Poem: Today You Humbled Yourself

25 months ago you were pushed by Cha to dress up for Halloween as how you wanted, how you saw yourself – as a fairy
21 months ago you mostly acknowledged you were trans
20 months ago you started taking supplements to grow breasts, you were terrified they’d work
20 months ago you wore a gaff for the first time
18 months ago you made plans to quit your job and actually start living
17 months ago you came out to some coworkers as trans
Today you harassed yourself because you don’t see yourself completely as a woman

16 months ago you started tucking everyday and haven’t stopped since
15 months ago you quit your job
15 months ago you realized suicide was not a good idea
15 months ago you came out to your parents as trans
15 months ago you stopped wearing mens clothes
14 months ago you started going by your real name and pronouns, but only because your friends started using them without your permission.
Today you harassed yourself because you couldn’t stop feeling so anxious

14 months ago you started getting your beard hairs removed one by one
13 months ago you finally got your first bangs
13 months ago you broke out of crippling depression
12 months ago you were finally able to look for and start seeing a counselor
Today you harassed yourself because you “wasted today” by not getting done as much as you had hoped

12 months ago you started wearing bras full time.
12 months ago you started meditating
11 months ago you had a conversation with your family about starting hormones, it went alright…
11 months ago you had the courage to make an appointment to find out about starting chemical hormones
10 months ago you started taking hormones
10 months ago you started the legal name change process
9 months ago you struggled to find a job or even get out of bed in the morning
Today you harassed yourself because it took you an hour to get out of bed this morning

9 months ago you wore a dress in public for the first time
8 months ago you started working again
7 months ago you had the courage to knock doors alone
6 months ago you realized you had been molested as a child
6 months ago you successfully changed your name
4 months ago you started changing your IDs to match your new identity
Today you harassed yourself because you couldn’t focus or get anything done

3 months ago you accepted yourself for being a nihilist
3 months ago you told your parents you were molested as a kid
2 months ago you stopped having dissociative episodes where you couldn’t control your body
2 months ago you seriously wanted to cut your wrists because you felt too ungrounded
2 months ago you told your friends you were depressed
1 month ago you finally felt almost completely okay wearing a dress
1 week ago you admitted that you still suffer from depression and that you always will
2 days ago you had a serious struggle with depression

Today you stopped being so hard on yourself
Today you realized how far and how quickly you have come
Today you humbled yourself

Explaining Trans

Becoming friends with cis-people who don’t come from the queer scene is hard. I’ve struggled with trusting them and the way they deal with me being trans has made me uncomfortable. Until recently we did exactly what we shouldn’t have done – not talked about it. I can explain my feelings on the subject but it makes me feel anxious and vulnerable and I just never felt a time to naturally plug it into conversation. This has become untenable and I recently exploded my frustration onto Spaced. Since then good conversation has happened and I hope to tell this story to try to explain a small piece of what it feels like living day to day for me as a transwoman.

The first story is about walking down a street in my neighborhood at night with my friend Spaced and Hair. I hadn’t known them for long at this point. Someone called me a faggot and continued to harass me from their porch. I didn’t notice it at first and then I realized they were talking about me. I immediately went into action and actively pretended that they weren’t there and tried to get me and my friends out of there.

We got out of there and I quietly sung the lyrics, “You just want them to see you like they see every other girl, They just see a faggot, hold there breathe not to catch the sick.” Against Me!’s song Transgender Dysphoria Blues. This is the same song I sung when my dad told me my “shoulders were too broad for a girl” and will be the same song I’ll sing when I’m told I “have no cunt in my strut”. (these are all things sung about in this song)

The most interesting part of this interaction wasn’t being called a faggot it was how my friends didn’t know how to respond. Hair said nothing and was clearly distraught realizing that this is something I deal with on a daily basis, Spaced said we should go fight them. I told a story to calm them down and distract them for my harasser. The story reminded everyone that people are ignorant but it gets better with conversation. It hurt. I needed to tell that story to forget what just happened and to help my friends forget. I didn’t need support from them but I also realized I wasn’t going to get it but almost the opposite.

The next story I am alone after a run. It again is night in my neighborhood and I’m walking home with headphones on. A guy gets out of his car and goes to knock on a door. I walk past him as he is at the door and it isn’t until a few steps later I realize he is talking to me and has been talking to me. All I hear in between the music is, “at least tell me your name.” I become terrified because I know that talking will out me immediately. I also instantly feel powerless. I cannot even use my voice to say anything because I feel like this will put me in more danger. I feel threatened, powerless and on top of it voiceless.

This story happens quite often and is a story that turns my smile into a forced smile. In conversation, ones that I am feeling correctly gendered there often comes a point when the question will come. It almost always comes in the same exact way. There is a lull in the conversation and the question on everyone’s mind is asked, “Can I ask you something personal?” I wish I could have a snarky response, I never do, instead I say “yeah,” with my smile fading as I wish I didn’t know the follow up question. “Are you transgender(ed)?” I feel like I’ve lost my individuality at this point, I am just a transperson. I’m a token, maybe they’ll ask me to explain more about being trans. I don’t want to be your transperson, I was to be me. Do you ask blind people if they are blind? Do you ask people in wheelchairs if they can’t walk? But what can I do but shrug and sigh.

