Hey; it’s just me. The first few lines don’t describe the rest of this, so read on:
I’ve not had such a great time today; looking forward to archiving your work so you can graduate is kind of stressful. Tomorrow, I get to see my Vocational counselor. I’ve just started looking around at possible positions I can move into so that I’m less of a financial burden on my family…I can see, though, that I will need to practice driving (and obtain a License) in order to gain some positions. For example, if I’m working somewhere that has a 45-minute commute one-way, it’s more reasonable for me to drive myself, than not.
(Seeing how people drive in this area, though: that’s still…risky.)
Anyhow…I was thinking up things to write about, and started looking through my image archives. I had forgotten so many things that I had done, not so long ago!
Everything just happened so fast after we got back (read: my relative’s death and the ensuing family chaos) that it was easy to forget about this. In effect, enabling this trip was his last gift in life, to us.
The previous two photos are of Hawaii…none of the others here, are.
The one at left is from one of the first times I went out by myself on foot, in recent memory. I need to become more independent; this is a step towards that. I have not felt safe venturing out of the house without another person with me, for a while. I’m sure some here can relate.
One of the reasons why I write about my disability so openly here is that — to me, it is obvious, but — the more I do so, the more aware I become of the fact that my illness has profoundly impacted my life. This is to the point that it borders on absurd to intentionally keep it a secret. I don’t tell everyone about it; then again, most people don’t question my mental health — or if they do, it strikes them as normal.
Appearing “normal” is double-edged, even though it doesn’t seem to be.
My illnesses (I have what’s — overall — called “comorbidity,” which essentially means that I’m dealing with multiple diagnoses at the same time) run in my family. This means that I am up close and personal with the fact that I have relatives who seem to display signs of mental illness but who will not see a doctor — any doctor — for help.
This cannot be due to anything other than stigma and a feeling that to admit having a problem that they can’t solve themselves makes them “weak.” It’s not “weak” to seek help when you need help. It’s not “weak” to gain information you’re lacking.
And it isn’t great for me to watch their lives spiral out of control for no reason other than pride and an inability to question their own thoughts. I’ve been seeing mental health professionals since I was 14 years old. There is no shame in actually working out your problems.
But before you can work out your problems, you first have to admit imperfection…which seems more than some can muster.
Of course, the people one surrounds oneself with, can also make one afraid to admit to imperfection…because keeping someone in a weakened state means they’re more easily manipulated.
(I will try not to get into commentary on that…particular dynamic, now.)
But it’s apparent…from the work that I’m doing, combined with what I speak of, here, that I am — again — finding respite from human problems in the natural world. And I think I’ve done that, ever since I was about 11 or 12.
Particularly, plants seem to calm me…and have, since I started hanging out with them by myself, in lieu of hanging out with abusive “friends.”
The art, then…may manifest as an attempt to honor these spirits…whether they’re self-generated or not.
Seeing spirits in life is a point where Buddhism and I apparently part ways…I’m not sure if that is so true in the U.S., as Pure Land schools are more popular here, and they’re more belief-oriented…
…but that gets into an entirely different post!
And my energetic sensitivity also may get into a different post. (I’ve stopped denying it.)
But the little blossoms…well…have I told you the meaning I find in them, before? It’s not a usual one.
Because flowers are, generally speaking, both male and female, and since many of them are beautiful — I find meaning in the fact that they exist as they are, and in the fact that they break the idea that one has to ascribe to a gender binary to be beautiful and natural in that beauty. People who don’t know me, think that it’s a “girl thing.” I don’t correct them. They’re just seeing surfaces.
Yeah, I wonder: does my art exist to generate peace…?
Ah, the why art question, again: I should just make it into a phrase. “Why art?” with “art” as a verb…
Because art calms. Art reclaims me from the nonsense and panic of the world. That’s why art. Life is too short to waste on hurting others and being hurt. I wonder what would happen if we had a culture shift, where more of us centered ourselves…though maybe that is far from being possible, right now…