our ability, where a lot of people might have... forgotten.

A bit later, a guy came over to the side of the park me and the kid were on. He didn't have a shirt on, I was a bit oblivious of the other side of the park so I didn't really know what he was capable of. I saw him do a run-up on the round rail that I tried (and succeeded in sliding on) the other day. It's scary if you've never done it before, I can really relate. He did a run-up and chickened out. Like 3 times. Like couldn't get himself to put his board on the rail at all. And I can really relate to that. I skated over to him and actually chatted with him. I told him about my experience, and explained how the unique thing about round rails is once you feel the edge of it... once you feel what the contact area feels like, it's the same on all sides. So... sliding it at a 45 degree angle and sliding it riding flush on top feel exactly the same contact-wise because it's the same surface area on the board. You don't get that with flatbars. But you do have more surface area to "lock in" with flatbars.

He said he learned at a different park nearby how to boardslide on a flatbar and he was considering trying this rail, he was just spooked. And I said I could relate, and encouraged him to keep building up to it. I wanted to help him more, because I was able to make myself face that fear just a few days ago, but... I didn't want to push him farther than he was comfortable. But it was a nice interaction, I didn't get his name either, but it was nice to meet a new face.

Later in the session, some guys who were very good showed up. One I recognized from another time I had been there, he seems chill but we just haven't really talked much. He and another dude were ollieing this plastic jersey barrier, the thing was like waist high. It was fucking insane. The guy I recognized was very consistent ollieing it, the other guy had never done it before. It was really cool to watch him battle it, and in the end he actually got it! And I cheered and smacked my board on the ground and all that. And he rode over to me and we chatted for a bit. I just wanted to congratulate him and say how scary but impressive that was. He introduced himself - I spaced out, he caught me off-guard and I don't remember his name. But he lives nearby, and he was really nice and a good listener and asked a lot of questions and shit, it was nice. Very friendly dude. I got to share my history of snowskating. I told him I come from snowskating and I'm trying to adjust to riding on pavement, and... he had actually snowskated before! Not just single decks, but double decks too. So we had a fun chat about that, and I told him about how I was snowskating the rotary park all winter, and he kinda lit up and was like "oh man, that's like hacking skating" because it's not technically skateboarding... And I told him cops watched me skate there before and didn't seem to mind, no one ever kicked me out or anything, and I skated there all the time. So yeah, it was chill. That was a nice connection.

After all that, I was inspired. I decided I wanted to push myself. Instead of doing the obvious challenge there and ollie-to-manual the angled box... I saved that for another day and I decided to try to get myself to ollie over a metal I-beam. That thing was close to a foot tall. I haven't ollied anything higher than a curb in... a long time. I have on snowskate, I ollied a plastic bucket that was like... a foot and a half? But you don't have trucks that can hang up on a snowskate, so it's much different psychologically.

This was a fucking battle. Not as much skill-wise... but mind-wise. I knew for a fact that I can consistently ollie over this height. But I also know that sometimes when I get nervous and ollie, my tail doesn't lift as much. And that can easily just hang up on the I-beam and I go flying. This was my jersey barrier for the day. I did a few run-ups where I straight up chickened out. I did a few where I ollied right next to it, to try to eyeball how high I was ollieing, but... I had a hard time judging it. I felt way higher, but I couldn't tell. Then it just came down to... fucking sending it. In my head, it was really just a matter of... make sure my foot is not in snowskate pop position, make sure it's in skateboarding pop position... drag forward and down a bit at the end with my front foot, to make sure my board is really leveling out... and commit. Step 3 was the hardest of all. And that's the same struggle I have with setting boundaries, or introducing myself, or cold-calling an old college professor from 15 years ago... It's a matter of, put simply... faith.

You can have all the technique in the world, but if you don't commit to staying above the board and landing on the board, you are not landing the trick. Period. Every time I didn't commit, my board didn't make it over. Every time. And it made a loud clang that drew attention too, so... that was a nice addition. So it added this mind-game... because it felt like I didn't have enough height to ollie this thing, but really... my board wasn't making it over because I wasn't committing to dragging the board up with me. I was leaving the board behind and hopping over. If I didn't know that... I would've easily thought that I just... wasn't capable of ollieing it yet. I just "didn't have the skill yet". But that was patently untrue. And it clicked on one try, where I bailed and didn't fully drag... but the board didn't hang up, it actually made it over and the wheels rolled on the top of the I-beam. And it completely solidified in my head, and I went... "okay, look. If I commit to the drag, my board is going like... twice this height... and I just cleared it without fully dragging... All I need to do is just treat this like doing a really big flat-ground ollie over a pavement crack or something. That's it. I just need to commit and I will land it." I put my music on, went back and landed it the next try. :)

I left on that high note. I went over to throw my apple core away and the kid with the beaming smile when he landed his 180 spoke to me for the first time and asked me if I was leaving, and I said yeah, and wished me well, so I did the same. That made me happy. I wish I was more forward with introducing myself. I'm sure that comfort will come with time and practice. But today was great, and I really appreciate that kid and the guy who ollied the jersey barrier for engaging with me today. I swear, once people initiate I'm pretty comfortable and can carry a conversation pretty smoothly, it's the initiation that I'm rough with.

So... juxtaposing my social interactions at the skatepark today... with the phone debacle that happened earlier? Guess which one I'm looking forward to more of, and which one I'm kinda... looking over my shoulder for? ... I literally was looking over my shoulder a few times at the skatepark today, because this woman lived right next to the park. Not out of dread so much... more out of preparedness. Because it's significantly easier for me to put my boundaries down than it is for me to put my boundaries up. That's a fun little insight, huh? It's way easier for me to let my boundaries down when talking to someone than it is for me to put up walls, excuse myself out, walk away, say "nice to see you, but I'm here to skate, you're free to watch", shit like that. And, because of that... trying to address my social isolation problems by just trying to go out more and meet more people and shit? No shit it wasn't really working. It's not really fully addressing the core of the issue, which happens... in the thick of things.

See, the problem isn't me going out, it's kinda me introducing myself (because I don't want to be too forward or rude or intrusive), but really... the real dread I have... my real Achilles' Heel... is saying "no", or setting boundaries, or excusing myself. And a huge part of this... is due to quitting cigarettes.

When I had cigarettes, I had a free no-questions-asked ticket out of social interactions, especially with non-smokers. For any non-smokers reading this who can't relate, "I'm gonna go smoke a butt, I'll be back" serves a similar utility to "I need to take a piss". But you can do it more often without people asking questions... XD And the more people became super anti-smoking in society, the better it served that purpose, because more and more people wanted you to leave if you were smoking.

I quit smoking in November of... shit... 2021? Maybe 2020, but I think it was 2021. I really don't want to go back to smoking... but I can see super clearly the utility it provided me. It was not like a "coffee in the morning" utility, it was a social escape ritual for which I didn't need to explain myself; primarily for anxiety and stress management. For that, I deeply miss it. I don't miss the buzz at all, in fact I often dreaded it, I only miss the utility it provided me. I've been tempted to buy a pack and just go outside and pull out a cigarette and take drags off it, but not actually light it. Just to have that option in my pocket, just to get the ritual back. Because since the age of 17, this ritual has been a cornerstone of my socializing. Now, almost 20 years later... it's like I have to re-learn how to fucking socialize. Not even "like", I actually have to learn how to excuse myself for no apparent reason, just to go and get some fresh air and do breathing exercises in a place that isn't around the person I'm interacting with, because I'm overwhelmed and struggling to establish boundaries and just need some quiet to think and recover from my anxiety. I don't know how the fuck non-smokers do that. I feel like if I just say, "hey I'm gonna go walk over there for a bit and kinda be by myself", people are immediately going to take it personally, and they will actually be right! It is because of them! But it's not just because of them, it's everyone... because I have social anxiety and trauma issues. Ugh, so complicated...

I rounded out the night by making beans and rice with cheese and some homemade guacamole, and wrote a big post for reddit again. This time, in a smaller subreddit dedicated to people who struggle to leave their houses. It was telling my story since college, specifically related to my career and work struggles. My lack of work history, my lack of references, my trauma response and social isolation limitations and my subsequent fear of being in a workplace and having those limitations (overwhelm, anxiety, sleep problems, shit like that) affect my work performance. I wanted to see if other people could relate, and if any of them had found any ways to sorta... bridge their way back into society. I just figured, if anyone had giant "unexplainable" missing chunks in their resume... it would be other shut-ins. So... I've got a response to that I want to read before bed.

Today was all over the place, but it was overall a good day. A day of trusting myself to set boundaries appropriately with social things that were dissonant with me, and let down boundaries around things that were working well. And taking a literal leap of faith to conquer an obstacle that I didn't even think I was going to attempt today. It feels great. After so many difficult days in a row, I am very proud to say - today was a good day.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

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8/11/23

I am a gigantic ball of emotions today. Mostly depression, but a lot of bubbling emotions... like fear and anger and sorrow.

Needless to say, it's been a difficult day. I am also exhausted from it, so I'm doing this "early" at 10:30PM so I can try to get to bed early. But given that the majority of my anger has been focused towards the stomping and creaking coming from upstairs, that has been going on ALL FUCKING DAY... I may not even be able to get to sleep early. I can't even put into words how many times I've been just on the edge of being relaxed or about to fall asleep, and then I hear what my brainstem interprets as the equivalent of a stick snapping behind me in the woods and my heart fucking jumps. If I told my doctor half of the stress and shit I endure daily, he would not be remotely surprised why I have high blood pressure. It makes me worry for my health.

So... that's opening scope here for the primary topic of the day. Panic responses, and trauma responses. So... there's the commonly known Fight... seems like a lot of people like that one. Responding to a reflex brainstem fear signal with anger, conflict, aggression. Being surprised and scared that someone cut you off in traffic, and responding by screaming and flipping them off and hitting shit. There's Flight... which is running away, and I would absolutely include avoidance with that. Though avoidance is typically anticipatory, rather than reactive... I'm kinda talking more about in-the-moment reactions now. Flight is when I bend down to offer an apple to a wild rabbit in the woods and it just goes "nope" and fucking bolts out of there. And the third well known one is... Freeze. That would be the classic deer-in-the-headlights, like getting on stage and forgetting your lines and feeling completely paralyzed in place.

These are very rudimentary brain functions rooted in the brainstem, which can... override higher brain functions. So you can, in that moment, try to send a signal from your brain to those muscles and try to move them, and your own self-protective mechanisms from a different center of your own brain will prevent you. That's my understanding and experience, at least. I've witnessed and experienced this first-hand with skateboarding. I'm sure you've experienced at least Freeze in your life. A good analogy would be getting up on a big high-dive or a bungee jump and trying to make yourself jump off. There is a survival force within you that roots you in fucking place. And you need to find out how to bypass that force in order to make yourself jump. I remember doing a zip-line on a high ropes course, that was probably the strongest I've felt this force in my life. Fight... maybe if you're deeply afraid of spiders and someone tries to put one on your back or something? And you scream and flail and get violent without even thinking? And Flight... my most vivid memory was when me and my college friend were drunk coming home from a party in the city early in the morning and the cops rolled up on us and he fucking booked it like a gunshot went off, in a split second he was up and over an iron-wrought fence into a graveyard. I've never seen anyone climb like that, that was pure instinct. My version was smoking weed behind an old abandoned bowling alley and the cops rolled up on us... we all split up and sprinted out of there into the woods in the middle of the night with no flashlights. And I hid on the ground and put leaves over me at first... then booked it into the woods and kept clawing my way through the thicket, knowing that the woods I was in would eventually dump out into the street, it would just be a hell of a climb to get there. And after about 5 minutes of clambering through thickets, I realized... I wasn't on the ground anymore... I was definitely suspended in some kind of big bush or tree. I literally couldn't even see, I just kept blindly climbing and climbing. And I ended up making it to the street, covered in mud, bloody from thorns and branches. And I ran and hid behind a dumpster at the pizza place I used to work at and called my friend, and he was like "hey... where did you go? We all went a different way. We were wondering where you went." That fucking instinct took over and I wasn't gonna stop until I knew I was safe. It felt life or death.

But there's one lesser known panic/trauma response that I had always heard about... but I didn't really know much about. I do suffer from all of these responses, I think we all do to one degree or another. I have been making tremendous strides in dealing with Fight, and Flight has been kept in much better moderation. Freeze, I still struggle with a bit. But the last one has been... much less obvious to me... and I had a gigantic spotlight shone on it today - Fawn.

Fawning is... making people happy. I clumsily compared it to someone putting their head in a lion's mouth today, because that's kinda... what it feels like? Or like... what I'm afraid I'm doing? I'll explain more in a bit. It's a compulsion to give and give and keep the other person happy and sacrifice your needs (what needs?) and sacrifice your boundaries... to keep them happy and keep yourself safe. This is probably not the best way of describing it, I can absolutely give real world examples though, I've got them in spades.

See... I've gotten in this really weird place now. Now that I'm aware of what fawning is - a learned behavior of people-pleasing used in an attempt to... lessen abuse either to myself or others - I'm aware that I react that way... a lot. And I've confused it with my personality. I've confused it with being nice, being polite, being respectful, being a good guy. To the point where I struggle to tell apart fawning and confidence. And this works out really fucking well for people who love being the center of attention, or being pampered, or taking advantage of people, or manipulating people, or pushing people around. When that part of my brain gets activated - which is a response to a perceived threat of abuse situation, let's not forget, and my body 100% believes those are the stakes - I turn into the nicest guy you've ever met. I will literally give you the shirt off my back and the keys to my house. ... You can see why that might pose a problem?

This whole time I've been acting like I'm afraid of someone mugging me... when the most likely threat to my home security would be me going into panic mode and compulsively trying to give my keys to someone I met on the street and say "yeah, sure, stay at my house whenever you want." (That's a little bit of an exaggeration, but honestly... it's not that much of a stretch).

Now that I've covered what fawning is, and how it works... Let me tell a quick story. When I met my ex, I was very direct about wanting to try a friends-with-benefits situation. I was a very different person in that stage of life, intentionally. I have always been a deeply sentimental romantic, and I wanted to try an experimental phase to see if that kind of relationship would actually work for me. I have theories that my emotions being heavily suppressed by benzos and antidepressants played into that as well, lessening the emotional guilt or... awkwardness? Weirdness? I don't what to call that. God, all of this feels like a lifetime ago, it's so strange... Anyway, we agreed on that. It was my way of staving off my bitter loneliness, without having to commit to a relationship with someone I wasn't really very attracted to... to be blunt... and an opportunity to explore my sexuality, which frankly just never happened at any point until my late 20's. Shortly after this agreement, this girl moved half a continent to be within a 40 minute drive of me, but "just because she liked the area".

