Silver Comet Bakery, Rockmart, GA. I have been spending my time writing out on the computer all of my memories of the past 17 years, the schizophrenic years. I don't even do this in my journal because I can't write fast enough or long enough, so I haven't really taken a good look. I can see that I was actually busy, trying to just live. None of my plans really succeeded, but as far as I was able I didn't stop trying. I was as creative and ambitious as I could be, given the illness. And I looked at some of the awful things that happened, and I opened my mind a bit to what would be a more classical analysis, what I could remember from psychology classes in school. Just lightly. I had resisted this because I was so preoccupied with the idea that I had been damned or something like that. I'm giving myself until next week to just do this, then I have to start reading a novel that a friend wrote and sent to me. I have been putting that off.
I realised that I haven't been very reflective at all, until recently, with the Latuda. I mean, I have mourned losses and thought about regrets, but I hadn't made a proper account of it all. Of course, I am doing this on the tarot website I mentioned in my previous post, and I'm not saving what I wrote. I'm just moving through it all quite quickly so I don't get bogged down in style or spelling or craft. There are schizophrenic bloggers I follow who have written books, but I don't want to do that. I kind of hate my story. I find though, that I have to keep on top of the urge to imagine a listener. Whenever little things happen on my computer, I think there is someone there. I try to correct my thinking. The hardest thing for me to accept is that I am actually alone with my mind. I have mentioned before in previous posts that I divorced my beloved husband because of schizophrenia. I left a marriage and a home and a way of working that I had worked quite hard to create with him. But being alone is not just being without him. It's being without ideas like safety, blessedness, even good luck, what ever you want to call it. Pema Chodron, the Buddhist nun whose work I read occasionally, was the first to introduce the concept of no hope to me. The book is called The Wisdom of No Escape. I rejected the idea of abandoning hope, I thought I couldn't live without hope. I hoped to overcome schizophrenia and build a life for myself again. But it's not happening. But instead of being depressed, I am trying to just look at what it is without much emotion. Throughout my illness, I have tried to maintain a schedule, and it is this schedule which marks a path. All I have to do is keep putting one foot in front of the other. I just want to do this for as long as I can keep it up. Only this.
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The Silver Comet Bakery, Rockmart, GA. I hope everyone had a good holiday. My mother came to visit and I was slightly on edge. It was good to see her and her little dog, and things went smoothly, I just am not used to having an extra person around I guess. She had lots of questions and I'm not used to that either. She went shopping and left her little dog with me, who has to be held in your arms or she can't cope. My Mom is very upbeat and energetic and it's definitely a change for me and my brother to have her here, but my brother came out of his room and talked and visited with her, so that was good. I normally don't see that much of him. Watching Mom, I just remember being like that before schizophrenia, just super happy and generally active. Now I have everything in a routine, which helps me think, and all efforts are minimal.
My paintings dried! I can now move them and paint more, which I have been looking forward to. I don't know what made them suddenly dry, maybe a change in temperature, it has been warm for more than a week now, and will be until next weekend, according to the forecast. I want to mix my colors more carefully and watch my lines more, the paintings are a bit wonky now that I see them again and they have to be perfectly straight, or nothing at all. My steadiness in painting them improved as I went along, so hopefully I will continue to get better as I paint. These paintings are for a wall in my bedroom, which is patchy with spackling from where I filled in holes caused by throwing things around the room when the voices were bad. No matter how much you lose your patience, they don't stop. Thankfully, the medicine makes them less intense and stupid. I emptied my memory out completely on the tarot site I mentioned in the last post, and I am no closer to a conclusion or a beautiful answer about God, Love, or Suffering, the three topics the schizophrenia documentary makers want to cover. I'm just going to have to answer in broken and contradictory thoughts, which is all I can do and I guess is indicative of the schizophrenic condition and what they are looking for. I'm less upset about this than I was originally. I would not want to make grand statements on camera anyway. And I think I can leave it inconclusive, a work in progress, and that will be fine. Martha Jane's, Cave Spring, Georgia. I have spent two or three days online at a tarot card site just writing about the actual content of my schizophrenic episodes. I did this to look at, for the first time, what actually happened, what I actually think, and I am still wanting to be careful about drawing any conclusions, because I don't want to create a delusion. All of this was brought about because I have agreed to appear in a documentary about schizophrenia, and three of the questions they want to ask are, why do schizophrenics suffer, what are your thoughts on God, and what do you think about love. These are big questions, and I have never gone into the details of my experience with a therapist. The tarot card site is question and answer so it feels like I'm actually talking to someone, and for a machine, it seems to respond with interpretations that are not that far off base. I'm a little afraid of the arcane, but it does deal with themes of my psychosis, including the Devil and other archetypes, which I kind of try to avoid getting into usually. These themes I am dealing with are religious and profane, and tarot cards include that kind of idea. I can do it anonymously and I can do it all day, which is what I did. I started from my first voice, which happened when i was about 6 months old, until the present day.
