Recovery

a studio mouseTwo months after living in a tent and communal ceramics studio, it didn’t take me all that long to get used to sleeping indoors and in a bed again. When people ask me about what happened, starting off with a “…so, I hear it was pretty ridiculous down there,” I reply with, “Yeah, but it’s water under the bridge now.”

Is it? I’ve been berating myself for not getting as much done as I used to: looking for a job, taking classes, building a studio, and selling work. I feel guilty for giving myself a bit of a break- traveling, spending time with friends and family. I also haven’t been doing much talking about my experience in Virginia.

If you know me, you would think that I’ve been thinking about it a lot, obsessing even. I’m avoiding thinking about it. I have been downplaying it to everyone because I needed to downplay it to myself to deal with it bit by bit, an sometimes, not at all.

I somehow don’t feel like I’m allowed to be hurt by that experience. There are people down there still living in tents and at least making a little bit of art- and they somehow deal with it. Don’t they?

Out of six, one lives in a nice apartment nearby.

Two is from Virginia and has family and a boyfriend that she can visit anytime (and talk to at length). Every time things got really bad down there, she was gone in her car for a weekend that had a habit of turning into a week.

Three is not from Virginia and doesn’t have family there. However, he spent about half the time I was in Virginia traveling. Sometimes he’d leave to go up north without telling anyone.

Four came to ‘look at the place to consider it and be considered for a residency’ with a dufflebag containing all his worldly possessions. He came on a bus, walked the rest of the way, and stayed.

Five came burnt out making production ceramics and with baggage he hopes to unload through drinking and burning things. When I left he still had not even tried to make the one idea he’d been talking excitedly about since I got there. He has built a tee pee and adopted an abandoned puppy.

Six has been there a long time. He’s a passive aggressive mask living in the kiln shed on a couch where he watches the Simpsons on dvd, smokes, drinks, eats, and leaves the communal dishes.

These people, as far as I know, are still there and getting by. So I feel like I can’t act like it was such a bad experience if people are still there and surviving. But then I remember what it was like. People are getting by at the post-college club for wayward kids who may be ambitious and want to make art. For the ones that do want to be serious artists, it’s a fight against those who just want to feel as good as they can doing whatever. More than living in a tent, that was the real issue that made living there hard. I blamed the tent because I thought that if there was a quiet room somewhere to relieve my stress, I could deal with the struggle in the “mentally and creatively rich studio environment (ha)”. It was hostile, tense, immature, and lawless most of the time. One of the residents, I think it was Three, called it Lord of the Flies. That’s the easiest and most accurate way I’ve ever heard it described.

The reason I left was a sudden lack of income. It was also a final breach of trust. Most things I was told while I was there, I believed. Most things I was told were said to me to put me off and make me: go down there, deal with it for another little while, wait for it to get better, and just wait because you have so much invested. I even paid for three months of rent on the studio and then left because the news on my lack of income was at the same time as when rent was due.

Living in a place where you can’t trust that people aren’t deceiving you, eating your food, taking your things, breaking your things, talking about you, going to yell at you, and invading what little space and privacy you do have is not living. It’s surviving.

I survived, but I’m not myself. This past summer in Maine I lived in a space I didn’t feel safe or welcome in. I held in there and saved money, pinched pennies, to go to another place that was supposed to be better, yet was somehow worse. I didn’t feel like myself at the end of the summer. I’m just starting to feel like myself again. I don’t know that I’m ready to think or talk about it much in any real way. I can put people off with jokes about the south versus the north (and how some people think that Virginia isn’t even really the south). Silly tid-bits come easily enough.

Not being myself means I’m not working like I used to. I know that in me, I have the ability to finish up my novel. I know I have the ability to get my studio together faster and get some work made. I know I could have a near perfect score in the it course I’m taking. I know I could have more posts and more site updates. I could have a few more web programming languages under my belt. I could be looking for that perfect job more aggressively.

Would any of that help if I’m not myself? Working harder isn’t going to help me concentrate on doing a better job. I feel like everything I’ve done since I’ve got back has been sub-par. I see the bar that I normally meet or exceed and stare at it. I don’t know why I’m not up there. I tell myself I’m lazy. I am starting to realize that is an easier answer compared to admitting that I took a big blow these past several months. I let things not just get to me, but actually push me down.

I’m going to get up. The sooner I can admit these things and sort through them, the sooner I can be me again. Regardless, I think it’s going to take me some time. I’m relearning how to live and strive again rather than just survive.

  • “I somehow don’t feel like I’m allowed to be hurt by that experience. There are people down there still living in tents and at least making a little bit of art- and they somehow deal with it. Don’t they?”

    It’s not my place to tell other people what to think or how to carry themselves, so I’m going to go ahead and do it. What I have to say is in large part about certain social conventions and how useless – even damaging – they are. Might as well start off by being presumptuous.

    I don’t know why, but there’s enormous pressure – at least in the states (and elsewhere, of course – I’m only going to speak generally about our peoples, though) – to shut, face forward, work, and enjoy it.

    If you complain or feel bad about anything, then you’re a loser.

    If you complain or feel bad about anything, then someone will bring up starving kids in [insert poor country here].

    We deny ourselves the right to acknowledge our pain. And, as with everything else ‘Merican, we compare Our Stuff to Their Stuff. The Johnsons have a new car, and the Smiths have more pain.

    What you’re doing with your statement above is to:

    1. Compare Your Stuff – you see some other people as having it tougher, yet making it. You’re tempted to wave away whatever you feel because you think, despite what was a difficult time for you and one you still haven’t gotten over, that you don’t have a right to feel badly.