I tried to get my life together, I started tapering off of the benzos and within a few weeks... I was asking her to be in a relationship with me. Despite us fighting, despite her really not being very supportive of me with my detox. I did it because I felt bad. And I was really lonely and scared. And I didn't want to upset her, and kinda felt the pressure from her moving all the way out here. And honestly, in the end? Getting in a relationship for those reasons... was really not a kind thing to do. And I've learned from that.

We did have a lot of good times, please don't get me wrong. She really was a good friend... sometimes. And I grew tremendously in the time we spent together, I learned so many things about myself and others and overcame a lot of lifelong personal demons. Unfortunately, it was insanely unhealthy.

You know, now that I think about it... okay... I've never really been able to figure this one out. Try this on for size. So... I'd have a fight with her. Okay, let me just start that over to be a little more fair to myself... XD Rewind... So, I'd just bring up a random thing that made her insecure, right? Like... the gold standard example of this was the time we were playing Starcraft co-op vs AI Monobattles and she got Archons and I got something else like Roaches or something, I don't even remember. And we were struggling in the game a lot, and I couldn't carry because of the monobattle unit limitations. So the game dragged out for like an hour. And she was really demoralized and not talking at all. And after the game, I did what I always do (because I've been playing games forever) and I sorta debriefed to see what we learned that match. And I asked her about upgrades, because I noticed in the late-game that she had just not gotten higher upgrades, which are essential at that stage. And she just flipped out, as though I accused her of doing something wrong. Accuse, accusation, that word is very deliberate, it was treated like I was pointing a shaming finger at her and yelling, which I absolutely did not. And, honestly, this was probably an unmanaged trauma response of hers. But what I'm setting this story up for is... that fight? Which was me trying to make sense of what the fuck was going on, why she was upset, why we were fighting... at all... and trying to resolve the dissonance between us so we could share a bed together at the end of the night... That fight went on for at least 6 hours. With me going outside to smoke cigarettes being the only breaks. And that length of conflict was common. The longest fight we had was just over 11 hours straight. We didn't even stop for meals.

I don't know a single fucking person who can say they were in a fight for 6 hours. Or who can even process the concept of being in a fight for 11 hours straight. And now that I'm really diving into this... That wasn't Fight at all. That was someone fighting me. I was rarely ever fighting at all. My primary goal at all times was peace. I don't think that was Freeze, I was very active in that situation. I was very capable of leaving the situation, though I just... didn't. There were some rare times that I actually did. But I see Freeze as more... not being able to interact, and I could articulate my perspective clear as day, despite it going unheard. I wasn't sitting there catatonic for 6 hours, I was trying to find a middle ground. It definitely wasn't Flight, that's pretty obvious. So... why the fuck else would I stay in that situation? Why wouldn't I just walk the fuck away and go "I really don't deserve to be treated this way"? Or "she can talk to me when she's ready to hear me out"? Because I want to be a "good guy".

Welcome to the mindset of that person. "Can I trust them to come back?" "I don't want to lose them without trying." "It's my job to give everything I have to make this right. It's my duty."

In a way... it kinda felt narcissistic, in the years since then reflecting on it. As though the outcome of that situation hinged on my actions. It's weird how depression/trauma can manifest dogshit self-esteem like that... how blaming and holding yourself accountable for literally everything... including the actions of others... is really just making it about yourself. But in a super not positive way. But hey, if you're to blame... that means you're responsible... that means... you can do something. That means... you're not powerless. You have agency. And for a victim? That's worth more than gold.

So here's the big unlock of the day. That I'm still chewing on and trying to figure out how to make sense of. I was right there, and I got most of the way, my awesome therapist helped connect the dots. I have a lot of anticipatory anxiety. I'm trying to find the best way to phrase this, I had difficulty earlier too. I'm not as much anxious about the situation itself, but anxious about... how I'm going to act? That I'm going to blind myself to warning signs, to red-flags. That I'm going to do the thing where I know I'm not attracted to my ex, and I know a relationship with her is a really bad idea, but I feel really pressured and guilty and I don't want to upset her and... hey, maybe we can make it work?

I often feel like a grown child. I really do. A very intelligent, wise, well-read, articulate child. I feel vulnerable, naïve and easy to manipulate. And I'm honestly probably not, probably not nearly as much as I think I am. But I feel that way. And that's enough for the panic brain to kick in. And... since time immemorable... predatory people have swarmed me like flies to shit. Not exclusively, but a fucking lot. Most, honestly, in retrospect. So... I'm fearing both that I'm very vulnerable and inexperienced and starry-eyed... and that I'm just going to shove my head right into the jaws of a lion. Completely unaware. Like I have been time and time again. And the trauma flashbacks from that fear... they make the fear responses worse. And the anticipation worse.

And there's also the retrospective anxiety too. Going over an experience like meeting that woman yesterday 10,000x and scanning for red flags and analyzing my behavior and all that. Good lord, this is all so goddamn exhausting.

No wonder I want to avoid all of this. It's so much. When, on the other hand, I can just sit here and polish beads and listen to Elden Ring lore analysis all day. And not worry about whether someone is just trying to use me as a free therapist, and dump their shit on me, when I'm going skating to get out of my head, not to get into someone else's. And then I have to do the last thing I ever want to do - be "rude" and set boundaries. "Sorry, I would love to hear about your ex-boyfriend who's not really a boyfriend but more of a friend and he's really insensitive and manipulative and obsessed with money and lies to you a lot and is a deadbeat father of 6 but like... he doesn't mean it, he's just confused and... but I really want to skate before it gets dark, because like... this is a skatepark. And I came here to skate." I don't want to be "an asshole". I don't want to "hurt peoples' feelings". And my fawning ass will just stand there being eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitos watching the sunlight fade when I could be skating... because I'm too scared to upset this woman who is being "so generous to offer me the time of day to interact with me".

Look, revisiting that. She was nice. She did ask me some questions about myself. But she did spend nearly the entire time just talking about herself and her problems... while I was at a skatepark obviously skating. And she tried to talk me out of trying a new trick... ain't no fucking skater in that park gonna talk me out of trying a boardslide on the round rail, they're going to encourage me. Someone please tell me that's a red flag.

I did end the conversation with quite a mic drop yesterday though. She said at the very end of the conversation that she felt bad she was talking the whole time, I said I love to hear stories and I have plenty of stories of my own. And she said she would be interested in hearing some sometime... and I said... "all you have to do is ask." And... I guess that's a tiny tiny bit passive aggressive, like... it's a not so subtle hint that like... if you want to know about someone... it helps to... show an interest in them? Not just talk about yourself the whole time. So, kind of a guiding hand, a subtle instruction manual on how to make the next interaction a bit more functional for both of us, if she's interested. Or like... maybe have a bit more of an interest in skating... when we're at a skatepark... idk.

So yeah, I just have this gut instinct that... might not be the best situation? We really don't have anything in common. Very different worlds. We're just both... people who give a little too much to people who tend to take advantage of that. And I didn't take advantage of that... and I'm afraid that will make her feel like she's falling for me. When really... it's just the unfamiliar feeling of... safety. And trust me, I can relate to that. But I'm just... I have my own demons right now. And they are screaming and howling in my head. Especially with my "former friend" reopening a lot of traumatic wounds, and having to explain that my fucking parents pay my rent and shit. I'm super sensitive and I have PTSD, and I need to pace myself, so... she's gonna have to understand that.

So yeah, I feel like I got a much broader understanding of my trauma responses today, or at least opened the gates on it. But I don't have a fucking clue what to do. I just feel like... I'm in so deep at this point. I'm afraid I'm just... never going to feel safe around people again. I'm afraid that I'm always going to jump at floorboard creaks as though I'm hearing an animal snap a twig behind me at night, and have my heart race to my throat and surge adrenaline through my system. I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to recognize the difference between a genuinely friendly person... and a wolf in sheep's clothing. Not due to lack of intelligence, but due to trauma responses overriding my judgement and forcing this "cool, confident, nicest, most polite and generous guy in the world" persona. Which is genuine, in that I will absolutely act on it. But it's... ugh... how do I put this.

I should give my time and --- I'm hitting inner conflict, and it's with my spiritual side. Part of me is saying "be loving and forgiving and kind and generous to everyone, breathe love out into the world". And the other part goes "even that guy who's asking for my PIN number?"

It's one thing to love someone who has earned that love - like a good friend or a good family member. It's a bit harder to love a stranger from a distance, but it's possible. It's even harder to love a stranger to their face, but it's possible. It's near impossible to love a stranger who is taking your wallet from your pocket. But I am here to tell you, it's possible. And... if you're like me? It can be compulsive. And... I don't know how to practice not doing that. And my spiritual side is whispering... "why are you unlearning how to love unconditionally?"

So... I'm a bit unsure whether this is a therapy dilemma or a spiritual dilemma, so I really don't know where to go to address it. I'm just so tired of living this way. -_- I'm so tired of being scared to say "no" to people. I feel like a fucking coward. I have been promising myself all day I was going to be kinder to myself and not say shit like that, but I just need to get the thoughts out of my head. I feel like a coward. I feel timid and frail. If gods were the embodiment of concepts, like love or war or wisdom... and they are paid tribute by being kept in mind and channeled through your method of addressing life... if that is worship... Then my life is just a giant temple to the god of Fear. I'm scared of going out, because I'm scared of meeting new people and then being scared of saying no when they cross a boundary with me, or scared I won't be able to walk away without them getting hostile with me. Scared, scared, scared.

But the real bitch here. This isn't just run-of-the-mill anxiety. These fears have been validated by repeated empirical evidence - trauma. They have logic chains, they have memories attached, the offending characters have faces and names. So... and I'm really not even kidding here... interrupting this woman to say "I need to go, it's getting dark out and skating when its dark is super dangerous" feels like trying to get myself to pick up a cooking pot that I know for a fact just came off the stove and is scalding hot. That is what I'm going up against.

How do I practice that when I'm in isolation? When I have no friends, no family, no social contact outside of my therapist? I don't know. Roleplay, maybe? Maybe just... make a character that's super rude... and then dial back my real-life experiences? I dunno.

I'm just kinda... okay. I've been looking at career shit today. I started to look up Masters programs. I'm thinking of applying for scholarships and seeing if I can get into a college walking distance away and work there to make some cash while I'm not in class and just... do fucking something with my life. I don't know. I can't teach without a Masters degree. If I go back to school, I could really apply myself to trying to meet people this time. Faculty. Really try to build personal connections and transition into a career outside of college. I was really thinking... Ancient Art History would be fucking perfect. It covers so many things I love - archaeology, art, world history, spirituality. All lumped into one. But the college near me doesn't offer that, not a Masters. So... I could try a second BA... but then I can't teach... And honestly... I don't even know if I want to teach! I mean... can I really go from being in extreme isolation for 4 years to... standing in front of a class of like 100 students talking about Gobekli Tepe for an hour? ... Maybe?

I just feel... very behind. And like I just... wasted my life. I don't believe that. I look at the art and music and writing I've made over the years and I still am in awe that I actually made that. That was born from me. I brought that into the world. Blows my mind. I don't feel like anyone else in the world cares. Fucking at all. Not more that 10 seconds of their attention - "wow, you did that! No way! That's crazy..." And then they're on to the next thing. Meanwhile, that was 3 months of my life, all day every day. And don't even start me on how to get my fucking rent paid doing this shit.

So... yeah. I just don't know. I don't know how to make this work, and I've been really feeling super lost and depressed because of it. Existential crisis, kinda. Not as bad as others in the past, but it's not fun.

I'm gonna wrap this up by saying... you know when you're writing one of these in a browser and it ghosts out the homepage behind the post you're writing, but there's a post that pops up in the "Radar" section to the right? It's been staring me in the face this whole post. It's a drawing of a guy sitting in a windowsill, holding his knees to his chest, looking out the window with an expression I can't make out (it ain't happy), while rain is streaking down the window. It's oddly appropriate, since it's been raining all evening.

This is a moment. And it won't last forever. I just made a really cool deer drawing the other day, in permanent ink on one of my favorite pairs of pants. I hand-polished 26/88 beads. I've made tremendous strides of self-awareness and growth of my mental health and my spirit. I am very skilled, I am very smart, and I am very sensitive - I have been all my life. These are all gifts and curses. This storm will also pass. In the meantime, I need to make sure that I am being gentle with myself, because the cards I'm playing with are hard enough as-is... I don't need to make it more difficult by turning on myself.

Wish me luck getting to bed early, I still hear footsteps from upstairs. Fingers crossed.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

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8/10/23

Big day. Intense day.

I woke up after 3 hours. Yay. The upstairs neighbor's boyfriend is back, stompstompstomp creakcreakcreak at 8AM. And I couldn't fall back asleep. So I got up and ate some food and messed around with 3D modelling a bit... then did some work in Magic Music Visuals for a while. Eventually I got back to sleep and got another 3 hours, then stayed up.

I did yoga, the first yoga video I ever looked up... made for skaters. I still like it. It was a nice day out and I was kinda pledging to myself that I was going to go skate, regardless of my sleep. It had been raining for way too long, and I just... needed to get some wheels under my feet I guess. There's really nothing quite like cruising. I honestly would be just as fine going out and cruising and not going to a skatepark or learning tricks. I really love it. But it seems to be the one thing that non-skaters will sneer and shake a fist and call the cops on you for. Just fucking using a skateboard like it's a bike. Weird shit.

I was still very depressed. I was exhausted. But I mustered my energy, got some fruit in my system, got a shower in and forced myself to go to the park. The second I got out the driveway I was glad I went. I always am.

I got to the skatepark and it was fucking empty, in fact... pretty much the entire park was empty. And I had the earbuds in listening to Kristoff Krane's Kairos Part 1. I decided I really wanted to practice getting used to landing on a board that's doing a shove it rotation. I kept trying to really be specific to myself about what my fears there were, why I wouldn't commit to the trick. On snowskate, shove its are simple for me. They're my go-to trick. I just have to make sure I line them up well when I land, but I can shove it pretty much as well as I can ollie, and sometimes even better. But on skateboard... it just gets in my head, I don't know why. I still can't really figure it out. Like... I think I'm afraid of slipping out, but riding a snowskate on a packed surface is way more slippery than a skateboard on concrete. It just doesn't make sense.

I practiced nollie shoves over and over and over, because I'm more comfortable doing those, I have more experience from shoving out of nosestalls and nosemanuals. I don't pop them, but that's not really what I'm practicing. I wanted to practice the simple act of landing on a rotating board.

I am comfortable just riding with a board under my feet in many situations. I am comfortable ollieing down stuff, for the most part. I'm not up to big drops yet, but I could probably handle a 2 or 3 stair drop at this level. It's the ollie out to clear the gap that sketches me out. And ollieing up is a bit weird, but it's just lack of practice. I realized through this that most, if not all, of my tricks... my board stays with me. It never leaves my feet. Not fully. And in shove its, kickflip, etc.. the board leaves your feet and you need to land back on it. And I guess that is what's sketching me out. Not landing with the board at speed, not so much... landing on the board after being off of it, and quickly recalibrating my balance. Likely a problem because I never learned how to throw the board down.

So... instead of focusing on specific tricks and driving myself crazy because I can't figure out what I'm doing wrong... I'd rather focus on the concepts that I'm missing... like throwing a board down and hopping on, and normalizing that feeling... and jumping off a board and landing back on bolts. Then, adding in rotations and shit. Because it doesn't matter how high you pop your shove it, or how well you can eyeball the rotation every time... if you don't feel confident landing back on the board and riding away?... You're not going to land it. And that's just that. Simple, but very often overlooked.

So yeah, I felt much more comfy on my board today after practicing a bunch of nollie shoves. I was tempted to start practicing nollie shove off the angled box... and I was about to... when I noticed a person coming over to the skatepark. It was a woman, somewhere around my age.

I waved, she waved back. I wasn't really processing what was happening, I was used to there being people at the park. She just came right over and started talking to me. For 2 hours. She introduced herself, she started literally telling me her life story - well... more just stories about her ex/friend who... is kinda consumed by his demons, and honestly didn't sound like that good of a friend. She had an accent, I could tell she was from... what kinda sounded like a Central African country, but I'm not experienced with discerning those accents so I couldn't tell you a country. I could tell she really wanted to talk, and connect with someone who she felt understood her. So, I let her talk. All while we were both being eaten by mosquitoes and a small few were visiting and leaving the park. I would contribute commentary, I would insert my own take on things when it felt appropriate, but mostly I just listened and let her talk.

She did ask me a bunch of questions about myself though, like... about my spirituality? Because I was wearing a necklace with beads and stones. And honestly? I don't think anyone has ever asked me that. Likely because I never really hung out with religious people. She's a practicing Muslim, she was very open about that. I didn't know what to answer. In hindsight, I probably would have leaned a little heavier on the Buddhist side, but I felt my answer was fair and accurate. That I am a spiritual person, but I don't really subscribe to one camp. I study all spiritual beliefs - I wish I had leaned into this a bit more, because I really do, I spend a huge chunk of my free/work time studying all kinds of religions. I said I take bits and pieces from what resonates with me, and that I really try to focus on morality and ethics. Just... being a good person.

Is this the world I've been missing out on? Talking about personal spiritual beliefs within 5 minutes of meeting someone? The whole conversation was a whirlwind. I was very calm and cool through most of it, I didn't really get overwhelmed much in the moment. She was very funny and thoughtful, and she decided to just kinda hang out at the park until it got dark.

It was a bit awkward when she was asking me where I lived... and I had to tell her that I was an artist... but I was living in these apartments over here... and she knew how much the rent was here. And the rent is ridiculous. Like... absurd. So she knew within a few seconds that I live alone, I am a full-time artist and I live in these expensive apartments. And the question came... how do you pay for that? Yep. So I get to unveil that my wealthy parents help me with rent while I chase an art "career" that's never going to come to fruition. Fucking depression whispering that in my ear over and over the whole time. To the point where I was literally looking for job listings over dinner. -_-

Besides these two awkward moments... I guess there was one other thing. I could tell she was like... a mother figure. At least, she really identified with that. And... I told her about my leg injury. I told her that I was getting back into skating because I got an injury - I lied and told her it was from skating, it was really from a mosh pit at a metal show... I don't know why I lied, it just kinda made the story more coherent and less rambley - I told her that skating was my way of facing that fear and reconnecting with a sport that I love, a culture I love. But later on, she kept saying stuff like "break my leg, break your leg" over and over. Like anything skate related, I wanted to push myself and try a trick that was a bit outside my comfort zone... boardsliding a round rail for the first time (which I did, to little fanfare)... and she almost seemed like she was kinda... half trying to talk me out of it? Like "okay, don't break your leg." And... yeah, I really don't think this was on purpose, probably just an expression she was used to hearing... but yeah, that was a bit hard and confusing. I don't think she was trying to fuck with me, but I could have easily interpreted it that way.

I struggled to wrap up the conversation as she kept going on about her friend that is obsessed with using money as a way to prove his worth to people and shit, a very materialistic and manipulative guy. And I get she needed to get that out, and people do tend to treat me like their therapist a lot. It's a thing. Probably because I politely listen - like actually listen - and don't interrupt people or use it as an opportunity to talk about myself. But... it was getting dark... and I was worried about riding home in the fading light with cars and shit. And I really struggled to... end the conversation. I think she noticed, and we made our way there.

On our way out to the parking lot, we exchanged information. She asked for my number, which I gave to her, and I'm like 80% sure it was the right number, but when she tried to call me it didn't dial through for some reason... And she gave me her Instagram, which I was kinda leaning towards because I wanted to share my art. She expressed an interest in wanting to hang out more, like going downtown sometime. I just kinda nodded and smiled, I was kinda just exhausted and wanted to go home. I really didn't want to commit to plans or something, I was getting pretty overwhelmed. This was all so alien to me. So I just kinda said the hours I usually try to come to the park, and if she wants to chill she can hit me up. And that's that.

It's weird to have people want to spend time with me. It's been about a year since someone wanted to hang out, way farther than that since someone took initiative and asked me. And it's been almost half a year since I've even had social interactions more than in passing with someone that wasn't my therapist... It's really hard... and really embarrassing... to find a way to communicate that to people in a way they'll understand.

Like... this chick was talking about needing to get out of the house, getting stir crazy and shit. She has a 13 year old daughter, and I think either lives with her mom or lives close to her? And goes to bars and shit to try to socialize (though she doesn't drink or anything). And she's getting stir crazy. So... how likely do you think she's going to be to really understand what my experience is in that moment, when I haven't spoken to another person more than a handful of syllables IN A FUCKING WEEK. I've barely even spoken above a whisper in that time! And before that therapy session, was another week before it. And another before it... Like... the last social hangout I had that wasn't someone trying to get something out of me... or stupid condescending hypocritical fights with my mom... I think it was over a year ago? I really can't remember.

So... this kind of shit shocks my system. I can do it... but it's so... alien. So strange. I remember the first time I really felt like this was when I went thru-hiking on a big hiking trail for 2.5 days alone. No media, no phone, no music, just me and my pack and lots of fucking walking. By the end of that, I was so starved for social contact it was nuts. My tolerance has definitely improved over the decade since then.

So yeah, I don't know how to feel right now. I'm kinda just flooded from the experience, it was a bit too much. I really wasn't prepared. I was really just looking to get to the skate park so I could just not fucking listen to that creaking floorboard anymore. But instead, I was kinda... I don't know how to say this kindly... I want to say "used to meet their social needs." But I did give consent...

On the other hand, she was very kind and smart, she had a good attitude, though a few things I wasn't entirely onboard with. We were talking a bit about American culture and materialism and she was very adamantly pushing into this whole "you must work for what you have, that is what makes you appreciate it." And I starkly disagree. I believe that appreciation comes from within, that it's a deliberate action that we must take willfully. That it is, in its own way, a willful act of love. And I feel that understanding and valuing work for work's sake should be kept separate from that. I really, truly, don't understand why they are intertwined... short of "motivation" for people who would not otherwise labor. As though our possessions are awards for the work we do, a public demonstration of the worth we have provided for society... when I really feel like appreciating things is a deliberate act that we all need to take. You don't need to work to appreciate a sunset, you need to find the appreciation within yourself. But, you know, it's easy to have a shaming finger wagged at you for talking from a place of "privilege" like that, so I kept my mouth shut. More because I didn't want her to feel like I was... contesting her.

I'm also deeply aware of my fawning reflexes... which shone bright as the sun when I just... wouldn't skate because it would be interrupting her... and wouldn't go and pack my shit when it was getting dark because it would be interrupting her... So, I was trying to keep myself mindful that... there might be much more to what I was seeing than what I was being presented. Given that I have been fooled quite a few times before.

So... at risk of feeling like I'm being unfair to her... I'm staying a little skeptical... but it was definitely nice to meet someone who seems to be a kindred soul of sorts. I don't like how negative I'm painting this, but... I'm just trying to keep myself safe, I guess. She was nice and this could be a friend connection - hell, maybe even more down the line, who knows? - but I'm not going to do what I've done in the past and just swim in idealism and glaze over the bumps. I just did that a couple weeks ago when that "former friend" shot a fucking fox when we were on the phone... so, I do feel bad that I'm kinda keeping a bit of arms-length here... but I really need to keep a bit of an insulation layer in my process of acclimating to social interactions again, especially in-person.

That was another part... she mentioned being sick... or starting to feel sick... and it just sent Covid flashbacks blasting through my system. That was the #1 first thing that popped in my head. So, that definitely is part of why my guard is still up there.

Anyway, I'm absolutely fucking bushed right now. I just... I'm conflicted on how I feel about that. I was really happy when I got home. A bit embarrassed about the whole "my parents have money and they're helping me out in my mid-30's" thing... But I was happy that I made a connection who wanted to spend time with me. But the hours since have really just been... hashing over the details and dissecting nuance and... scanning for potential threats, I guess. Scanning for red flags. So, I'm stuck in that weird limbo state of feeling happy I made a connection, but hesitant and uneasy about whether it's truly genuine. I just hope I can be fair to others while I try to keep myself safe.

That's honestly been my day. I got home and made dinner and polished a few beads and now I'm here. So... off to bed and we'll see what happens with therapy tomorrow. Like 1200 things to cover in one hour... ugh...

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/9/23

Another depressed day. Maybe the rain is playing a part in it, I don't know. It's just been non-stop lately.

I placed my grocery order last night and was prepared to go get the delivery around 3. I was going to bring my signed lease renewal to the office then, since it's right by the front door to the building. I woke up after 5 hours of sleep. Dehydrated, hungry, sweating. Just... not a fun way to wake up. I ended up just... staying up. And honestly, the day has just been a bit of a blur since then.

I barely had any food, I was waiting for my groceries. I ended up getting my food picked up by this guy who I thought at first was pretty nice and friendly... and he was, don't get me wrong... but he kept trying to get me to settle for substitutes and shit, and was clearly rushing the order and clearly picking up multiple orders at once. I let him substitute some frozen vegetables, he kept saying they were "hard to find" and he "wasn't used to this grocery store" or whatever. And complaining about having a bad back and asthma? For some reason... And I was just like... yo... if you can't do the job, don't fucking sign up for it. Sorry, man. Like... I get that you might have struggles, and we're all hurting out here... but no one held a gun to your head and said you need to take multiple orders at once. Fucking no one did that. And if you can't handle one order... with your bad back and asthma... then what makes you think you can do three?

It really set the day off on a bad note, because the dude was legit trying to refund my tofu, and that's my only fucking source of protein right now. And they have plenty of tofu brands, this guy has just never shopped for tofu before. And he tried to ask me if I fucking knew where it was in the store... And then... refunded it! Before I even answered! And I was just like... "you can substitute with a different brand as long as it's extra firm." And when he asked me if I knew where it was, I told him to ask someone who works at the store. Like seriously, I am paying you to drive to this store, get things off a list, and drive them to my apartment. Is it really that far out of reach to just... go to literally any person in the store wearing a store uniform and ask them where they keep the tofu? And the frozen vegetables I ordered that you substituted? What the fuck, man. If you can't do that, you really shouldn't be doing a job like this.

I mean, I have pretty severe anxiety problems and I struggle to ask staff for things sometimes because of anxiety limitations. Trust me, I get it, if that's even the reason. But like... if I was picking up someone else's groceries? And claiming it was out of stock, but really I just stopped looking and didn't ask anyone? Bro, you're getting paid. You're on the clock.

So yeah, that upset me quite a bit. Then, my groceries got here. And when I unpacked them, there were two kinds of tomatoes bagged together and neither of them were Roma tomatoes... And my block of pepper jack was fucking ripped open. I'm still pissed off. Like... I haven't even gone on the app to file a complaint because of how pissed I am. I just don't want to deal with it. And I know the cheese bag rip was from him because that cheese hardens pretty quickly and it was still soft.

So... that guy might not have a job pretty soon... or at least his rating is going to go down. Not for lack of communicating, but for lack of putting in the effort to get the job done accurately and thoroughly... because he decided to spread himself too thin. That's not me asking too much or setting too high of a standard. I click pictures of things I want that are supposedly in stock, I pick out substitutions for them. He is supposed to check with me before substituting (which he didn't on 3 items), and make an honest effort to make sure the items I ordered are actually out of stock. But he was fielding multiple orders simultaneously and was already running an hour late.

He then dropped off my groceries and didn't notify me that they were dropped off when there was frozen food in the bags... What a way to start my day.

And here I was, happy that I started my day with a shower, when I normally wait on a shower until after yoga. Yep, that means that I still haven't done yoga. But I showered because I knew I was going to be around people and I didn't wanna be stinky.

When I picked up my groceries, a young woman was walking in with a dog. They were both very nice and polite, I appreciated it, she offered to hold the door open for me. I tried to thank her and wish her a good day, but again... I felt like someone took my volume remote and turned me down to 3/100. Like I was trying to speak and it just came out as a whisper. Maybe because it was the first time I had spoken out loud... man, I was gonna say today but... maybe in a few days... Then I went and handed the lease over to the Assistant who was really nice to me at the parking lot party almost a month ago. And I was wearing the blue bead necklace that I made and the pants with the deer on them. As conversation pieces, in case I felt brave enough to like... say "hey, wanna see what I've been working on?" Or, if anyone else felt generous enough to point them out themselves... (I guess I kinda lean on the latter one...)

The Assistant wasn't looking in my direction, so I waited for a minute until she turned around, and I got her attention. She apologized as though she did something really wrong, like "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, I didn't see you there." Like I was... 7 years old again... waiting quietly and politely like I was trained to... for an ice cream or something, and the person at the stand goes to close up the shop and suddenly notices this saintly patient silent boy with hopeful eyes and an innocent smile. And she feels so bad, like she almost broke his heart. When really, I had only been standing there for like... 30 seconds... and it wasn't a big deal at all. And I held out the folder and she just automatically asked if it was my lease, and then offered to get a signed version back to me and... I mean... I barely got 3 syllables out of my mouth and the conversation was fucking over and she was walking away. It was like a tornado whipped through the room. But I fucking guarantee other people would not have experienced it that way. I just live at such a slower pace and quieter volume. Good lord, do I. I literally stop to smell the roses.

Those two interactions back to back just... made me feel so out of place. So socially incompetent... meh... more socially incongruent. I felt so timid and frail and... out of my element? I guess? It's so hard to describe.

Now... for juxtaposition... look at how much I have to say about it. XD How fucked is that. In person - 3 syllables. In writing - 3 paragraphs. When most people are pressed to find 144 characters of coherent shit to say. I have so much I want to contribute. Again, it was a reminder of how I deeply struggle to... initiate. To break the ice. But once the ice is broken and I'm comfortable? I will literally talk to you for 12 hours straight and not repeat a topic.

This was what drew my ex to me. She would ask me about things I was passionate about - the one that stands out the most vividly was when she asked me about some Star Wars lore, some fan theory I was digging deep into and my own thoughts on it. She had never even seen the movies. But she loved my passion, how deeply into this I was. How much I cared. And how I presented it. Because it was real. It was real passion. And this, of course, is all because I experience extremely deep genuine emotions - my gift and my curse.

I'm making lemonade in the other room and I have to go and add more water to the Brita thing periodically, this is one of those breaks. I also made more granola, the same kind - white chocolate with freeze-dried strawberries. I need to figure something else out with the strawberries, the freeze-dried ones are just really weird. The taste and the texture just gets odd.

Anyway yeah, I just keep getting reminded of this big curse of my life that I just absolutely suck at going up and introducing myself to people. The only time I've ever been able to really do that comfortably was when I was doing a bit or something. I really don't even know why, to be honest. I guess I'm just afraid of being too forward? I don't know. So I've always just sorta... waited for people to approach me. And I just took whatever I could get.

This applies universally. Going to a bar, seeking out and flirting with a random girl? Not a chance. Cold-calling someone and trying to sell them something? No way. It's just... it just doesn't feel right. Any variation.

What I have found that works for me is using contextual environmental actions to justify interactions. Like... we all see a rabbit run across the street and I point it out and go "wasn't that cool" or something. I don't fucking know, it's a weird example but go with it. Like... I can...

Dude, I just got a really sad memory. I remember when I was skating at the skatepark back at my old hometown... and it was just me and this kid there until after sundown. And the kid was just sitting on the bench the whole time, barely even skating at all. Alone. With me, a 36 year old man. And he couldn't have been over the age of 12. I really don't think he was even a teenager yet. And he was just silent, just watching me skate, but not letting me see him watch, and sitting on the bench. Which was weird in itself for me, but I got over it quickly. And after a while... it was getting dangerous for me to skate, because the skatepark just straight up did not have lights, despite plenty of other shit at the park having lights. Talk about fucking discrimination. By the time I packed up, it was legit getting so dark I couldn't even see the ramps anymore. And he was still sitting there. And I actually approached him. I was so freaked out by it for so long because... anxiety, man. I don't want some fucking paranoid parent looking over and seeing me, a grown man, talking alone with a kid at a park. There are enough fucked up people blasted all over the news to justify that paranoia in peoples' heads to the point where I don't feel comfortable with it at all. Which sucks. Because I'd probably make a great mentor for a kid like that. But I braved the "risk" and asked him if he had a ride coming, and he said yes but he didn't know where they were. He asked to borrow my cellphone, which I gladly obliged. He called and got one of his parents, who said the other was on their way after work. And it was like... 7PM and already dark.

So... my paranoid ass just told him it would probably be safer to hang out on one of the benches in the light over by the buildings in the park. And wished him luck. And I fucking left. I fucking left this kid alone at the skatepark in the dark with no cell phone in like October.

Why? Because of my anxiety. Because I didn't want some parent or cop or something coming by and seeing me sitting on a bench with a kid and throwing me in fucking prison. Because I'm paranoid, just like them. And because of that, that poor kid had to go through that scary moment alone. I obviously feel very guilty because of that. Now, I wonder... how many people my age, in my demographic... would have stayed? I genuinely don't know if I could come up with a percentage. I really don't know.

But if I was skating with one other person? We would've stayed. 100%. I don't know if I would've offered him a ride home... but we would've stayed with him.

The last time I remember being as confident as I would need to be right now... it was summer 2019. And the trauma I suffered then has really deeply infected my associations with... extroverted actions. I would go on Overwatch quick plays and just talk on team chat the whole time, build the team up a lot (usually while playing support), get them real excited, then collect people after the match if they wanted to join up and bring them with me into new random matches. I sent long heartfelt emails to my college ex and my older brother, probably a few other people I don't remember. I tried to join an interfaith spiritual group, which really led to sparking the flame in my family problems. I don't know, I guess I wasn't like... going around town going up to strangers and introducing myself... but I was definitely much more confident in the extroverted actions that I did there. And now... those are much harder.

Like now... I really need to email the head of this art collective a block away from my building. I really need to. And... I'm scared. Honestly. I don't know what to say that isn't awkward, and I have no one to proofread. That's the real kicker for me. I have no one to proofread.

Why is that a problem? Hmm... Well... I used to do a video blog where I would get high and just talk about life, raw and unedited. The whole concept behind it was like a micro bite-sized podcast that simulated the social act of going out for a smoke break with friends. To capture that moment where you're sitting on the porch in the dark with friends and the only light is ambient light from inside and the red-orange glow of your embers, and you just talk about life and whatever cool shit you discovered... anything really. Just real, honest human connection. Because those moment were really where a lot of social gems in my life were found. And this was 2 years before I quit cigarettes. My plan was to use this series to quit smoking cigarettes and replace it with both weed and a healthier habit - creating and socializing.

The entire series was, from its inception, designed to be a social act. And it was designed to cater to even being done through phone calls, and within restrictive timetables. See... when I asked people if they wanted to do a podcast or some kind of freestyle off-the-cuff radio-style media... they would all say bullshit excuses like "I'm too busy" or "I can't be there in person". So... my naïve ass decided to accommodate my inspiration to the people who were too cowardly to tell me "no, I'm not interested". And the idea was somehow even better! And then they just came up with more bullshit to say "no" to that. So... I just said... "fuck it, I'll just do it solo and show them that it works, then they can join later. Proof of concept." Right? Ugh, I'm so innocently optimistic it makes me cringe. They were never going to show up, in fact, they didn't even want to listen to the ones I did. How fucked is that? They literally wouldn't make 5-10 minutes at any point in their day to either talk to me about literally anything for this series, or listen to me in the episodes I did without them. Great friends...

So... that series just turned into me getting high and talking to myself in a phone. Every day. For 100 days straight. And that was quite an accomplishment. But keep in mind. I was smoking weed for the first time in 15 years, I was in real isolation for the first time ever, and at one point was detoxing off of meds and dealing with sleep deprivation, and enduring a lot of trauma and grief completely unsupported... at the same time. And I was recording stream-of-consciousness videos of that. In a way, I wish I had kept the recordings... because it would've made Bo Burnham's Inside look like a Broadway play. This was 100% raw shit. Raw as it gets. Honest as it gets. True art. And honestly, it was probably way more coherent than my paranoia right now is trying to convince me, whispering over and over in my ears. But man, the second I got off of meds... and was around a whole bunch of people who just... did not understand art or artists at all... They really let that shame dig deep into me. And didn't seem to bat an eye at my desire to clean house and wipe that chapter from my life out of shame. I still look back at that like... "what were you guys thinking? You just let me quit? And supported it, as though it was 'recovery'?!"

I think at some point I watched one of the videos from that period that was on my phone, and it felt like incoherent babble. And it scared me. Because it like... validated all of the literal gaslighting that my family and friends were doing. And I still don't know to this day if it was actually "crazy"... like an actual psychotic break captured on film... or I just lacked the context to understand the eureka moment I was experiencing while high. And honestly, I really think it was the latter. I really do.

So... yeah... no shit I struggle to put my stuff out there. I'm shocked I've even been able to do this journal. Need I even mention that my mom desperately tried to talk me out of doing this project, and several other precursor projects as well.

If your way of "protecting" someone is to convince them not to take a single risk in pursuit of their dreams, their passion, their craft... I just don't even know what to say. You're lost as fuck. You need to find a fucking lighthouse or something, I don't know.

I still struggle to read notebooks from that time - and mind you, I was very artistically prolific during that period. I wrote a ton, I recorded music, I made visual art, I made crafts, I did several video projects, I streamed, I did it fuckin all. I still have several journals kicking around that have notes from that time period and... it's hard for me to read because I'm expecting to find a smoking gun. I'm expecting to find something "crazy". But I never do. I just find weird experiments with stream-of-consciousness poetry and mind-mapping and like... experimenting with spirit writing, and trying to induce trances and then draw whatever popped into my head immediately after. Shit that I had wanted to do for years. Shit that I still want to do, honestly.

To me, there's something so exciting and beautiful about the time-honored tradition of getting really fucking high and putting yourself in a shamanic trance and letting an idea come to you and channeling it into a medium. And I really don't think that act has ever hurt anyone... or even poses a real, logical threat... But, to be fair... the people who were trying to convince me these things were "crazy" were shadow-led by a man who sent me an email article claiming that street weed was laced with fentanyl now, trying to scare me out of smoking weed. And... one of my friends died a fentanyl related death a few months prior to that... So... Yeah... That shit will kinda dig some roots in your head, especially when you already have a preexisting anxiety disorder.

Good lord, how did I even get here. Confidence? I guess? How that was the last time I was really confident. And my confidence led me to losing fucking everything. At least... that's what I was led to believe, to cover their asses and blame me for their actions. And now... I struggle with trauma responses when I... start being my confident self. When I start feeling like "that confident guy" again, I get a reflex like I'm expecting to get stabbed or something; or like I'm going to anger someone or suffer a great loss.

I guess let me connect some dots here. I treated deleting my YouTube with the 100+ micro podcasts, the associated twitter, all the social media, patreon, everything. I treated that as the death of that persona. I got rid of the name, I changed all my usernames from that to what I am using currently. And the persona that I killed off? It was the evolution of my writing/music persona. The one I had in college and beyond, the name everyone called me more often than my own name. The one that... is here.

I'm editing a bit because I want to connect the dots but I'm trying to prevent myself from doxing the old username because I'm still very anxious and paranoid and don't know if it's still on the internet. But... I evolved my old writing/music name into the one I used for art and the YouTube series and shit. I added a suffix from an ancient culture's word for the spiritual essence of a person that survives after death. Like... finding my purpose, my identity, and integrating it into the framework of what I had already been building. Finding my soul, and merging it with the life I had. And it also doubled as the name of a character from Belorussian folklore, and I have some Belorussian blood and I really identified with the character, so it was a really cool double entendre there. And this, I guess this is another evolution extension off of that. I guess this has been my way of bringing that part of me back. This is where my confidence has been hiding. In the penumbra.

Man, this is like trauma central tonight. I just searched for penumbra to give a definition and the first thing that popped up was a device used to clear blood clots in extremities. And... I almost got my leg amputated for a blood clot in my shin... What are the chances? Ugh, didn't need to relive that too tonight...

I was going to do something witty about like... how my past persona wasn't killed off... I just banished it. I deleted the videos, I wince when I read the writing, I cringe when I think about how confidently wrong I often was... how embarrassing that was. How "foolishly" I dove headfirst into things and improvised my way out of them. How I said yes to life as much as I possibly could, and all the danger and harm that put me through.

Imagine how different my life would be if I remembered the good times? I don't think of how movie-like and wonderful it was to have my dog tied to my waist and walking me around a ski resort all day, and then, that night, us sitting at a pizza place with a complete stranger, a nice young woman we met that day, and all of us eating dinner together and then dropping her off at her tent like a gentleman and going back home. I don't think of when I was sitting on the porch listening to music and trying to learn how to cut and polish stones... and then looking out over the pond and seeing billowing clouds of milkweed seeds floating on the surface of the water and flying in the air, and seeing the Strawberry Moon around sunset that evening. I don't think of long days out in the stream on my property adjusting the flow of the water and building waterfalls and pools and borders, while my dog went in the overgrowth and hunted moles and chipmunks. It's a shame. It was really the turning point in my relationship with my dog, honestly, both of my pets. When I found myself, and found my heart again, and started treating them like my children. Like I always should have been. And we had so many wonderful times.

I guess that's the transition there. I started the memorial piece for my pets today. Doing the text at least. I don't have a printer anymore, and I threw away all my fucking carbon paper. I had so much. I had like... probably over 200 sheets of carbon paper that I had bought for tattoo stencils. It was a staple in tattooing, it's what you do your stencils with, it's a must. I held on to that shit for 10 years. And I had to throw it all out. Because I just didn't have room for my tattooing stuff and... it was time, I guess. I threw out all my tattooing stuff. It still hurts.

But that carbon paper would be super fucking useful right now. And... I don't have it. So... I don't really know how I'm going to do this design. I found the text, it works, I've got it all typed out and spaced and formatted, it should wrap well. I just... don't really know what's next. I guess... I just trace it off my tablet onto paper... then rub graphite on the back? Then transfer that way? Either that or cut the letters out and do it like a graffiti stencil. Idk. A printer would make this so much easier. But that shit the bed on the move as well.

So... I kinda hit a wall with that. It's all good to go, I just... don't know how to get it off my computer and onto the staff. So... I guess I'll get to it when I get to it.