i actually feel I was struck down by Satan, kind of like Job in the Bible. But I am not sure that I want to focus on that so much for the film. I may mention it, but I want to leave it open what happened. One reason is, I may be addressing schizophrenics who have had similar experiences and I don't want to trigger them. But I accept that hearing similar stories from another schizophrenic can be helpful and even reassuring. One guy in Ireland I chatted with has a very similar experience with the Devil. He seemed to know and was calm about it, quite matter of fact. It's just that I spend a lot of time online with other schizophrenics, and I try to be more of a listener than a talker. I realised that I wasn't sure I had much to say. I mean it does actually hurt me to think about answers to those questions, and I avoid that pain as much as I can in my daily life and in all my dealings. I don't think I have ever been on film before except for a brief interview in Japan about work. I mean, I am not sure I want to commit to presenting myself and my experience and my thoughts about it with my face. I don't want to make myself famous as a nut, you know? Happy holidays to everyone. Have a wonderful season. I'll be back on Sunday. Mom's garden lights. I have agreed to participate in a documentary about schizophrenia. We had an introductory call about it last night, a few of us, on skype. I noticed that I am not really prepared to speak about schizophrenia. Even with the therapy I have had, I am not used to trying to talk about it. I was asked how schizophrenia affected my life, and I answered that it ruined it. This is true, but it is not all I want to say. I have had a good year, for example. I mean, it did ruin my life, but I am slowly moving past that, I hope. I was a film director and photographer, and I was married to the world's sweetest man, and I had to leave all of that to go home and live with my parents again. It was an epic fail. It was. But it has been 17 years, and only just now I am beginning to think I can just make my way out of the agony and into something peaceful and a kind of scaled-down productivity. I don't know what that means exactly, except that I am, because of Latuda, more positive mentally, happier, and I have a camera again after many years without one, and same for oil paints. I think if I just do these two things for a while, I will have some confidence back eventually. One of the other people in the documentary, a friend, said that he considers schizophrenia a gift and that it helps him creatively. He said that while it ruined his life, it ruined a bad life and gave him a good one... The producers want to talk about God and love and so on. These are kind of hot topics for some schizophrenics, for me too. I don't want to believe that God did this to me, but the voices are hyper religious. I don't know why, I did not have a super churchy childhood or anything, but I did not love what church I did have, except for a few stories from my Grandmother. Nothing that would make me think I was damaged or something. Like being screamed at for months about do I believe in Satan, for example, as happened a few years ago. Last week I came across a Facebook post from a friend. It was a preacher talking about the book of Job. I looked it up - I don't really know the Bible that well - and I thought yes, I feel like God did that to me sometimes. And there was an alternative translation, that Job did not repent, but was still given restitution - though how you could replace children is not made clear. But this has been my reaction to my own inquisition, I just do not apologise for anything I did. I did not deserve this test. And although I think I can improve my life and keep the ball in the air in terms of happiness, it will never be that I am with my beloved and what would have been by now, a couple of teenagers, which I really wanted. The most I can do is try to make myself happy with what I have left, and it's just small and not very important, but it's all I can do. I am quite happy right now, and about my husband I am just philosophical. I know he's happy and has two beautiful daughters. He is still working on his photography occasionally too. I google to keep up with the news on all that. When I think of his life, I just feel kind of pathetic with my little camera and paintbrush. But it's really all I can think of, and I mustn't lose respect for it. As for love, I don't think I will have another partner again in my life. For one thing, I am just too medicated to be able to fall in love, or even enjoy sex. I don't really get upset about this. I have tried many things in the past, since schizophrenia, to get a "normal" life back, and all of my attempts ended up with me in the hospital. I think if I had had reliable mental