hope

Pointless Concerns

I am always so worried about my creativity disappearing. Like, what if one day I wake up and can’t draw? At all?

I’m terrified that’s already happened. I’m also terrified that it’s because I haven’t gone to college. I’ve traveled the world, worked crappy jobs, had a dream wedding, and have been married for like, seven  months, but for some reason I feel like that’s not enough. Especially the traveling bit – it took me so long to come to terms with the fact that maybe I didn’t do everything I felt I should, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t get shit done, you know?

But man, I’ve waxed and waned oh so poetically about my possible loss of creativity, and I just want to be done. I want to be motivated to draw, and write, and dance, and run, and make a little music every day. I want to be motivated enough to actually learn Spanish. I want to get over my fear of debt for life and total failure and actually apply for scholarships and schools and just go. I want to be an art student, but I also want to be a bad ass investigator or something so I want to stop caring if my art is good enough and just make art for my love of it and study hard to become the bad ass investigator or international diplomat or whatever I want to be.

Shoot. I just realized something.

I don’t actually want to make a career out of my creativity, and I think I’m okay with that for the first time in my life.

I don’t have to make being creative how I support myself, I can be creative just because I want to and I need to get something out. And I can always do that, no matter what. And I can pursue a more intellectual career, and I won’t be betraying my little artist’s soul, so long as it doesn’t prevent my from generally being creative.

I can do what I want, and by choosing one thing it doesn’t mean I’m forgetting or excluding the other.

Huh. I should write more often. It really helps me think.

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Tough Shit

I feel like 90% of what I write on here is about sad crap. I also feel like I created this to write about whatever the fuck I feel like so I don’t care. But also I kind of do because I apparently have followers?

Sorry. Skip this if you’re not feeling somewhat sad or contemplative. I really am.

I have a friend who’s gone through an ectopic pregnancy, miscarriages, damaged Fallopian tubes, and general fertility issues all since December. And she is one of the most fucking joyful humans I have met in my entire life.

I would say more about her, how I know her and crap, but I feel she has a right to her anonymity, and I think some people who personally know her could end up reading this, and they’re not the people she would want to know. Let’s call her Tulula, for no other reason than my love of Cool Runnings, and the fact that is was the first fake name other than Jane to pop in my head.

When Tulula first had surgery for the ectopic pregnancy in December I didn’t even know what to say or how to feel or what to do. How do you comfort a person dealing with pain of a nature you don’t know anything about and may never experience?

To anyone who wasn’t family or practically family she didn’t say anything. While she was convalescing from surgery for the ectopic pregnancy she just pretended she was really ill. Which was somewhat the truth. But it was so difficult for me not to punch a mutual friend, my best friend, straight in the mouth when I heard her rain down judgment and confusion on Tulula for having years before confessed that she was unsure of having children. Especially because this mutual friend of ours was smugly pregnant at the time and had experienced more than one miscarriage when trying for her child. Like, I know she didn’t know Tulula’s situation, but man. I would have loved to break one of her teeth.

You’re probably thinking it’s odd that I’d like to break my best friend’s tooth, even if she was kind of unknowingly being a bitch at the time, which probably doesn’t make her a bitch, but I carry a lot of emotional baggage from the last few years of trying to keep up a relationship with her so sometimes I’m meaner in my thoughts to her than I should be. I can get along really well with her, and in a lot of ways she’s one of the most incredible women I know. But sometimes she’s so judgmental and self-righteous I can’t stand her. Maybe it’s like looking in the mirror for me at the things I hate about myself, or maybe I’m jealous of her boldness to believe that whatever she feels is right is right. Maybe I’m not like her at all so there’s a huge disconnect now that our lives our different. Either way, we’re just kind of weird former best friends that talk every now and then, but are better off loving each other distantly and we don’t keep up on a regular basis.

Back to Tulula, and away from my myopic friend problems.

Tulula’s family has asked us to fast a pray for her and her husband for the next two days. I want to pray but there’s a part of me that’s just now acknowledging how distant I’ve become from God. How do I come to God and say “hey, we haven’t talked as much lately, like, at all, but someone we both love is dealing with some tough shit and I really need you to be there for them.”

I mean, I guess that’s^ how I say it.

But what do I say to her and her husband? I don’t know how to comfort them. I have no wisdom to share with them. And I’m like, 1,500 miles away from them right now so just a hug is not possible.

How do you comfort people going through tough shit when literally anything you say is going to be cliche? Obnoxiously so?

I could draw them a dumb, weird picture that will either make them laugh or feel mild absurdity that would be better than the frustration and mourning all this must cause.

And the best and worst thing is that they’re still so damn joyful. Tulula especially.

Seriously, she’s toned down a bit from her former exuberance, but it’s really hard to tell because her former exuberance was so immense and she could lose a lot of exuberance and still be the most exuberant person I know. I think she is.

So I guess this meandering post is just here to say that Tulula inspires me, because even if I’m scared to say the wrong thing and not be comforting at all, she’s so incredible that I don’t really have to worry that much. She’ll get through this. So will her husband. And God will give them a big fucking hand, because they shine bright as an example of love and trust and joy in a world full of tough shit.

So,

I started this post really differently but all I really wanted to say is that depression is really shitty.

I have a lot of trouble speaking eloquently about it because I‘ve been there. THERE. there in the black hole of feeling empty, sad, nothingness. Or obnoxiously loud fear. Constant doubt. Self-beration for anything and everything.

And you know, I‘m doing good now. A lot better. But I‘m not always totally sure how. I know it took a long time. And a lot of prayer, more from other people than myself. And I know it was weird. And long enough ago that I can say something. Just a small, ineloquent, badly written something. But something. Seriously who reads this anyways?

I guess I don‘t know what I wanted to say. Just that I wish I knew what to say?

I hope one day I can be cool, like TWLOHA or Bob Goff or something, but until then I guess I‘ll just settle for writing lame little things saying this:

If your in the midst of a really bad bout of depression, or dealing with mental illness, or even just really bummed out I‘m thinking of you. And I wish I could love you with my actions, with being the buddy that takes you out for coffee or bakes you cookies, or that guy that helps you move. I wish I could be that one random thing that makes you laugh, maybe hysterically, for the first time in forever. I wish I could tell you “I LOVE YOU” and it be okay and have you really believe it. I wish I could be that one person that encourages you that you believe. I wish I could give you a hug, or maybe just squeeze your hand gently if hugs aren’t your thing.

I guess maybe I‘m the only one who reads this, but even if just one other person sees this who needs it, it‘s worth it. I wish I could show you I love you. I really, REALLY do.