Then I ate a ridiculous amount of food, because I barely ate all day prior. I listened to Tony Hawk/Jason Ellis's podcast with Lil Wayne, which was cool. It's really crazy to hear Lil Wayne talking about how funny people who I went to high school with are. Fucking surreal. And really cool that with all his fame and fortune, the thing that brings him the most childlike joy (you can actually see him wiggling in his chair like a child, it's so wonderful!) is skating.

After food, I started polishing the small beads. The yellow-green and natural wood colored ones; there are 88 of them. My plan is to do the Brillo/brown paper treatment on them... then do another coat of tung oil... then wait 3 days... then repeat and see how it comes out. With this many beads to do, I'm really reaching with my creativity to try to find some way to make a hand-powered tool where I can just pop the bead on and use a handcrank or something. Just using a dowel is going to give me blisters soon, I can feel it. I have no problem using tools, I'm just avoiding powertools.

And yeah, that's about it for the day. Making my own lemonade rather than buying it. Making my own granola again. And that's about that.

Last thing - I have two of my first chili peppers that are ready to be picked, bright red and everything. No clue what to do with them... XD I might freeze them for now and thaw them when I can figure out what to do, I might try to make a hot sauce, that could be cool. Cherry tomatoes are still growing, the first should be ripening soon. Yay! :)

This was a heavy journal entry. It's... ... I carry a lot of shit. And when that trauma and... influence gets so deep into your insecurities and your anxieties... it can start influencing your everyday behaviors. It's surreal how deeply it can transform your life, and how quickly. And maybe laymen can relate a bit now with the whole pandemic and all... how those fears really stick with you, even though you "don't have to worry about it anymore". After a few years, it can get trained as a deep reflex, an instinct... and those can be hard to shake, and hard to reason with. If you too are struggling with those reflexes? You're not alone, you just do the best you can with what you've got to work with today, take notes and try again tomorrow.

So... tomorrow? I'd like to set the goal of trying to email the guy at the art collective. I'm not quite ready to email my old drawing teacher, or my old painting teacher, or my old graphic design teacher (ironyyyy). But this small step of just saying "hey, I'm an artist new to the area, I live a block away from the collective. I'd love to meet some creative people and sorta get integrated into the local art community, could you help?"... It could make a world of difference, and lead me to seeing that sending a message like that? That's not rude, it's not scary, it's not forward, it's just people being people. It's using an email for what an email is for. And the worst that could happen is him saying "no". I think that's worth taking a leap for.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/8/23

I was a bit worried last night that I put too much color into the deer drawing on my pants. Man... there's something so scary about working in a permanent medium on a one-of-a-kind surface. It's really hard to put into words.

It was much more intense when I was tattooing, but... that was a lifetime ago, honestly. I was much more okay with taking giant leaps of faith back then. Being... a bit naïve and reckless does have its perks. That sparks an interesting thought chain. This is such a huge trope of the human condition, younger people being willing to take risks and older people playing it safer and safer. It's obviously not a hard rule, but it's pretty all encompassing.

I guess it comes from this whole... knowledge thing. Ever since I took the time to actually read The Bible - okay, I'm gonna level, I barely made it through the entirety of Genesis, but if I'm being blunt? I think that's more than most people nowadays have actually read themselves rather than had "summed up" for them - I keep coming back to this allegory of the Garden of Eden. I really started to unpack it a few years back and compare it to sorta... our blossoming from childlike innocence into the horrors of adulthood. How life seems very idyllic and magical. Then we're tempted to eat the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge... That was the part that got me, the thing that triggered the exile from Paradise... was absorbing the byproduct of Knowledge... which is like... awareness, right? Then suddenly we're aware that we are naked and we get ashamed. And then God comes in and is like "what the fuck have you done, you did the one thing I told you not too..." and then Adam blames it on Eve and Eve blames it on a snake. End result? Exile, with angels guarding the gates with flaming swords. Aka... you ain't comin back. And they're sent off into the wasteland of the world, all dust and thorns and shit, planting seeds as they go. At least, that's the memory of the story that I have, it's admittedly been a very long time.

My point being... I feel like there are very few innate fears. Like... as children, we need to be taught what to fear. There are very few things that we just naturally are averse to, short of like... snakes... or spiders... or fire... shit like that. Even then... Anyway, the Paradise of the mind... Nirvana, in Buddhism, I would equate it to... is a place of free from the compulsive forces of Desire and Fear. And it really does feel like Eden is that state. That state of just... peacefully being. At least, in juxtaposition to what happens after the fruit is consumed. But the difference here is that we still live in the same world we did when we didn't have fears, when we weren't aware of the horrors of this planet. Before we learned about murder, or school shootings, or horrible diseases, or the Holocaust, shit like that. We're still in Eden... we just... can't go back. You can't go back to blissful unawareness (lack of Knowledge), short of some kind of severe brain damage. (well... Buddhism kinda teaches that actually... you can... through releasing attachment... but that's another story.)

So yeah, this whole parable (at least the purpose I'm using it to illustrate) is to demonstrate how the more you learn about life, about the world, about people, about nature... the more it invites fear and desire. In my experience, and in all of my observed experiences of others, too... The more you see sickness and death and it starts actually resonating with you, the more you are aware of and fear your own mortality. And that fear can start affecting your everyday decisions - especially when it's not processed in healthy ways... or... at all.

In this case, I used to be more comfortable taking gigantic leaps. Volunteering to be the first person in my shop to tattoo someone for the first time. A stranger I had met the day prior. Doing circles and straight lines. Talk about scary. But I did it fine. Now? Now I got spooked just putting a fabric pen on a pair of cargo shorts. Because those are my shorts. They mean a lot to me. I don't see them as replaceable. I learned that one small move, one oversight, can "ruin" an entire piece. And I was really anxious about that piece for a good chunk of last night.

Today? Dude, it looks sick. It really does. I was being so goddamn gentle with that fabric pen. I was like... dry-brushing every pen stroke, which is just kinda silly. I just saw an opportunity to do a huge variance in value that I wasn't expecting, and I tried to take advantage of it. I tried to be as light as possible, and then go in and add more and more to fill it in. Welp... I did exactly that. And I ended up reinking the same area like 4 times with the same exact color which is kinda silly... But the end result is fucking sick. I think it's mostly done.

It's funny because most of that super light drybrush texture is completely gone. I guess I was expecting the ink to flow much faster, to act more like... ink. To soak into the fabric. But it really didn't do that so much, unless I let it really pool by going over the same area too many times, which did happen and was not good, but I did recover from gracefully.

So... I'm frustrated that I can't just make myself do something scary like this, the way I used to. For instance... my black pants. I decided I might as well just get a Sharpie and go nuts on those pants. Maybe add in watered down fabric paint after to see if I can get more permanence without the kinda screen-print caking quality, because Sharpie does wash out. But I haven't been able to get myself to just sit down and start improvising in ink or paint.

I started with permanent ink on clothes and skin. No sketches, no ideas, just doodling and improvising. That was where my art really started. In the margins of my school notebooks and in markers and pen all over my clothes and skin. And it's like... over the past decade+, I've unlearned how to do that. It feels like I'm going to "ruin" something. Like I've built up all this pressure to make something "good". Like "I've been making art for blah blah years, it's gotta meet a certain standard" or whatever. Good lord. I can't even remember the last time I made a "bad" piece. Because it doesn't fucking exist.

It blows my mind how I can actually go through life with these paradoxes running through my head. I don't believe there's really such a thing as a "mistake" in art or music; but I am scared to "fuck up". I want nothing more than to have new people in my life; but I'm scared to meet them and find ways to talk myself out of it. There is so much goddamn inner conflict. For what purpose? To keep me "safe"? It is doing more consistent crippling damage to me than anything else in my life has. Acute events have caused damage, don't get me wrong, but this inner conflict is just... constant. It never ends. It's just a matter of who's winning at that time.

Today was a depressed day. I woke up depressed, I went back to sleep depressed, I woke up depressed again. I made tea depressed, I made a grocery list depressed, I did yoga depressed. Yoga, again... it helped. Doing a guided one actually helped quite a bit, and I did one where I really pushed myself today, for a full hour. It was a lot, but it was worth it. It helped pull me out of my funk. But it's still lingering, to be honest.

But from the depression, I managed to take leaps and just start layering ink into the fabric today. I worked on it for a while. It has much more body, more presence. Before, it was sorta just the head that was fully inked and the body kinda faded out. Now, the full neck is very present. There's even some fur texture. I didn't add a ton of contrast in the fur, I could really make it pop, but I'm not sure it's necessary. And I kinda faded it out towards the shoulder and arch of the back. It looks sick, honestly. It looks like a painting. So, in the end, I'm pleased. I'm super curious to see how a machine wash treats this shit though... I'm well prepared for this to be gone in a week. Don't worry, I'll take some pictures first.

I started to prep for another piece, too. I've been wanting to carve a memorial piece for my pets for a long time. I have had a walking stick/staff that was cut from a fallen branch of an oak tree that grew through the porch of my old home. It was some funky construction thing where they decided to build a porch around the tree... weird decision, but it was definitely unique. The branch, being about an inch diameter of solid oak, is sturdy as fuck. It's lasted me... god, I don't even know anymore... probably close to 10 years? It's gone so many places with me. It's honestly one of my most precious possessions. And, to this day, it has never been carved, decorated, finished, nothing. It has a natural shine to it from years and years of aging and skin oils.

It's really a lot of pressure to alter something that's... been a staple in your life for so long. The reflex in cases like this is always "change = risk = bad", and I feel like I'm just trying to be protective. Yeah, like I was "protective" of my dog by not taking her on walks so she wouldn't get treated like a monster by unfair tourist hikers, and she'd just laze around until she gained a lot of weight and her hips started to atrophy. That's not protection, that's fear. That's not having a plan, I guess. Ugh, it's still messy, but I do know that avoidance of shit like that is just not healthy. In this case, avoiding such a powerfully sentimental piece is just me being afraid of "fucking up" something very special, and very one-of-a-kind. And to that, I again say... "there is no fucking up".

Today, I gathered rough measurements and started planning out what is going to be on the staff. I was inspired when I woke up this morning and I managed to capture it. I like the idea of using non-traditional lettering and glyphs and symbols and shit. I like how alien and arcane and cryptic it looks. But I hate how... nonsensical it can be. Like just putting Japanese Kanji on something just to appear different, for no real... purpose. It's nothing against it, I just... lately I've really been trying to have every piece of my work really have a deliberate purpose... and the lettering/symbology feels like it should be there... you know... to look cool and cryptic. But I want it to actually serve a practical purpose. And this morning I cracked that code. IPA. International Phonetic Alphabet.

it's been rattling around in my head for a while now. If you want to learn how to pronounce shit properly, IPA is where it's at. I got into learning IPA for a bit, it's super fucking interesting and god damn is it a rabbit-hole, but it's been a long time. My idea was to have sections in the staff where I carved my dog and cat's names and their nicknames that I called them - all spelled in IPA. It definitely looks outlandish. There's one of those ae characters, theres upside down r's, there's an omega symbol for some reason? It's pretty cool, and actually serves a purpose, it communicates in the most detail possible how to pronounce those names the way they were pronounced. And since we're still in Latin script, I figured why not Roman Numerals for their death dates. Which actually came out pretty cool - VI VI MMXXII, and II III MMXXIII. I was thinking of doing it width-wise, wrapping around the top of the staff. There are a few different spots where I grip the staff normally, one about 1/3 of the staff down, one near the top if I'm using it from a distance or doing a reverse grip, and one around 1/3 from the bottom if I'm doing an overhand grip. I think there should be room between the top grip and my normal grip spot. I just have to... wait for it... figure out font shit. XD

Yep, as I'm sitting here shitting myself about turning down a fucking paid gig... because it's all text shit and I just don't do text... Here I am planning a piece that is entirely text. Welp... sorry "former friend"... I actually care about this piece, more than most things in life. And... I don't really care about your logo for your welding company. Sorry... Literally any graphic designer could make your idea.

So yeah, that's been a bit emotionally heavy, but good planning work to do. But I'm still stuck in this career existential crisis shit. And it's really hard to get out of it. I really really really want to believe that the people who are able to do what they are trained in and passionate about didn't "make it" it because they "earned their keep" working shitty service jobs... they are able to do it because they are good. Because they refined their skills, they put in tremendous amounts of time and work, and their skills and talents were noticed. Plain and simple. I have no idea how working as a dishwasher at a gastropub is going to do anything but keep my lights on and suck up 3/4 of my day and life-energy. For some people? That's more than enough purpose and direction in life. For me? When I think about that work, I don't think about how difficult the work will be. I don't think about how much (or little) I'm getting paid. I don't think about how much it sucks that I'll be there instead of out partying with my friends. I think about how I'm wasting my valuable time on this planet, and valuable energy and manual labor skills... washing dishes for some guy who barely sets foot in his restaurant. Doing mindless, passionless labor. Like a meat-machine. Like an organic lump of flesh that is being repurposed as a dishwasher. Just... buy a fucking dishwasher. It makes no sense to me. I feel like putting me in a job like that is like using a smartphone exclusively as a notepad. Which is about par for the course as far as contemporary western culture's wastefulness goes.

Again, I dread losing what I have now. Creative freedom. Time and space in my life to devote myself fully to my craft. And, I swear... I don't even take time for myself anymore. I barely even play video games anymore. I started playing roguelites to deliberately limit my video game time because I'd start to get antsy and eager to get to work.

The only thing I want is to find a way to pay my rent doing what I'm already doing. Doing this journal. Doing my clothing art. Doing my jewelry. Doing my grip tape art. Doing my abstract ink designs. Doing my live music visualizer sets. Doing my weird concept pieces - like The Path, or Duality, or the project I came up with a few years ago that was basically a room scientifically designed to elicit anxiety attacks. And tarot readings would be cool. And I'd like to do illustrations for my poetry book, which is going to take a lifetime. And maybe some more animation stuff, because that was really fun. And that's just the ideas I have right now. How the fuck am I going to do all of that if my day is comprised of getting up, showering, walking to work, standing there for 8 hours, walking home, working for maybe an hour or two tops? Dinner, journal, sleep, repeat.

I'm fucking 36. Are people really going to look at me after investing 10+ years into this... with it glaringly obvious that this is what I do. This is what I've always done, since I was a kid! And tell me... I should throw it all away... and go be a laborer for someone who would literally hire anyone. And this... this is how a functional society works... not a desperate society? You really want to say we're in a functional society when we have skilled artisans working in unskilled labor positions? Just to keep the lights on?

I want to think that people "make it" (not fame, not fortune, making it in the sense of just being a fucking artist and not waiting tables half your life) by their dedication to their craft. You only get good at something by putting in the hours. I am only good at drawing because I have drawn a fucking ton. I am only good at guitar because I have played a fucking ton. There are ways of optimizing that path, sure, and shortcuts along the way... yeah... that's the point of education... But the only way to greatness is by devoting yourself to your craft. Every minute you have. And it's really fucking hard to do that when you're chained to a cash register for 3/4 of your waking life.

There are tons of people who have it harder than me. There are tons of people who have it harder than them. We can play that game all day, it's a great tactic people use to talk you out of pursuing your passions. My full-time goal right now is to just find a fucking way to get money coming in using my existing passions. And I have so fucking many.

Good lord, okay I'm sure I've ranted about this before but since today is a depression day this shit has been running through my head all day and I really need to get it out... I have no problem working a job that's not related directly to my art. That's the great part about being a multidisciplinary artist - my art goes to my interests. My art is kinda... my way of translating my experience, what interests me, what resonates with me... like a snapshot of what is fascinating me and what I'm learning about life at that stage in my life. Rewind like 10 years ago and there's a lot of kinda horror-inspired stuff, some sci-fi inspired stuff, tattoo-style stuff. Now? Lots of nature inspired, plant inspired, organic, hand-made, that kinda shit. There's a very resonant theme of Life and Nature running through a lot of my work right now, but also... history? Kinda? and evolution? And there are tons of opportunities for that to overlap with other fields.

Like... I'd love to work in local archaeology/anthropology/history. Good lord would that be cool. And that work, it would double as research that would absolutely inspire my art. Digging up old Revolutionary War ruins? Are you kidding me? Just think of the art phase that would come out of that. A slice of life from that time period. There's so much shit. Or... I could work at an occult store, that'd be sick. Learn more about ancient and contemporary spirituality. Or... what I've been thinking lately is... working at an antique store. Holy shit would I love that. I'd love to learn more techniques to clean up and restore old antiques without damaging them, ideally using non-harmful organic methods. Or even fashioning replacement parts in the style they were originally made, shit like that. I think my art skillset would have a lot of use to people, and my passion for history and stories and the character of personal possessions... it would be a great match.

But if some motherfucker chained me to a desk at a graphic design studio where I'm just staring longingly out the window all day while mindlessly making logos for the next trendy cafe or microbrew... with as much creative freedom as a boy band star... I'd rather use that chain to hang myself. Well, that's a bit melodramatic... I'd probably use it to bust the window, rappel down the side of the building and never go back. Live in the woods and eat berries or some shit.

So... what really gets my fuckin goat... is when I ask for help finding a way to make this whole "life" thing work... (aka get my parents out of the picture for good because good lord...) No one ever helps with the process of bringing it to the next level. They're just like... "well, you might have to do something you don't like for a while until your art magically grows fucking legs and walks downtown and finds buyers and starts to sell itself." And that's a really fucking generous way of saying "you might have to give up and not have any plan for your art".

So... what's holding me back? Seems like I've got quite a few options there, right? That's not even counting the interest in permaculture and trailwork and animals and shit... What's the problem? Let me tell you. I haven't worked a job outside of freelance shit and streaming since... welp, I think we're over the 10 year mark now. And since I wasn't really garnering a lot of sales there... I don't really have a lot to show for it.

I did 3 years of tattoo design and portrait commissions and streaming. Then I got together with my ex, right when I was calling it with my streaming thing. I went all-in on the super-toxic relationship and then started getting really physically sick and my mental health went straight to hell. Then I did the "smart thing" and went to the local counseling center and got misdiagnosed with epilepsy and a whole bunch of different psych disorders I don't have, and got prescribed every fucking med under the sun, which ended up landing me in the fucking hospital several times. That went on for 2 years. Then I finally grew the balls to leave the relationship in 2018. Then I got off the final cocktail of meds in late 2019. Then... the pandemic. Now... here I am.

So... I don't have a resume. My entire resume is fucking streaming, doing design commissions for people who didn't pay me, and volunteering for shit. Oh, I forgot to mention, I gave my ex all the money I made from streaming to pay off her debt. And she cheated on me for it. What a classy move.

Okay, enough venting on that. I swear I had a point and didn't relive this shit for nothing. Point being... it's really goddamn motherfucking hard to like... put this on paper. Because.... you know people are going to ask questions. And if you know me... which, if you've read this far... you have a good idea of how I communicate. I want so badly to connect with people, and try so hard to allow that gate to stay open... that I legit will talk about all of this in a job interview. And I have. I will 100% just start talking like I normally fucking talk to a potential employer. Because why the fuck would I want them to think I'm a different person than I am?! That's just borrowed time, that's just begging to be fired the second you start actually acting like yourself. And... yeah. It's really really hard to "account for gaps" - which is fucking prying into my personal life, man... Good lord, I could've lost my house in a flood and been homeless for 3 years, you don't fucking know. And who the fuck cares?! Why is it any employer's business why I was missing like 3 years of work when I was paying a counseling center to put me through human medical trials. And I have to relive that shit... relive my trauma... in front of a complete stranger... who holds my fate in their hands... for a job that I don't even really want but kinda just need so I can do what I really want to do...

And then I look over at the option of just... not going through that traumatic mess of an interrogation... and just putting that work and emotion into making more art. Seems like a healthier way to use my time, and working towards my actual life-goals, too...

The other component? I have no references. My only healthy social contacts since 2018 have been mental health professionals. Tell me that looks good on a resume... Reference - my therapist. The rest of my friends turned out to be self-absorbed shitbags. Like the guy who called me the other day and said he "liked my style", but didn't really seem to give a fuck about me as a person whatsoever... despite me being one of his groomsmen at his wedding... And don't even get me started on my family...

So... no work history outside of "take my word for it"... and no social references outside of mental health care providers. You really wanna tell me I'm getting a job without someone personally walking in there and vouching for me? You really think that's how this works?

Personal recommendations bypass this process entirely.

My reflexes that seek help on this are protecting me from reliving years of trauma, and humiliating myself in front of a complete stranger... who most likely will not give me the job, given my credentials. And for some fucking reason, whenever I explain this succinctly? People just don't fucking get it. They think I'm just going through bog-standard interview anxiety. Bro, I would rather get on stage at an open mic night and sing the BeeGees in falsetto in my underwear than go to that job interview and have to explain how I had chemicals force-fed to me for years because I was too fucking blind to see I was stuck in super toxic and abusive relationships that were so bad that the internalized stress was causing lasting physical injuries.

So... yeah... when I go on Google Maps and find a really intriguing looking antique store that's a 5 mile skate away... I'm not just thinking about how hard it would be to get to that job in the winter... I'm not just thinking about how it might be weird for older people (who tend to run places like that) to work with someone younger than them... I'm not just thinking about how they probably aren't hiring at all, because places like that tend to have very low staff turnover... I'm thinking about having to explain myself. To sit before the fucking jury and relive my past that completely and unapologetically fucked up the trajectory of my entire life... all for a job that I most likely won't get... in a field I don't even really want to get into.

I'm gonna get a drink, clear my stress a bit and then come back and wrap this up. That was a lot.

Welp, I'll be honest... it does feel good to get that out. What I've been feeling, what I am a living example of... is sorta a micro-scale version of the death of community. I think it's been happening at a macro-scale, too. My version is obviously much more dramatic. I mean, if 50% of a community stops interacting with and trusting each other, or turns against each other, that's one thing... but 50% of your social circle? If half of your friends/family just... turned toxic or refused to be involved in your life? I... unfortunately... got the Royal Flush of communal death. I lost it all. And it really feels like the only ones that are coming back into my life are like fucking vultures trying to pick my goddamn corpse. I'm just really glad I can see it so clearly now, where years ago I would've been completely blind to it, just doe-eyed and so damn blissfully overwhelmed by how amazing it was that someone wanted to talk to me! -_-

And, as I wrote last night... the thing with deeply struggling with approaching people, taking the initiative and making the first move. I am deeply aware that I am devoid of a community of any sort. The only people who like my Instagram posts are a chick who liked my voice when I streamed, who is too busy with her kid and her retail job to hang out anymore... the guy who I was best man for, who I flew across half the continent to visit in-person for his wedding, who deep-sixed our friendship because he didn't want to retweet my fucking go-live tweets when I was streaming, or visit my streams so I had an actual viewer count... And an old family friend who is really nice and accomplished, but like... I barely know... and I really don't want to be associated with my family...

So... I know that I have to rebuild my personal community from scratch. And I know that this is critical for my personal and my professional life. There's a fuck-ton of weight on it. So... not only am I deeply out of practice with social graces from being in extreme isolation for 4 years... but it's also incredibly crucial to my success and health, and the building of a new life. And I have to do it alone.

If I were to get help with any social thing in my entire life... I mean... when am I going to need that help more? I don't know, I guess if I needed to go to court and testify, or if I had lost a romantic partner or something. I just... I often get really bitter about how... for some reason... I just... don't get help with this. I just don't get introductions made.

But... when I start getting upset at nameless people... and doing the whole "life isn't fair" thing... I'm not self-punishing here... I want to point out that this is an indicator that I'm... struggling to process that... I'm angry at a void of where people used to be. I'm not even angry at "people". Sure, I'm angry at the people who used to call themselves friends and family just... outright refusing to help me with shit like this and straight up screaming at me for it like I asked them to steal a car for me or something. But when I start to go "why isn't anyone helping me right now..." "why don't I get help with this right now..." "why doesn't someone introduce me or recommend my shit to a gallery right now..." It's because there's no one there. I'm shaking my fist at an empty room. And that's a tough one to process, it feels very sad and empty, but it's really important to process it.

This is just... where I am. These are the cards I have been dealt. And honestly, I'm better off for it. It's better to have to go out and do really scary social anxiety fear-of-rejection-at-extremely-high-stakes shit... than to put my trust and faith into the hands of people who are bleeding me dry and treating me like garbage. Who weren't even helping me anyway. Who don't even support or believe in me. It's quiet, and empty, and I often find myself shaking my fist at the empty room like 2 paragraphs ago... but in the end... sad as it may sound... it's better than it was. This is an upgrade. And I have no regrets.

So... I need to work on my ability to approach people and introduce myself. And... I was thinking today that I might start introducing myself as... a hybrid of my art/streaming name and my real name. Using my art name as a last name, and dropping my family name entirely. And just using that as like... a performing name. An alias, like a writer would have. I don't know. It's a thought.

But yeah, I need to come up with ways to practice approaching people. Ways that are different from my current thing at the skatepark because that shit isn't working. It's good for other reasons, but it's not great for social purposes. So... I'll just keep brainstorming that.

Alright. This was a lot. I'm gonna go shower and head to bed. Glad I got a goal and direction out of this, though. Makes it all worth it.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness #ptsd

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/7/23

I think I got a full 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep last night. Pretty crazy, rare occurrance.

I remember having a vivid dream. It was about confrontation on having an opposing opinion... and not wanting to upset them, or anger them. It took place between two settings - my parents' home (no surprise there) and the place where I detoxed off meds (which I had very distinct and prolonged interactions where I was confronted by very difficult people).

I was seeking out the person who ran the place, but I was deliberately being shut out of the group room while they were meeting. Like the door was being held shut to keep me out. I waited in a dark basement-like room. Eventually, two people that I had befriended when I was there came out and invited me to play a video game with them later. The game sucked, I really didn't enjoy it and didn't want to play it. This conversation turned somehow (don't remember) into me being back at my parents' house at night, out by a rock wall. And the conversation was me frankly speaking my mind about the game sucking to another person, a guy I grew up around who's younger than me and he got really into skateboarding and shit. We never really connected much, but he used to be very awkward and anxious, and really grew into his skin which is awesome. But in the dream, I was having to tell him I don't want to play this game... and as I'm doing that, I see two baby wolf pups sitting on the rock wall to my left. And I hear movement behind me and I see a big scraggly overweight mother wolf prowling the yard behind me. I would've easily mistaken it for an overweight domesticated dog if it weren't for the markings. So... I had to go between the mother and the pups to get back to where I was living above my parents' garage, which is like... the last place you ever want to be. But I did, and it went completely fine. Then I explained to the guy on the phone that like... just because I don't like the game doesn't mean it's complete shit. The graphics were surprisingly good, it had a unique art style, the physics and particles were well done. I just didn't like the gameplay, and that's important to me. So I related it to him that like... when I'm saying "it's shit", I don't mean 1/10... I mean like 4-5/10. And that it was just my opinion. And that seemed to chill him out.

I get so gun-shy about shit like that. I don't even know exactly when it started, honestly. For god's sake, I used to write game reviews and shit. I used to debate people online. So many fucking things have changed in my persona ever since my PTSD started fucking ramping up and spreading like a virus. It's nuts.

If I had to trace it to something, I'd say it was my brushes with death that really started knocking some sense into me. Really starting to process how real this shit was, how fleeting and impermanent life is. How careless and thoughtless we often are with the feelings and experiences of those around us. I see it clear as fucking day now. It's like I used to live with those horse blinders on? And I only really thought about my present experience and the experience of those directly close to me, those I cared deeply for... then those blinders just got ripped off by moments of... god, how do I describe it... like an acute moment of extreme awareness. Like... you're playing a video game in 1st person perspective and suddenly someone walks in and hits a button and the camera zooms out to 3rd person perspective, and you can swing that camera around to see behind you and look around corners and shit. You know, the shit they tend to disable in competitive gaming because it gives an unrealistic and unfair advantage.

Ever since I reached adulthood, around 18, I have periodically had those moments. Often at extremely inconvenient times... like when I was really high. Or when I was at the grocery store, and then suddenly aware of every single person in the store at the same time, living their own separate stories, getting their own special ingredients, thinking their own unique thoughts. And the sheer scope of it all just fucking sent me into sensory overload. Overwhelm. This happened to the point where I deliberately avoided grocery stores and I didn't even know why, they were just "too much".