health, I would probably be more open to love, too. I would have confidence and mobility. But after many years of trying other things in other places, I have decided to accept my Dad's offer to take on the house and my brother, who also has schizophrenia, but refuses his medicine. I have focused on making this proposal a success for about 5 years now, and in the process I was able to accept the deal and all it involves as home. I don't really want to leave now, and set up a new home with someone else who I quite like, but don't love. I don't want to deal with housekeeping and a glass of wine in the evening, which is all I can imagine that life offering, with local guys. I am enjoying my photography and my painting, and I don't really want to interrupt that. When I was younger and healthy, I could do it all, but now I have to spend all my thoughts on my own sanity and well-being. When I am able to meet with friends, and it has happened with just four people over the course of nearly twenty years, I prefer to talk about their lives. I enjoy their uninterrupted successes and I don't want to talk about myself or have to explain. This is my problem to work out for the documentary. My therapist just keeps a bouncy conversation going. We don't talk about how schizophrenia affected my life very much. We talk about my family mostly, just about news, not feelings or doubts and so on. So I don't know quite how to think about this project. I want to say to the audience of the film that life can be ok for a schizophrenic, but the truth is I can't really recommend it. I just take each day as it comes and that seems to be all I can do. It's like advice you might get on Facebook, "one day at a time" - it works for people who have jobs and friends and something exciting comes from that. When it is just you and your own mind, it's quite hard work, actually. If I look back on my whole life, I remember hearing voices since I was like just months old. There is a photograph of me in my Dad's arms, and my mother was trying to get me to look at the camera, but the sun was in my eyes. I heard a woman's voice explaining to me that she was my mother, and that she wanted me to look at the camera, for some reason, I understood her voice, but not my mother's. Prophetic things have happened regarding voices, and I have considered that my life was mapped out in advance by guiding spirits. It's not natural for me to think like this. After a few years of not hearing voices, a voice and a vision asked me why I wanted to get married, as I was packing up to leave for London to be with my love. I said I don't know, but if it only lasts ten years, it will have been worth it. I was wildly in love, but I thought the question was rude. My marriage lasted 10 years and six weeks. There are other little cut points and questionnaires I have had that happened, but I had dismissed them. Like, when I was about 14, a voice asked me what name I would like for a child, and I thought for a while and answered Justin. I heard an English voice, a woman, say, I bet you would like my Justin. My husband was English and named Justin, we met at age 23. But I had forgotten the exchange totally when I met him. A photographer, whose work I did not know previously appeared to me in a vision at the Student Union at university while I was taking a break from my studies. Robin Williams' movie called Popeye was due to open and the voice asked me if I would see the movie. I said probably not. The voice said, I have done some photography about Popeye for a magazine, I think you will like it. Again, I just dismissed it. A few days later, I bought a copy of Vogue like I usually did, and there was a spread in it inspired by the Popeye film. I did like it. It was monochrome and about girls who dressed like Olive Oyl. I tore it out and saved it. I ended up meeting that photographer years later in London but I didn't make a connection. I found the tear sheets later, when I returned to my parents' house after my first psychosis. I don't appreciate all this foretelling. I have also considered that there might actually be a devil or a Satan, which I did not embrace when I was taught about it growing up. I can't stand the religious angle as it has been presented to me with this illness, but I also can't ignore it. It is like stories from the Bible, though I never really read it through. Just passages here and there. I occasionally will follow a clue from my religious Facebook friends. I am opposed to what has happened to me. I liked it better when I felt that I was just working and being in love and making my own decisions. But this is not what it looks like now, I admit. I just don't want to say that on film. I don't want to add to the anxiety of schizophrenic viewers who are looking for a clue. I'm just not able