I seem to go through periods of time that involve me, asking more questions than I can answer. Before finishing or beginning to answer a question, one needs to be able to calm down to look at the possible answers. It is a strange but illuminating experience to actually jump to the other side. All one can do is laugh or get angry. I think that’s why I like Mr. Angry. His humour, yes I say humour because it is. He doesn’t pretty it up except with a visual facial costume.
When I first watched Mr. Angry’s videos I couldn’t actually get thru them. OMG how aw-ful; not the videos, but me. Really this just made me mad, because I couldn’t watch nor listen to anger. This emotion eludes me more than any other. Anger tends to be seen as abnormal or psychotic in society; generally speaking. Anger can be those things, but it can resemble other emotions such as humour, love or boredom. We need to recognize our anger as much as our happiness or we risk the full tide of emotion, we as humans are privelidge to experience.
When the questions start, they gently start accumulating in grandeur; not unlike a snowball one is rolling in the snow. This white ball can be too much to continue rolling; for size and/or weight may overcome physical strength or one could let it fly down a mountain side. Either way this big ball of human creation will meet it’s final destination. It’s going to melt regardless of whether it be at the bottom or atop the hill. Melt I say! I go through question period nearly everyday. I actively need to alleviate, release or calm these questions. In the past as it is present I more than likely create with these questions in search of an answer, except when I’m feeling anger.
These past few weeks whether by fate or sub-concious choice I am flip-flopping about. It got worse when I went for four days with no paxil. But the funny thing is this, after the initial
shock withdrawal wore off, my head cleared as my drive returned. I could answer questions creatively with ease. I got a burst of emotion that had felt locked up for over two years now. On the fifth day I took the three pretty pink pills. Ahhh I don’t know about this. But I kind of feel like paxil has quieted my right brain too much. I have tonnes of drive and ideas, albeit the spark to continue, to see them through wains more often than not lately. I want to. I would like to. Tomorrow. These tomorrow’s are becoming repetative. I want to own MY brain again. The continuous dialogue is old now.
This anger within needs reckoning. Silent rage was my answer to anger for many years. You know the silent female who secretly freaks out when no one is looking.
I woke up late today. I had to go to the bank today. Both Eric and I are resentful of having chosen this bank. Some things are good and then there are the rotten apples. Fuck, even now I am angered, I want to withdraw and go lay down or cry but best of all, become numb. Dealing doesn’t seem to be an option in my brain. I want the anger to go away. To die. Poof! There will be no more problems of not being able to deposit cheques, work cheques, and recieve the money immediately without the ole “We’ll have to hold this for seven days crap”. We became quite inventive to get the money, we rightfully deserve and earned. I began depositing everything into my account through the bank machine. Ha! Biggest issue with this bank is this; they refuse to cash Eric’s pay-checques. Rarely a tickled teller, teases and stamps the paycheque just so. Eric has been working for the same company for TWO years now. It is high time this institution accept that fact also. He wouldn’t continue working for this company if the cheques were falsified. Thank you fearmongering hats-full-of-money-big-mouthed money-mongerers for making the post 9/11 everyday world a little harder to cope with.
You can call this creative process, inspiration. Many do. Most artists get off on this stuff, at least some of my friends do. I can only look on and wonder why my process is a melting pod rather than a launch pad. Once I’m launched I’m ok. It is that pod-pad transition aloofness causing delay. The liquid starter I was hooked on once, eliminated or reduced greatly this transition disorder. It was recreational. It turned the ignition. There was say, seven of so wonderful months of pure genious. I miss my GHB. Fuck that is hard to write. If there is anything I
hate hate more, the struggle taking place in my brain between right and wrong, good or bad and so on and so forth. Does everyone have this battle going on? To some extent I’m assuming yes. I also believe none of us react the same way to a dilemma or arrive at an answer in the same way. It’s really hard to know you found an answer that worked very well for some time and KNOW you can’t risk answering the question that way anymore. I don’t miss addiction. I am a female addict. That is hard to write as well. What is harder even still, is that this post will be read.
I don’t generally want people to know when I am disordered. I came to the internet to be honest. This is personal stuff, personal emotion, personal blog and that is just it… this is my personal blog, one of many creative outlets I have and use. I feel this overwhelming fear of writing about drugs, addiction, failure or fear, let alone anger. In the beginning of this blog I wrote of these things freely without shame or worry of what people/readers might think. Having an audience affected that in many ways. I didn’t know how much I would begin to hide. Dammit! The stuggling artist attitude seriously needs to be adjusted. I struggle because I don’t trust my own instinct or intuition even when I know that the initial thought is/has been, 99% of the time, the best choice to act upon. Once adjusted, the brain’s ability to question and re-hash the same old arguments one has been experiencing their whole life, becomes a nightmare of epic proportion, regardless of whether the initial instinct (sentiment) was good or bad.
I haven’t had GHB since I sobered up a little over a year ago. I have been searching for an alternative. Yes, I am a very adept researcher but don’t launch (off the pad) too quickly if at all, with this research. I take this as learned knowledge to know the difference. I do not become addicted to all things, but can become addicted to anything. I’ve learned through trial and error what makes me tick and what shuts me down. In more cases than one have I grasped both, equally. Odd perhaps, but not when one considers that many brains are black and white and dream in such contrast also. Yet, I dream in colourâ€¦
Years have passed before I’ve listened to my gut, finally and completely, adapting or changing an ingrown or imagined belief. The more facts that come into the equation the more my imagination disapears. I want things in my life to inspire me, to ignite me, to give me the oompha to carry them through. It is that same oompha that scares the shit out of me. Boy, the shit has been raining lately, literally. That oompha is trust. Truth is, I’m easy to trust as it is easy for me to trust people. So trust scares me. I have fear of myself. Not so much fear of others, just myself. Fear sucks blig blankety blonker bloop. I’m gonna trust the shit this week. The toilet contents cannot lie to me. It’s been known to be correct in the past.
I stand my ground when it comes to having a job. I choose to stay over quitting when bad for me (that’s the righteous thing to do eh?). If I do manage to quit, it is usually out of life or death necessity. Not fun. When if I had trusted the first instinct on the matter, I likely would not have gotten diareah in the first place. What infames me most is when I do find work that truly challenges me I still become afraid. That my friends, is a conundrum I want to extinguish. I do love to write and create. Even when things get bad the drive exists. I go through crazy periods, period.
A man in recovery class months ago while at Daytox wrote this to me. We all had to write a compassion statement to the person sitting left of us. Many of us patients began crying, or reading with disbelief at how compassionate the statements we wrote to eachother were. We didn’t know eachother personally, however we all had some things in common, i.e. addiction, fear, anger and so on.
During the course of composing this post I’ve come to realize that all these thoughts and ideas of mine are not out of the ordinary. Maybe in smaller microcosms of human life they could be. I think about this likemind thing that gets lots of press-time in the blogosphere. It has truly intrigued me. I am not aloneâ€¦ Repeat 1000 times.
To you Mr. Angry, your anger inspires me. If you can create while angry and be happy, I can too. I mustered up all the courage I had last night and drew a picture under the influence of anger. I smile now, but last night just like when writing this article tonight, I’m starting to see, what it is, that flares or fans the anger within me.
This has been a release post – this had to be right brain driven, because I know my left brain would say “Jessica, no you can’t.”
But I did.