I think starting to detox off Xanax started cracking that open again... maybe even amplified it... combined with studying and practicing spirituality, and having death/loss strike in close proximity. I started to become hyper aware of the experience of other people. But the important thing to remember with that, which I have to constantly remind myself... is that you do not know someone else's experience. It's just hypothesis, they're guesses. Some can be shockingly on-the-nose guesses, but they're guesses. No one can actually read minds. But... they can be very deeply compassionate, deeply imaginative and knowledgeable about human psychology. And that can lead to some pretty good guesses.

I'm trying to connect this to the skatepark today. But I'm missing a key component. See... I was getting at the whole "I care very deeply for the experience of those around me" thing. And it really is a huge part to try to be a contributing member of society, that my contributions to the lives of others is one that makes their lives better. That I am considerate. But... the other piece... is trauma. Because... it's not just wanting people to be happy... it's also not wanting people to get angry. Or yell at me. Or hurt me. Or punish me. Or take things away from me.

I don't know how to handle that part. And it was pretty dominant today. Like... in the context of the dream... I should really be able to say "I don't like this game." I am 100% entitled to my opinion, and I have very good reasons behind that opinion, too. It's not just a snap judgement, they're just... standards. But I seriously feel like if I share an opinion that others don't agree with, I'm going to get a fucking gun pulled on me. And I definitely think that's a trauma response. How fucking realistic is that? Is that what the internet did to me? Maybe, in part. It's really deeply rooted. (Pretty sure it's family...)

So... with the context of the dream and everything, I watched this YT video today... it was a series where this guy goes and walks around NYC with street photographers as they work, and it was with a guy named Trevor Wisecup. I legit remember his name, that's crazy. He's a weird quirky guy, 100% an artist. And his thing is just going around and snapping pictures of people on the streets and capturing scenes that are compelling to him. And the video was called "Confidence and Confrontations in Street Photography". There was a part where a dude straight up got in his face and started threatening him. Like threatened to end his life if he saw him again. Because a professional published artist took his photograph. ... Because a professional published artist thought his appearance and aesthetic was so memorable and... archetypal? I guess? Iconic? That he had to capture it. And this guy's response... is to go "do you know who I am?! I'm not the kind of guy you want to fuck with, man." That kinda shit. As though Trevor had spit on him or something.

It reminded me of like... how there were stories about how primitive tribes would attack European explorers because they thought the camera was stealing their souls or something. It's shocking, and so fucking many people do this, from all walks of life! It's so weird! Most of us are on security cameras every day, I guarantee it. Our social media is literally being recorded... indefinitely? For some reason? That no one can really explain why... I guess, you know... in case we need some stream of live-tweets of the Barbie movie in 10 fucking years. Then it's there. Thank fucking god. It's like this whole species is hoarding or something.

But it's batshit how aggressive people get when you photograph or film them without their consent or knowledge. It's nuts. Even when it's explicitly legal. Even when they're filmed every time they walk into a store or go to an ATM or whatever. "I don't know what you're going to do with that photograph, man." "Well, you sure don't seem to think it's anything good..."

But Trevor just stood there and made eye contact and had this guy like 6 inches away from his face screaming at him, and just took it. And just explained he's documenting life on Madison Avenue. And Mr. Big Man threatened him, tried to get him to delete it... then was told it was a film camera... so he gave up on that pretty quick... Then strutted off like he was hot shit. And holy crap did Trevor just take it in stride. It blew my mind. I would literally be shaking after that. My nervous system would have my whole body trembling like I just survived a car accident.

And Trevor had a great point in summing that interaction up after the fact - "...that was super aggressive ... but it was fine. Like... did I react negatively? I listened. All you've got to do is listen. Did he put his hands on me? No. As long as they don't put their hands on me, we're chillin. Am I gonna let that rattle me? No. It's life. It is what it is."

Yeah, man. I wish my nervous system could agree with you there. Mentally, I can get there. But physically, it's like the Enterprise bridge during Red Alert. It's hard to will yourself through that when your body is fucking screaming "DANGER, DANGER".

For so long, I've had so much admiration for people like this... and like Eric Andre and the Jackass guys. Their livelihood depends on their ability to just get in front of people and get genuine reactions like this out of them. I mean... I guess less so with Trevor, he's not deliberately trying to provoke people like Eric Andre does... he's trying to capture the authentic human experience. And... getting their permission just ruins the scene. It ruins the moment and creates a completely new one. The second you say "hey, can I take your picture?" People fucking pose. They make stupid faces and adjust themselves and hide their warts and stand up straight and show their stupid bullshit Instagram/Youtube thumbnail caricature faces. And the moment is gone, replaced by a glamourous photoshoot.

Don't get me wrong, there's a place for that. That's an art within itself. But capturing real authentic moments and staging scenes are very different artforms.

So yeah, I was really compelled by his ability to handle that. I wondered how often he's been through that kind of situation for him to be that well acclimated to it. Maybe beaten up in school, maybe at home. Speculation, of course. But I was very deeply inspired, and he put it in really relatable terms. But even now, I find myself asking the same question - "yeah, but what if he does put hands on you?" And honestly? That's a fucking lawsuit. So... I guess let it happen? I mean... does Mr. Fancy $1000 Suit really want to like... have to tell his boss he's going to court because he attacked some artist on the street who tried to take his picture? Is he really going to keep his job after that? Idk. It really does make me wonder how often moments like that actually do escalate. And it really doesn't seem that often.

Relating that to the skatepark... I went skating today. I took the same neighborhood route, I like it a lot now. Much less traffic. More stop signs, but... less traffic and a safer feeling neighborhood makes the ride much more comfortable. I found myself looking forward to the cruise home.

When I got there, there were 4 people there, college-aged people. The guys were above my skill level, the girls were close to mine. And I, again, had the earbuds in. And I skated a bunch. Worked on noseslides more, tried to pop FS 180s higher, tried to find the nosemanual "pinch" on the toe side, which actually really does help hold the manual better... it's just a whole new thing trying to get used to putting my weight in that specific spot. Not a lot of new stuff, honestly. The FS half cab was much easier today for some reason, I landed almost all of them, I just struggle to pop them very high. Yeah, nothing really too special, nothing new. I tried to get a little more used to fakie ollie, that went a bit better. And tried practicing nollie more, but I'm struggling with my back foot drag. I think my stance isn't squared away enough, idk.

I'm gonna get a drink real quick before this next part, which ties into the whole "confrontation" anxiety shit. So... the college aged guys that were there never even made eye contact with me. The girls would skate close sometimes, but again... barely even acknowledged that I was there. And yeah, maybe it's weird for them? That's like... more than a 10 year difference, I'd wager... probably close to 15. I'm probably as old as some of their professors. Maybe that's weird for people? Idk. And I really don't want to weird people out. I deeply struggle to approach people and introduce myself, it's just something from a very young age I was not only not encouraged to do, I'm pretty sure I was punished for. This doesn't mean I'm not friendly and I don't love meeting new people, it means the act of initiation is something I deeply deeply struggle with.

One of my greatest accomplishments in my life was mustering up the courage to ask out my crush in college. I'm still so proud of Past Me, even if I did deserve better. That was I think one of the only times I've ever asked anyone out. So... yeah, when my anxiety is sky-high, initiating conversation never translates in my imagination as "oh here's a friendly guy coming over and introducing himself because he wants to get to know other people at the skatepark", it's "who the fuck is this weird old guy coming up to me with the fancy grip art job when he can't even skate". Note to self - whose judgement is that? (mine) Is it fair to these strangers to assume that low of them? (no)

So... as far as the girls were concerned, like... we were all around the same ability. I was working on noseslide and one of the girls tried it and couldn't do it... but could do some other tricks I struggle with. So, like... we could've exchanged trick tips! That would've been cool. But... I didn't want to potentially upset them. So... yeah, I end up just... having AirPods in and listening to my music and just skating and standing around by myself. And it kinda sucks. Like... I get what I'm there for, and I love it, don't get me wrong... but it sucks that every other person I see at the skatepark is there with a friend. Every one.

The girls and the guys all left after a while, but another pair of skaters showed up. These guys were a bit closer to my age. One seemed really close. And he actually skated by me and said "hey" while I was pouring sweat and taking a break. And I had the earbuds in, so I popped them out, but he was already gone. And it was just us three at the skatepark for a while. And... yeah. I just... even though he broke the ice? I couldn't bring myself to introduce myself. It just... my mind just went blank. I don't know, I guess I froze. It's weird. Like... trying new tricks feels easier than that, and trying new tricks in front of strangers is tough when you're anxious, man. I'd like... cheer when they did cool tricks, and chipped in some commentary when he was getting close to landing a really cool trick that they were filming. But it was just... the whole interaction, all of it? It was just so alien. It's just been so long. It's not natural for me anymore. Walking over to complete strangers and getting to know them is no longer natural. Drifting off into my head and doing things solo is.

I popped out the AirPods after he tried to say hi, in case we had another run-in and he tried again. But that didn't come, and I felt like I missed the window. I skated the rest of the time without the AirPods.

Eventually I got worn out. I was out there for about an hour. I guess I'm not in the best shape, but I was skating a good chunk of the time. I just decided to go cruise home a bit early, before the mosquitos got too bad. Right as I packed up, another solo skater showed up. Maybe a friend for another day, idk. I was already leaving. And as I walked across the grass, I looked back and the guy who said hi waved at me, and I waved back.

So... I think my whole lack of confidence in approaching people is because I don't want to upset them or make them uncomfortable. And I think that might be... a self-esteem thing. I think it might actually be depression/self-image related. Like... if I thought I was really attractive and really relatable and cool, why would I think people would get upset by me approaching them? Why would I think people would get uncomfortable? It's so odd because this narrative is not explicit in my head. I don't know why I think people might get uncomfortable. Like, with the girls, I was afraid they might think I was trying to flirt with them or something. The guys around my age? I have no fucking clue, honestly. I really don't. Maybe I'm intimidated by their ability? And I'm just inwardly thinking... what do they stand to gain from hanging out with my "few steps above beginner" ass?

Well... maybe it's not about who can do the most or coolest tricks, its about doing something you love with other people who also love that thing. And maybe it's just about meeting new people and not like... comparing yourself to them.

I was like... okay, I'm gonna say it. The dude who said hi was smoking a cigarette when he first got there. And the whole time, I was like... if I still smoked, all I'd have to do is bum a smoke and that's the icebreaker I need. And then we're having a conversation. Done and done. Because, as a former smoker from age 17 to 34... that's how I learned how to meet people. That's how I socialized. "Got a light?" "Can I bum a smoke?" And then you have a smoking buddy, and you're in a conversation for at least 5 minutes. And I still don't have a replacement for that. I still don't have a smooth, suave icebreaker to replace that. It's like I never learned how to... meet people... without cigarettes or a third party introduction.

So yeah, I think my insecurity anxieties are feeding off my depression, my low self-image. I still don't know what to do with the college age people, there's a lot of them around... and when I was in college, I didn't hang out with anyone in their mid-to-late 30's. I don't think I would've really had a problem with it? I guess... I guess I just don't really know how they view me? What I look like from their eyes. And I want to prevent them from viewing me in a bad light, and make sure they're comfortable and don't feel threatened by me... so my way of like... controlling that situation... is by keeping distance and letting them make the first move.

But... that probably sends a message that I don't want to hang out. I mean, I'm on the edge of the park, skating back and forth by myself with earbuds in and not talking to anyone. That may not send the message "I want to hang out."

Oh, and I had a mini anxiety attack but I handled it super well. I kept smelling something... septic. Something that smelled like rot. I don't really know how to put that any better. I don't think it was the smell of meat rotting, but it was definitely rot. Like black sludge you'd find in a swamp kinda smell. I guess it was probably coming from the woods? But I only got wafts of it and I had a moment where I just went... "is that me? Do I have a rotten tooth or something and I just don't know it?" In the past, that would've been enough for me to spiral. But I handled it really well and it barely went anywhere, but I bet it contributed to me being anxious about introducing myself.

Anyway, I had a great ride home and honestly just wanted to keep riding. I might just go on a long ride one of these days, I think it'd be fun. When I got home, I started working on the deer. I worked the rest of the night on it, in fact. And... it's... mostly done? I did a prototype on paper to see whether I wanted to do color or greyscale. I ended up going with greyscale. Unfortunately, my black fabric pen seems to be running low on ink. That... sucked. But I made up for it with dark grey, it worked fine.

The deer went from blocky color to like... more realism style? Surprisingly. The cloth is actually pretty tough to work on. I can just sorta drybrush ink on top to get a light color, or really let it soak in to get the full color, but... there's a risk of blowouts. And the weird part about it was how the ink would sorta balloon out and be darker along the edges of where you let it soak in, rather than be uniform. That was unexpected. But I managed to get the outline, the fill and most of the detail work done too, honestly. It's pretty close to done. I just need to work on the body more. And I'm still on the fence about just doing linework around the whole thing. I tried to soften a lot of the linework so it didn't have a solid black outline around the whole thing... though I really don't mind that stylistically and it really makes the image pop out... I thought it would be smart to outline with the lightest grey I have, and then I can just darken if I want later on. You can always go darker, but you can never go lighter.

So I did that and it went surprisingly well and surprisingly fast. And... now I'm just going to not look at it for half a day so that I can get fresh eyes on it... and then move on from there!

I also posted on a more art business focused subreddit about this graphic design commission and how to price my shit in this situation and I got some helpful feedback. It was made pretty clear that $200 is like... super underselling myself. I just... I feel very incompetent with money with shit like this.

This guy (in his admittedly likely not truthful words, but his words) sought me out because of "my style". He knew I was not a graphic designer. I told him upfront that I don't know how to use the software and that this is way outside my wheelhouse. Which, if you like my style... you should know that... So... he should expect this to take me like... 5x as long as a normal project, right? I mean... he's a welder, and this is like me asking him to fix my computer. Come on, welding, soldering, it's like the same shit, right?

So... I have to come up with a new magic number. And make it make sense in the invoice. And... it was brought to my attention that he may just... flake out on the invoice. Maybe these are people that had been burned before, but one seemed pretty convinced that if I hadn't been paid yet? I shouldn't expect to be paid for this. And yeah, that's par for the course. And if he wants to give me a reason to never speak to him again, he's more than welcome at this point. Definitely ain't gonna get a good client review from me if he does that, and I'll have the paper trail to prove it.

But yeah, I just have literally no one to talk to about pricing, and it seems like no one online wants to help either. So... I'll just have to wing it. But I'm not going to stress about that right now. I'm trying to wind down for the night.