to say it's possible to go on with a normal life, at least for me. But there are others with this illness who can say that. This is all stuff I never discuss with my therapist, who feels I should just overcome the schizophrenia by moving to New York or Los Angeles and getting a job. She is not used to really mentally ill people I think. She offered to analyse my dreams though, but I declined the offer. I just don't want to freak myself out and I feel I know what to follow and what to dismiss regarding dreams, which I do not have often anyway. There are two prophetic dreams, and they spell the end of the life I thought I had made for myself, like clockwork. I had a recurring dream as a child, maybe 5 years old. I was trying to run into a cinema, but there were lots of adults there and i had to push my way through. i push so hard that I start flying, and i fly into the screen and over a desert for a long time, just flying. at the end, I come to a fence with a pair of birds there, like Heckle and Jekyl. They are in front of a three-sided wooden shed and they are laughing at me, like in the cartoons.The dream ends. When I moved to California from London with my husband to continue our film work, we took a trip to the desert and there was a place exactly like in the dream, with the two birds, the fence, the three-sided shelter. I had my husband take a photograph of me next to it. Another dream was in London, when I was in my early 30s. I was sleeping on the floor, exhausted, when the dream happened. Two people came to me and said we need to perform an operation, to get the bad spirit out. It will hurt more than you can imagine, but after that, things will be good. I was disturbed because I was very happy in my life with my husband, and I knew of no bad spirit like they were talking about. When I had my first psychosis, it was really really horrible and went on for months. It was like the Spanish Inquisition. But what really drove me over the edge was the pain in my head. All of this was the end of my ability to function as a wife, and some time later, the voices were screaming at me to ask for a divorce, which inside, I did not want. I wanted to be left alone, in peace, to pursue my relationship with my husband and our film work, and the possibility of having children. I never made it. The worst of it seems now, more than a decade later, over, but my life is not better as promised. It's just medicated and peaceful. I hate these "people" who did this to me. And I just have downsized my expectations of happiness and try and pursue that - the camera, the paint. I hate what happened to me and I don't want a fucking explanation about it. I don't want to know who did this or why. I just want to be left alone. I have nothing left to give, anyway. they took it all. There are other visions that worried me as a child and seem to have come true. Pardon me for talking like this, I never do, with anyone, ever. And this is my real schizophrenia. It's just awful, really. Like a terrible joke or a Grimm fairy tale. I just don't feel it's suitable to talk about all this in front of a camera and I am wondering what to say at all. I didn't know I was like that, with 18 months of blogging about pleasant memories and little projects, I thought I could just breeze through an interview. But now I don't know. My favorite Italian restaurant. My mind is still tired from being on Facebook. I really don't know what I was thinking, speaking up like that, maybe it was the devil lol. I still feel argumentative, and I'm used to years of medicated calm. I repost stuff occasionally on Facebook, but I think I'm a little off balance now, it seems everything speaks to me somehow, I'm making connections that probably are not what I think they are, and I feel like I'm flooding the page with junk, which I hate. Also I feel a little self conscious, which is not good - I feel like I'm being watched somehow, and this is nice in that the watcher seems to have my best interests at heart, but bad that I'm thinking that way at all. I spent years feeling as if I were being watched, and filmed and otherwise followed generally. It's not good. I don't think I need a meds adjustment, maybe just some time to reflect and calm down. I did that Facebook thing where the machine picks up your most commonly used words and arranges them in a pattern, my cousins had things like love and happy and all that, mine was all like war and schizophrenia. I don't have people around me to photograph, like they do. They are busy living their lives with partners and children. They have smart phones and post their restaurant food or their holiday snaps, and their friends always send like hundreds of likes. This doesn't depress me, it cheers me up, but I have to notice that my Facebook can be a little grim.