    2. Hang on to Your Stuff *and* get some New Really Bad Stuff – there’s some guilt in what you’re expressing. Now, not only do you still have this pain you’re carrying around, but you also feel guilty about it. Does that seem right?

    3. Raise the bar for Pain – there’s a strong ‘Merican tendency to push and push and push, pretending to ignore pain, or dealing with it in a non-productive way. I consider the addition of guilt to be non-productive in the extreme. When you raise the bar for pain, you’re trying to set an artificial threshold that marks the point at which you feel it’s acceptable to acknowledge your pain as legitimate, but you’ll never get there because, each time you hurt below that threshold, the threshold will be reset so that it’s relative to the amount of pain you’re feeling. I swear this makes sense.

    *Nobody* gets to decide for you what hurts and what doesn’t. You might think you’re making the choice yourself, but without those other people around, would you still think your pain was unworthy?

    My dad fancies himself an anarchist. One day, we were standing at a crosswalk when I suggested we jaywalk to support his anarchistic way of life. He refused – he said we’d wait for the crosswalk light to let us across. I was confused. He told me that, were he to cross when he wasn’t supposed to, he’d be acknowledging that the crosswalk light still controlled him. If you’re defying something, it’s still controlling you. He chose the safe route instead – might as well accept a lose-lose situation in the safest way possible.

    I wouldn’t have thought to have looked at it this way. When you compare your pain to others’, it might seem like you’re doing all the thinking, but, like the crosswalk that tells you to stay put, you’re being controlled in a subtle way. It’s especially bad because it’s harder to see that you’re being affected. If you *know* that you’re being shaped in part by this outside force, you can at lest determine whether or not you think it’s Right.

    So, as I asked earlier, if those other people weren’t there, would you question your right to feel your pain?

    It’s *your* pain. It hurts. That’s totally obvious. You don’t need permission to feel it. You just do. And if you do, then you do, and it doesn’t matter what your skepticism toward your right to feel it suggests.

    If you were in a room with someone who’d just cut his arm off, and if you’d just cut your finger off, would your hand stop hurting just because you got off “easy”? Would you question your right to feel bad about having lost nothing but a little ol’ finger? I doubt it.

    Plus, to complicate things further, everybody has a different threshold for pain. When you compare yourself to a group, it might appear to you that they’re all maintaining, but each one is in a different state of unhappiness (or happiness as it may be). Imagine trying to navigate by a compass when true north is wavering back and forth over a wide spectrum. You’d have quite the difficult time getting to your destination. Navigating emotions by using the experiences and constitutions of other people is no different, except that I’d rather be lost in the woods than in my head. I’ve had enough of the latter.

    Guilt is an enormous problem on its own. My shrink used to tell me that it’s a useless emotion. I’d argue with her. She’d argue back. In retrospect, she was absolutely right. I held myself to unrealistic standards. When I didn’t maintain those standards, I felt unworthy, beat myself up, and, on top of having fallen short of my goals, I punished myself. You’re already down – you don’t need to be further beaten.

    She taught me to acknowledge guilt, but then let it go. There’s nothing it can do for you. If you recognize that you can atone for what you’re done, then it’s useful for a time, but it does not otherwise solve any problems. It breaks morale.

    Which option seems more natural? Feeling your pain or denying it?

    For the former, it’s just there. You don’t have to try to feel it – you simply hurt.

    For the latter, you’ve had to build supporting scaffolding. It takes effort to question your right to the pain, whereas feeling it is something you’ll do automatically.

    In the end, from a practical standpoint, none of this matters. What matters is that you hurt. It comes from a part of the brain that doesn’t deal with intellect. You can push and push until it’s well hidden, but it’s still there.

    It’s like a bill you’ve left unpaid for months. It doesn’t go away. It sits there, waiting to be dealt with, and every time you see it, it sends a shiver of stress through your body. Eventually, someone’s going to come to collect. You’ll have the choice to ignore it, but to do so would be another form of stress, as you’ll get a little black mark on your credit report. It’ll sit there for a few years until the rest of the planet is ready to forgive you. Then you’ll finally be able to forget it.

    I think you should just feel the pain. Observe it – check it out from a few different angles. See if you can isolate it for clarity. Turn it into a sphere or a dodecahedron or whatever makes you happy, but don’t let it stick its little claws into everything. See it, name it, describe it, allow it in, and then let it take its natural course.

    But don’t wallow in it. Recognize whenever you’re taking it beyond itself. If it’s a brain chemical thing, then accept that, until you stabilize, there’s probably nothing you can really do (I’ve had to get used to this one). If it’s a thought, then you can deal with it.

    Your pain is your own. It doesn’t matter how many kids are starving in Africa. We have it tough in our own ways. The stress to succeed, meet our lofty goals, and deal with the everyday clusterfuck that is living in the Modern World is something that can break you bit by bit. You don’t need to make it worse.

  • You know what, Rory? You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t be trying to gauge how I should feel by comparing it to how I perceive other people to feel. And yes, feeling guilt for not being as ‘productive’ as I wish is a pretty stupid, capitalist American feeling. On some level I know this while I’m feeling it and not doing anything about it. I’ll sort through it. But y’know, it is easier when people care enough to give good advice and, in doing so, show their support. So, thank you Mr. Smartest Man Rory, sir. I shouldn’t feel bad about talking (or expressing myself artistically) about it, even if I am risking sounding like a whiny, angsty emo kid. There’s a fine line between allowing yourself to feel and wallowing in pain and self pity, but wallowing in guilt isn’t any better.

  • Bilsey

    Keep plugging away, you will be okay.
    But seriously folks, being sold a bill of goods that was (is) so obviously (now) misrepresented is not a unique experience.

    This is life: It becomes part of your character & contributes to your overall being.

    We are all glad your back.