Before I went to bed last night, I checked the schedule for the board game store near me. They do monthly (?) mixers where people can come by and meet other people, either looking for a date or at least a friend. First Sunday of the month. And I've been trying to get myself to go for like... 5 months now? And I just... always start my day too late. It was from noon to 5 today. And I got up around 2. And I decided that I was going to start my day and do my yoga and eat breakfast and then... just see where that goes. And by the time I was done with all that... it was like 4. So... I kinda chickened out. It could've been cool, it might've just been the skatepark thing all over again, but with nothing to do solo... Who knows? But hey, maybe next month I'll be confident enough to go.

Alright, wrapping up before 2 tonight, not too shabby.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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dzpenumbra · 9 months

Text

8/6/23

Today got completely thrown off. I was up until 9 with a recurring medical condition that I'm not going to go into the details of that makes it impossible to sleep. It's not the end of the world, staying up until 9AM is not outlandish for me in the grand scheme of things, it just sucks when you're getting your sleep back to a somewhat normal place and then something completely outside of your control just fucks it all up.

I got really good sleep, but I ended up starting my day at like 4PM. That shit sucks. Honestly. You have no day to work with at all.

All I got done today was yoga (which was nice), food, shower, laundry, late dinner and a sketch of a piece I want to put on my beige cargo shorts. I honestly don't know where the day went. I played a little Minecraft, but really not that much at all. I did some research on clothing customization... I wanted to find a way to cannibalize my old t-shirts... okay, being honest, all of my fucking clothes are old as hell. But like... the t-shirts that are literally falling apart or yellowed and kinda gross. I don't want to throw stuff out if I can avoid it. I want to find ways to upcycle or modify them to make them into other things, they mean a lot to me and I really don't like this whole idea of "it's not perfect, so it goes and rots in a pile in the dump". So... I had the idea of turning graphics from old t-shirts into patches for other clothes. I don't know, it's all new to me so I'm not sure how to do any of it, but a lot of what I was reading seems simple enough.

I really like the idea of just using all materials on-hand and using as few power tools or plastic materials as possible. It seems like a lot of the stuff people say "you need this" is... really not essential. It may be like... optimal... but not essential. For instance, like a synthetic mesh glued to the back under a t-shirt patch to add structure and stability. I mean... wouldn't any sturdy fabric work? Like jean or carhartt or something?

So... basically... the clothes I have lined up to work on are a beige pair of lightweight cargo shorts and an old black pair of jeans that I wear skating. I have ink fabric pens that I'm planning on using with the shorts, but... I think even black ink on black pants is just not going to be visible. It could make a cool subtle texture effect... but I'm on the fence about it. The alternative I have is fabric paints, but... from my experience with working on the hoodie with them... they are textural. They are basically the equivalent of working in acrylic paint. You know t-shirts that have that kinda... plasticky paint that cracks over time? It's that kind of paint. So... it's not bad... and I did it for the hoodie and it's great for a backpiece there. What I'm worried about is... doing it for a piece of clothing that gets a lot of movement. That needs to bend. That's going to crease immediately, and flake, and fall off. I really don't think ink or dye are going to do that. But because paint kinda binds and sits on top of the fibers... Yeah... So... I'm back and forth about using the paint on the pants, even though they would be the most bold colors.

There's always DecoPens, which I've used in the past... but they come out in the wash. The fabric DecoPens are basically the exact same deal as the fabric paint, so... <shrug> Thus is the development of a process. So... black clothing is tough. Honestly... I might just do some subtle work on these pants and just do black on black, because the black ink is definitely darker than the pants themselves. And if I really wanna get weird, I can always try to track down a bleach pen, and either use that for accents... or lighten an area as a basecoat and do an ink piece within that.

Lots of ideas rattling around the ol' noggin. But I had this vision of like... taking an old t-shirt that had a band name or something... and just cutting out the band name and running that down the seam on the side of the pant leg or something.

I've always wanted to learn how to hand-sew, how to repair and modify clothing. My clothes are ancient and always falling apart, I have a bunch of clothes from ages past that I've had sitting on the backburners for years just waiting for the free time (or a generous friend) to repair/replace zippers or mend tears and holes. Back in college, I'd constantly get the ends of my jeans caught under my heels and they would tear and fray and the tears would spread and rip way up my leg. And I'd just fucking keep wearing them, with these gigantic rips like all the way up my calf to my knee. It didn't bother me, I just considered them art/skating pants that I could afford to damage and wore them until they didn't fit anymore. And... I think these black jeans are the last remaining pairs of that series of jeans. I think these are the same jeans I wore in college back between 2008-2010. And they're in shockingly good condition.

So yeah, its a bit more than just a "I'm bored, pick a random new skill out of a hat"... It's been a long time coming that I learn this skill. Plus... with my painting skills... and my ability to accurately and in great detail recreate things from reference... If I can get clothing fabrication skills under my belt? I could do some sick fucking cosplay shit. Watching all this Adam Savage is making me go... man... no offense to Adam, he's a fucking legend, but he will tell you himself... he often neglects detail in order to get "close enough". And I see a lot of props and replicas and shit like that do the same thing. And that? That's not me. I love the detail work, and I'll put in the extra time and work to get there too.

So yeah, maybe that's a long ways off, maybe that's something others would be interested in teaming up with me on. If my skills could be of use to them.

I feel myself getting insecure there. Like... I've never worked in those mediums before... Do I really have anything I can concretely offer those people? Ugh, I hate this self-sabotage "well... wait a second..." reflex. Of course I have artistic skills to contribute. I just haven't done realism in a bit. Doesn't mean I can't do it...

That said... I did some realism today. And I took a new approach, too.

I have thrown the idea of doing a deer on these shorts around for fucking weeks now. It's been tossed in the trash like 5 times by now. The most logical place for the deer to be displayed would be on the cargo pocket... but it's a double cargo pocket, meaning it has a tiny smaller pocket sewn on top of it. And I'm tempted to just fucking remove it at this point because what the fuck am I going to put in that damn pocket, a half a roll of quarters? A lighter? Maybe a half-handful of pebbles? When I really sit and think about it, I struggle to find a practical use for it. And it is 100% getting in the way. There's too much threadwork, too many overlapping seams. Especially for a piece with detail in it. So... I kinda scrapped the idea a bunch of times.

Today? I reworked it. I found a spot on the pants where it would be prominently displayed and still avoid the pocket. I have no idea what I'm going to put on the pocket... but that's a disaster for another day. And I decided to modify it slightly... instead of doing just a deer... I was going to do a deer's head on Vishnu's body. Or... at least that body type and a seated pose with hands in mudras. That was the plan. I have drawn this before and it was one of my favorite pieces that never really left the sketchbook. The body wasn't really a Hindu god, it was more inspired by the style and poses. Every person that I've shown that piece to is genuinely in awe of it. It really had this captivating presence to it.

I spent a big chunk of the night working on compositing photos for a reference for that. Finding the right god's body, the right pose... I luckily found the right deer head about 2 weeks ago, so that was already done. And after I found good reference, I got it all composited and started drawing... and I just started getting super frustrated with proportions again.

I swear to god... I can draw every piece of the body in detail individually... hands, feet, faces, all of it. Though... to be honest, my muscular anatomy could use a refresher, especially in the upper legs and forearms. But what I always struggle with when I walk away from figure drawing for more than a couple months... the first thing to fucking go every time is full-body proportions. Every time. So I end up with a perfectly detailed foot, and it leads to an ankle and calf and the bends look believable, and that leads to a knee... and then foreshortening lets me cheat a bit... and then I go and start to shape the rest of the body and by the end of it... the leg I drew looks fucking tiny and there's this massive chest up above it that's way out of proportion, and the other leg looks wrong... and it all just... ugh.

I guess I just... never really developed much of a process around that. I just sorta replicated things that I drew, and sorta made it up as I went along. I would sometimes do that thing where you draw a circle and do the cross in the middle and make the face that way. Then I started to just like... build a skull foundation, then add muscle shapes on top, then add skin. That was when I really started getting good at portraiture and shit. Now? I don't know. I guess I just... maybe I rushed it? I worked from the bottom up? I didn't make a full-body rig, I just sorta worked in one area and started expanding off of that... and my projected proportions just... got warped, I guess?

Welp... I can usually take a hint from pieces when they aren't working. I... scrapped it. It doesn't look bad. It actually looks kinda like what my work pre-college looked like... but with more obvious knowledge of some muscle groups and shading. But instead of getting too upset about this, I took it as a hint to do something different.

I backtracked in my mind to some thoughts I had earlier when I brought up the reference material... Really, what I'm drawn to here is drawing the deer head. That's the compelling part. The rest was sorta... I guess slapped on for dramatic effect, or trying to rebuild old glory or something. The spiritual part of me says "the sketch didn't work because that's not what this piece was supposed to be, I was trying to force it to be something it doesn't want to be." The empirical part of me says "I was trying to rush the body, or didn't care about it, because I was saving 'the best part for last', so... I might as well just draw that." I think... both are right.

When I looked at the deer head earlier... I started to break down its face into geometric shapes. I had... Wow, this unraveled in my head like a dusty scroll and I realized this is actually somewhat of a long story... but it's a cool one that has a really satisfying ending. In fact, if you get through this story, I'll reward you with a picture of the end result. Sound good? XD

I have been getting ads on Instagram periodically for a book that... honestly, I might buy. It is super rare for me to find something advertised to me that I actually want to buy, but this was right on the money. Assuming I can actually... get myself enough free time to go this direction again someday. It was a book on anatomy as related to 3D modeling. It showed advanced techniques on how to do super realistic topology, in relation to actual human anatomy. I can still see the book in my mind's eye. Good lord, those are the kinds of things you really need to get. Fuck this TikTok shit, the things that inspire you so much that catching a fleeting glimpse of them in passing sticks with you vividly for over a year... that's something special.

So... if you're not familiar with 3D modeling, topology is basically breaking a form down into the simplest shapes (geometric faces) you possibly can. You want to capture as much meaningful detail as you can, but with as few shapes as possible... because more shapes/faces = more data = larger file sizes. So, it really is an exercise in capturing that organic object's structural essence. And the pictures I have stuck in my head are like... pictures of faces in profile perspective that are all flat surfaces... kinda like origami in a way? So they break down the natural curves of the face into the fewest rough geometric shapes they can while still maintaining structure and legibility.

When I looked at this deer's head... I started to see it that way. I started to see it as though I was going to 3D model it. I could see the lines and edges running through it, connecting different planes where the angle of the face would change or where the fur would change color, or where body parts like the eyes or nose intersected. There were a surprising number of visible hard edges. So I dove right in and started playing around with this new way of drawing... where I start at the top and start just ignoring natural curves and just drawing the general geometric shapes underneath it. As though I was 3D modeling it. And it started making proportions shockingly easy, because all of the faces were relatively proportional to their neighbors. I had no idea how big the deer head was going to end up in the end... but I could know for damn sure that the forehead and the snout would be in proportion because their shapes were nearly the same size... the snout just cut into the forehead shape. This made drawing the face... take longer, simply because I'm not used to the process... but the accuracy was fucking scary. I still keep looking over at it like... wow... that's pretty dead-on...

What I noticed the most was... god it just made a lot of the organic shapes a lot easier to parse, to be honest. Ugh, I'm having trouble finding a segue to what I want to say so I'll just say it and connect the dots after. It's a lot easier to connect dots with straight lines and make polygons than it is to draw organic shapes. (There are exceptions, but let's just stay simple here.) It's much easier to connect two points with a straight line than it is to connect them with a line that curves in slightly at the top, then does a broad curve outward at the bottom. So... instead of doing proportional measurements with organic shapes... like circles and ovals and shit like that... things that aren't very conducive to making hard edges for relative reference? I was using polygons for reference. In case I'm speaking fucking Martian, let me translate. Instead of making the eyeball an oval with pointy ends... I made it a... rhombus? I guess? And that gave me a hard line on the top lid to work with when drawing other neighboring lines. And, from experience, it's much easier to "trace from a distance" aka draw a parallel line following a hard straight line than it is to sorta parse where the line continues to go once the organic shape meanders away. It's subtle, but man did it make a difference. Especially when it came to doing other features... like the ears. This was the big one. Because the top of the ear lined up perfectly with the inner edge of the upper eyelid. Perfectly. So I could take that hard edge and just... extend it... and there's my ear line. It just made... getting a lay of the land and shaping relative faces much easier when I had simple geometric forms than it did when I was working in super complex or super smooth organic shapes, that's kinda what I'm getting at.

Then, when I got the topology all done... I went in and started to add more details. Nares on the nose, fur pattern details, that shit. And then I just went in and started smoothing and rounding all the geometric faces. Simple as that. Just took the rough geometric structures and just... smoothed the lines into organic ones. And it worked great. I could focus on the details without having to worry about orientation or perspective, because it was already done.

So yeah, I just got really excited about that. I still have a lot to do, there are still a lot of hard edges and I just barely started with the antlers. But I'm optimistic it's going to come out pretty damn cool.

Here, I'll share a picture:

So, you can still see a lot of the topology I haven't worked yet, but the nose and eyes are pretty much set. I have no idea how much detail I'm really gonna do because the ink pens I'm using are not very fine-tip at all. I might try to see if I can do like a 3-tone grayscale? Maybe brown but idk. And I'll leave the beige of the pants for the white. But like... I feel like those proportions came out really fucking good. I can always tell when I look at it and it feels like it's looking back... that's when I know it's pretty damn on-the-money.

So... my plan is to do this, get the antlers done, maybe add more neck and possibly even body? Then throw it on the lightbox with my pants and see if I can see it through the pant fabric, which I should be able to... If I can't... I'm going to have to do an ink version... then lightbox the ink version. If I end up doing that, I will have to draw this thing 3 times. But I really think it's gonna be worth it.

My only concern is not having anything as fine tip as the mech pencil I'm working in here. The tip of this fabric pen is like... somewhere around the equivalent of an 08 Micron pen. I usually work in much finer detail than that. So... it might not have as much delicate linework as this... but I think the only part that's really concerning is... the nose... and maybe the tear ducts. We'll see.

I love when I get this excited about a piece. And this is just a starting sketch, too! I'm excited to see this progress.

Alright, enough jabbering and click-clacking on the keyboard, it's like 4:30... I gotta get to bed.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of thoughts #stream of consciousness

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