Mostly I use Facebook toward keeping up with my online schizophrenic friends, and secondly to stay up-to-date on friends and family. I'm not used to confrontation, even if I do occasionally make it clear that I vote democrat. I have been IM chatting with my English friend, Vicky, and she was in a counseling facility for 10 days. She is suicidally depressed and the staff doesn't deal with meds, it's purely one-on-one counseling. So I have been a little worried about her. She has been like this for many weeks and it's hard to tell if her new antidepressant is working or not because all of her meds don't really work, but her family says they can tell when she's not taking them. I mean, she is on 17 pills a day, and she still fights voices all the time. She almost never feels great, even on the rare good day, which I can count on one hand. It must be really hard. She is a great friend, she is very giving and supportive, even though she doesn't feel good herself. But she resists any kind of compliment, and she so deserves them. She's super. So, that's my Facebook mostly. It is hard work and it's serious and it's not about forty-thousand likes for me. I'm lucky to get one or two, but I don't despair. People like some of the photographs I repost (share), and they are usually not controversial. I don't know. I should find more - other - to think about. I asked my brother if he had a copy of the little single we recorded more than a decade ago. He did such beautiful guitar work on it and really impressed me with his engineering ability. He said yes. I would share it, but I'm reading some poetry on it and the author has been known to sue lol. It was just for fun, and I don't sing, so the reading was all I could do. But come for a ride sometime in my new Jeep and I'll play it for you! I'll plug the book the poetry is in. You can buy it at Amazon. It's Grapefruit by Yoko Ono. It's lovely to read out loud. Buy your copy today! A favorite café in Cave Spring, GA. I feel like I used to feel after I got a spanking when I was a child. Maybe it's my own fault. I have been engaging with the Christian Far Right, and I usually scroll on by. I don't know why I felt the need to speak up, a couple of them let me know that I was welcome to shut up. I am trying to think of other things to think about so that I don't keep re-running the unpleasantness in my mind myself. One guy mentioned background checks for people who speak, which spooked me. I wouldn't pass a background check I don't think, and there is nothing in that set of records to explain that I was having trouble with my medication. So having said all I can think of to say, I am at peace and quiet. These people are all friends of my missionary relative, who I mentioned in my previous post. I guess I feel it was nice of him to let me speak, even if his friends were rude. Another cousin of mine posted her Charlton Heston two-cents-worth, and it was in responding to her that I realised there is no one I trust with a gun. I didn't realise this before. I always think of my Dad, who was Army. He's a Trump supporter and a gruff one at that. But with him, I am just always reminded that he does take good care of my brother and me and we don't usually get into politics unless I'm having dinner at his house. He knows I'm a Democrat though, and he doesn't go as far as he might to change my mind, in person. And I always catch a ride with him to the voting station. I know that I would never change his mind, no matter what I said, and I guess it's the same with all of them, though I'm pretty sure my Dad wouldn't ask me to shut up. The few times I have offered what turned out to be an opposing view to him, he has taken his time explaining to me his point of view.
I would like to paint some more, but I am waiting for some to dry so that I have room. I'm a little out of practice, and at that, trying something new to me, and I don't think I was careful enough blending in the medium, which usually means a faster dry. But it has given me some time to think about color, and I want to explore colors I usually don't use. I have a couple of ideas for yellow and gold anyway. I miss my painting though, I used it to take a break from Facebook, which once again, I think I could use. I get an array of news feeds on there, and I love to read - I used to work at a newspaper in London writing headlines and captions. I wasn't so good at it actually, unless it was straight news, but I was good at pulling out quotes, which I also had to do. Actually, I'm glad I don't do that any more, I just think it's kind of exhausting. I'm a little burnt out. I am surprised at the time. I am not ready for Christmas, but my mom is coming up so it should be fun. She only stays two days, which is fine, because my brother and I get tired easily, as neither of us are used to visitors. I think she buys too many presents, though, because I hear the rest of the story throughout the year regarding her modest income. Since I knew she would have to put something under the tree for me, I asked for a sock monkey, which is not that expensive, but I have been hinted at by her that there will be more. I feel we're too old for presents, and for me, there is nothing I need. This year I am spending more than usual on her - I am framing a photograph I took. I had done this before and threw it in the trash after I gave it to her. So I'm trying to replace that. I can pay for it, but it means I have nothing to spare until February. I'll have to keep putting off that Billie Holiday collection I have my eye on at Amazon... which is fine. Foggy morning. I'm a little worn out. I was pressed hard by someone in a Facebook discussion of a highly controversial nature last night, regarding the stated political views of a missionary