Don’t tell your mom your lesbian girlfriend got you hammered at the lesbian bar @rebekahkall
“Still, I wonder. Why--how--have I managed to learn these things while others have not? Why have I managed somehow to leave behind at least for now what looks like wreckage, and shape something solid from my life? My prognosis, after all, was very poor. In idle moments, I still slide my fingers under the sleeves of my shirt and trace the raised white nubs of scars that track my arms from years and years of cutting. How did I learn to stop cutting and collapsing, and can I somehow transmit this ability to others? I don't know. It's a core question for me in my work. I believe my strength has something to do with memory, with that concept of fluid time. For while I recall with clarity the terror of abuse, I also recall the green and lovely dream of childhood, the moist membrane of a leaf against my nose, the toads that peed a golden pool in the palm of my hand. Pleasures, pleasures, the recollections of which have injected me with a firm and unshakable faith. I believe Dostoevsky when he wrote, 'If man has one good memory to go by, that may be enough to save him.' I have gone by memory."
A Few Pictures
Bad First Drafts
Catch Me On Thought Catalog
I work nights and my girl works mornings so I blog in the morning and she blogs at night
come back from work I’m booooooored and in bed alone with a smelly dog
I’ve been a writer all my life, and a visual artist, too. When I was in private practice, I used creative tools with my psychotherapy clients, drawing from Jungian traditions, from global mythology, from creative arts of all kinds. From sand-tray to self-inquiry, my territory was the creative inner world.
And then my love drowned in front of me on an otherwise ordinary day.
Tell me, what use is it to rearrange mythic figures on a board when life has exploded that way? Where is the relevance of self-inquiry in the face of such reeling pain? A paintbrush is not going to solve anything.
There’s a deep cultural presumption that creating something out of grief somehow makes it all even out in the end. That your deepest call is to transform your grief into a work of art that touches others. That when you do that, when you turn to creative expression in the depths of pain, you are, in fact, healing your grief. Creativity is a way to transform pain. The results of your creativity, if they’re good enough, can help others transform their pain. It all works out.
But the truth is, there is no fair trade.
The truth is, pain, like love, needs expression. Some of us use words. Some paint. Some build, some invent, some serve. We are story-telling creatures.
Creative expression is part of me. It’s part of you. It’s in all of us.
That you make something beautiful and useful out of your pain, whether for yourself or others, is a wonderful thing. It’s a healing thing. But it’s not a prescription, and it won’t fix anything.
But the truth is, there is no fair trade."
(HT Cheryl Strayed)
And here he is before his haircut.
He is evolving…
Have you ever been so mad you learned how to walk
|Baby:||The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell|