Friday, March 22, 2013

POINTLESS


The pencil point is dull
Worn from years of sketches
Faded to grayscale
Black and white memories

Views of obscure shading
Achromatic twisted figures
No color or movement
Graphite on bristol

Deep in the fibers of pulp
Layers of a point
Once was sharp and fine
Detailing life gone by

Depth and contrast
Meaning and interpretation
An artist’s view
Tainted by critics

Peer further into the outline
Delineate the truth
How beautifully macabre
The depictions turn real

Shadow and dark entwine
Filtered light illuminates
The figures dance
And the page is turned

Monday, March 11, 2013

HEAD SHRINKING

I started seeing a psychiatrist today for the first time in over ten years. The antidepressants I have been on have been prescribed by my Primary Care Physician. Although she's a qualified professional, that's probably akin to having her treat a broken bone or remove my appendix. Although I was not initially impressed with his approach and really bad jokes during our session, we did work out a starting regimen. Unfortunately I felt like he was minimizing my feelings, like I wasn't depressed enough to meet certain criteria. Even though at one point he actually stated "I'm not trying to minimize you're symptoms", it was perceived that he was. I'll admit I'm able to get myself out of bed and even take a shower (some days), and get my ass to work, but not without pain and difficulty. I'm not actively suicidal although I have had passing thoughts about being dead. I needed to convey to him how desperate I felt, how nothing felt right. No pleasure, no joy. In the end we decided on two new medications to be started a week apart. In addition, he recommended a therapist that would be beneficial for my particular symptoms and issues. I knew there would be no magic door opened today, no instant cure. However, there was a door that was opened. An opportunity to move forward and work toward healing. I refuse to not get the treatment that's right for me, even if it means changing therapists or psychiatrists. I'm too determined this time not to fail or give in.

Saturday, March 9, 2013

DAD


Sometimes the death of someone close to you acts as a proxy for your own mortality. We grow attached to those who are meaningful to us. They become part of your daily existence just as a part of your own body. When that piece of you goes away it immediately feels like a traumatic amputation, or more poetically as if a portion of your own heart or soul has been excised. Although the pain is severe and intense, like other pain in life it will dissipate. What you are left with mirrors that of phantom pain, a remembrance of what you have lost. Although this pain may never fully go away, it is joined by a new growth. Memories of both happy and sad times you have shared. But more importantly is the realization of how that person helped you grow into the person you are now. Everyone who touches our lives has a way of leaving an indelible mark on our very existence to be carried with us always. I am grateful to all those that have passed and those who are still with me continuing to help mold me into a better human being.
My father has contributed to me both through genetics and years of nurturing. I am glad to have your wit and talents live on through me.
-Your loving son.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

WAIT A MINUTE


         As I approach each day with trepidation lately, I wonder what the future truly holds. I can’t think far enough in advance for long-range plans or goals. People in recovery from drugs and alcohol refer to the idiom “One day at a time”. Each day can be chewed off in little pieces, not concerning yourself too far into the future. If they can get through this present day, they have succeeded. It continues on in chanting repetition like a mantra until it becomes a new habit, or new way of life.
         A simple day, only 24 hours, seems like an eternity when I’m facing sadness in the early hours or haunting isolation late at night. Getting through that day is overwhelming at times. But one minute, sixty seconds of time, may be doable. Every minute I can survive, I’m closer to getting through. Moment to moment I continue on, making mental slash marks on my prison wall. One day the marks will be too numerous to count and seem less and less important. That is when I can combine them into hours and days, then weeks and months. From a very humble start I will fly

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

BEYOND


I long to drift high above my non-reality
Beyond the dream
Swaying back and forth like a lost feather
Caught in breeze

Opening my thoughts to new possibilities
Prying the door
Entering as a new player into a script
Of nonfiction

Take me away on a trip through the pain
And beyond
Passing along with my kindred spirits
With love

Materialize the hope and the goodness
The desire
Emanating from a powerful stability
Stand tall

Learning to fly with all my brothers
A different route
Those who share my deepest pain
With assurance

We will never be the standard normal
But extraordinary
No expectations of false hopes
Only real

Friday, March 1, 2013

A Can of Worms


I have inadvertently opened the proverbial can of worms, not realizing that I still had it tucked away in a dark basement behind years of accumulated compensatory mechanisms.  I’m not sure exactly how it happened as the process took a few months to build up. The past year has been a text book list of major stressors; the end of a relationship, family illness, job changes, and financial stress.

I had become pretty skilled at maintaining a façade in my interactions with other people. Witty, smart, flirty or sexy depending on the audience. In my mind these were appropriate coping skills I had carefully crafted in order to overcome severe depression and a host of other issue. When I recently met someone who was very open and honest about his battles, I became empathetic. I suppose in the past, by not dealing with others issues, it was easier not to deal with my own.  Soon my tightly closed eyes began to open. As they did I started to see myself, not as one who had defeated and overcome, but instead a weak and scared man with no idea how to deal with this new flood of feelings.

Finally I reached a breaking point and completely lost a grip on my ordered existence. I lost my appetite, couldn’t sleep, and I cried like a blubbering idiot. But what of the worms? I can’t just put them in the same types of containers from my past. I need to use them as bait to lure in more honest emotions. For the first time in years I am looking my fucked up mind square in the eye, and it scares the shit out of me!