relative. I was walking a tightrope and it took everything I had to be able to state my point of view while staying, well, sane actually. We eventually, after several hours, reached an understanding, even a delicate agreement, but it was really challenging. I'm not that sharp with schizophrenia and medication, and I had to keep googling around checking facts and definitions. I stood my ground, But I went through nearly a pack of cigarettes and paced madly. I think engaging in these debates is ultimately good for me, but I spend a hell of a lot of time rereading what I write, just to check my general logic and condition. I was tiptoeing around the issue, trying not to let it explode into a full on pro-life versus pro-choice argument. I am pro-choice, but I think pro-lifers make a good point. So we managed to keep to the subject of gun control. This missionary relative is very conservative, and has posted pro-gun and anti-welfare posts recently. As my mother, age 79, contributes to his organization out of her social security check, I think those on tax-free handouts should not cast stones at those receiving government benefits. I stopped short of actually pointing this out to him. I don't want to speak out of turn on behalf of my mother, who has told me in confidence that she can't afford to donate more to his cause and is tired of the monthly begging letters. As a result of all this, I am very tired and actually a little sad and quiet of mind. The upcoming election is wearing me out, but I feel it's important to state my views when I can. I am one of the vulnerable, being disabled with schizophrenia, and it doesn't even bother me the hysteria around this disease. When a schizo goes nuts and kills some people, I don't feel it's appropriate to state the case for the majority of non-violent schizophrenics when people are grieving and shocked. That, to me, would be selfish. And I feel that Second Amendment advocates are rude to bang a gong for guns at such a delicate time, too, which they invariably and en masse do, and they blame the mentally ill, who are more likely to harm themselves than anyone else. I'm an Army brat, and a lot of my Facebook friends are veterans and quite conservative, unlike me. So I'm kind of getting a lot of flak in my face every day, which I guess can't be helped. I mean, I think the gun, the potential of it, the purpose of its invention, is attractive to people who are on the spectrum, but perhaps not diagnosed. I think the gun is a public health issue and not just a problem for a few mentally ill people. I don't know anybody that I would feel comfortable being around while they are carrying a gun, even healthy people that I like and otherwise trust and enjoy.
The ferry ride home from the beach. I had a really nice day today. I met an old high school and college friend at our old university town and we had lunch and walked across campus and got a cup of coffee before heading home, each our separate ways. She's very impressive, studying Chinese, has written a book about her bipolar experience, and generally full of plans for the new year. We had a lot in common, including the way our forties were a complete write off. She too, started smoking because of the hospital policy to let smokers go outside twice a day. I haven't talked to anyone with such similar experiences. When I was in hospital, which was many times, I found that everyone was a lot younger than I am. We were friendly because they thought I was their age, like high school or early twenties - I didn't start to look my age until about 45. I remember them though and wonder how they are all doing. I felt very good. I realised, in walking across campus and talking about our lives, that I am very happy with where I have ended up. This is a new development. I look back on the dark, unstable years and I just give myself credit for trying - I studied, edited a film, made a little single with my musician brother, had a great photography job for a while. I mean, it all ended up in successive stays in the hospital and there were many "wasted" months, but at least I really, really tried to start something new again.
I have put more thought into how to start the rest of my life, now that I have found some - just some - stability with Latuda. For instance, I worked at an art and framing shop when I was at university for a few years and last week I wanted to frame a photograph for my Mom's Christmas present. I thought, what if I could just volunteer at a frame shop for a day or two a week as an experiment? I went into the shop, but I began to feel a bit confused and found it hard to focus - I was trying to keep up with his measurement calculations for the frame, which I used to be able to do very easily. I thought then that it was still just too soon to think of trying anything like that. I felt the passage of years since I last had that, or any, job and I realised that my pattern, whenever I start a new medicine, has been to bounce back to school or a job, which ends up in a hospital stay shortly thereafter, which means a new medicine, it's just a vicious circle. I think I am just at the point where I have to accept the fact that I am disabled, and to adjust my thinking to fit that, in order to stay out of hospital. The onset of an episode has occurred other times, like when I tried to investigate what it would take to put together a site online for my film and photographic work. My mind starts racing and I just destabilise. The same thing happened a couple of days ago when I googled around for photographic clubs in my state. I found a couple and joined, they were free to join and offer a couple of free workshops a year along with lots of photo ops in studios or on location, for quite hefty fees, which I can't afford. I decided that if I make it to just one free workshop in the next couple of years, that that is as much of a challenge as I can meet in my present condition. I am reminded that I felt even better on Haldol at first than I do on Latuda, but as I kept taking it, I plunged into a depression and had a lot of the negative symptoms of schizophrenia for the first time since the onset of schizophrenia in the first place. I actually needed some hospitalisation during some of that but I just lay low in bed for about three years and no one really noticed much. I feel good on Latuda now, but it has only been three months. I don't know how it will be like say next summer or thereafter. I just don't think I will have what it takes to actually be a professional again, I'm not steady enough for that as I have already had three-day benders with voices and hallucinations, like I had on Haldol. It's just when that's not happening, I'm better, I wash and brush my teeth and hair and am able to try things like short bouts of painting or a little photoshop session. I mean, it's nice, but I think I will never be in shape to be a professional again. I just have to be happy with managing my illness to the best of my ability. Foosball at the Pier. I scored one goal... It's kind of an adjustment couple of weeks. I have had a lot of exciting things happen - visiting family and friends, new car, new oil paint. I kind of need to settle down into a routine again. I do quite well with that. But I have to say, it has been nice being able to think on my feet while around other people. My mind is still in that mode, even though I am not seeing anyone much. It's making it hard to concentrate on my painting, although to be fair, I am running out of space and have to wait for the ones I have already done to dry before I start more. It's cold in the garage where I paint, and I think that is slowing the drying process. I used to paint large and more in glazes, which dried much more quickly. I am a bit critical of my paintings, I want to get better at them. This requires a very steady hand and careful mixing of colors. This is new for me and I'm a little embarrassed at my first efforts, lol. But as I get on with them and hopefully improve, I can go back and correct the early ones. These paintings have to be kind of as perfect as I can make them, otherwise they fail. It's good for discipline and focus.
I found a photography club in town and I have been accepted as a member. It is a "meetup" club and there are many of them found online. This is kind of a revelation for me. I have googled around for years, checked the newspapers, and found nothing but AA, Overeaters Anonymous and Divorce Care. There was a photography club I looked into back in 2011, but I was too paranoid to handle the meetings, which were downtown and at night. That club has kind of fallen off the map. I actually went to a Divorce Care meeting about ten years ago and it was confusing. They showed a driver's education film. I didn't get it. We didn't talk to each other, we just watched the film. I didn't go back. I'm happy to have been accepted at this photography club though - I was fearing a background check and I do have some arrest records from a few years ago when I was having a hard time with schizophrenia and medicine. I don't mind explaining my illness, but there is more often than not, no more discussion after a background check. I lost an interview at Macy's because of that. I was applying to work in Visual Display, dressing mannequins and so on. It's a job I have experience in and my MTV award really pumped up my application. I had two interviews, but was not called in for the third and final interview, which was with the boss. I think it would have been too hard for me to have that job. It was part-time, working with one other person. I was just kind of taken aback by the kind of hyper energy I noticed from the people who interviewed me. I was medicated (Haldol) and a bit slow and it was hard to muster a smile and to sit up straight and all that. I felt permanently, then, as if I had just woken up and hadn't had my coffee yet. I certainly wasn't ready at that time for an 8am start. But as it was rare for me to get an interview, I was kind of disappointed that I didn't make the selection to the final interview. I had to face the reality that schizophrenia had damaged my prospects of ever finding work again. I miss being desirable, happy, uncomplicated, hirable. Because of schizophrenia I had kind of made the wrong kind of fame for myself. It means I have to be more creative and self assured as I continue in life. Also, I have to remember that I am actually too old for most jobs, which is hard enough to overcome. My best bet is maybe volunteering somewhere once a week, or pursuing music video again, which I think is too hard for me now. With volunteering, I am realising that it's easier to explain my illness and my reasoning, whereas if I'm expecting to be paid, I'm just not wanted. I will see how I do over the coming months with periodic episodes and mood swings and paranoia generally. I actually wanted a close-up of the foosball men. They still have faces. I thought of it at the time, but being medicated I have to be really much more sensitive than I have been to my subtler thoughts. The medication kind of manages emotions, and in the past, my enthusiasm would have got me the shot. I'm kind of starting all over again in photography and painting and I'm trying to learn to pay attention to myself and to make a real effort every time and this takes a level of focus that I have to really dig deep for, in spite of the medication. |
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June 2017
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