This story isn’t one that happens occasionally it happens everyday. It happens when I wear pants, when I wear a dress, when I have mascara and lipstick on, it happens no matter what. This is when I am walking in a space, any space. I try not to look at others but sometimes I see their stares and notice they are trying to figure out who I am. I’m just trying to buy something, pee, go home. I look away, hey and avoid talking, I know that will out me. If I’m in a bathroom then I will not and cannot say anything unless I’m with a friend. In these spaces I run from everyone. After I make it though the maze I have to talk to someone and I wait to see how they will gender me, they have to use pronouns eventually. I try out the voice I’m most comfortable with, the highest one I can perform – it’s not good enough. I wait in purgatory for their judgment. Sometimes I leave with a bounce in my step, but more often than not I leave staring at the ground.

This is how I feel everyday, yet I haven’t worn pants in 6 weeks, only skirts and dresses. Yet I continue to pee and shop alone. Some days are harder than others, sometimes I leave in a state of anxiety without any clothes, other days I leave having been gendered both male and female excited to continue fucking with people’s concept of gender, most days I leave feeling stressed out and filled with anxiety.

I also want to leave this post on a uplifting note, because I talked to my friend and I feel better, I feel supported. I told her some of these stories because she shared a transman’s story with me. She heard a podcast by a transman who was outed by a musician hero of his. He was binding and when the singer realized he had the best response that I wish so dearly for every interaction I get.


[Edit 11:15pm]

And in another positive note after realizing how defeated I often feel I did one of my rituals. Get all prettied up and go shopping. A big "fuck you" to the society that gawks at me.

And in another positive note after realizing how defeated I often feel I did one of my rituals. Get all prettied up and go shopping. A big “fuck you” to the society that gawks at me.

Depression, “Now With Even Worse Feelings”

In case you haven’t read this blog for too long, I’ve struggled with depression since 8th grade. The difference is it’s never felt this intense. I’ve wanted to kill myself, and thought about cutting myself but recently I’ve been overcome with feelings that I have never felt with such intensity. I am feeling more these days and it feels like my body is paying me back for not feeling my depression when I had it the worst.

A week ago I experienced a few days when biking to work was one of the most arduous tasks I’ve completed in years. The energy, mental and physical, that I had to put into every pedal stroke felt overwhelming. Going up subtle inclines felt like climbing a mountain. Another day I spent over an hour trying to get myself out of bed. When I did my whole body felt unbelievably heavy to move. I had a difficult time doing basic tasks like showering and shaving.

Last Thursday was the peak, I felt feeling I had rarely felt before. I blew of two friend’s that I had plans to see and was mentally incapable of responding to any of their communications. I got calls and texts but the task of responding even to worried texts was inconceivably difficult. Despite how much I wanted to reassure them and even just text a roommate “yes you can borrow my car” I couldn’t. A friend invited me to eat dinner and I when I realized I had no desire to see her I frowned.

Before depression I felt like a constant self doubt and feeling of worthlessness. This depression was a feeling that everything was a burden. The feeling is hard to explain and ever harder to grasp.

Luckily my friend, Red Beard, caught me in the middle of my isolating and made me explain myself. I deflected at first and then saw he was demanding a real answer. I felt too much, I couldn’t even find the words at first. I had to look at the ground and not think about what I was saying to even acknowledge my depression.

I tried to explain the feeling to him. It was as though everything around me were depression. Even the air I sat in was depression. Almost as though air was replaced by this thicker heavy gas called depression that made all movement harder, made everything heavier and was truly inescapable.

Why? Good question, but I have no answer. I am unable to even think about why in this fog of depression I can’t even see that far. And thus it becomes impossible to tackle, where do you start when you’ve got no air to breath just a fog of depression gas.

After continuing to talk to Red Beard I began to fathom it. He helped me acknowledge the need to cut myself more slack and take on less responsibilities. This is what I was doing the previous night. I refused every responsibility, even basic obligations of responding to worried friends that you blew off.

Since then I have started taking steps to lessen my responsibilities and to do things that nourish myself. Like a backpacking trip I had been putting off for months, like alone time and hanging out by the river and watching trains go by. I also realize the importance of my daily routine that I structured in such a way to prevent depression from stopping me like it had. I realized and finally acknowledged that I do have depression and it is a disease.

Last weekend I finally went backpacking. It was unbelievably refreshing. Yet the the first morning in the woods I was attacked by depression and after eating breakfast I became unable to move and crawled back into my tent. It felt horrible but I fought it off. Depression is a disease and even taking all the medicine you need won’t make it go away. I came home, told friends and plan on continuing to be open about my depression and thoughts generally.

I’ve also been playing around with how to put a visual to the feeling of depression. Here is my first attempt.

This piece is called "345 lbs" and is an attempt to make depression visible to those who have never experienced it. It says "Depression is a disease." 345 times.(click on the picture twice to make it larger)

This piece is called “345 lbs” and is an attempt to make depression visible to those who have never experienced it. It says “Depression is a disease.” 345 times.(click on the picture twice to make it larger)

Welcome Back Black Dog

Everything is great. I’m hanging out with my new friends Spaced and Chem and I needn’t worry about a problem in the world, I feel like I’m their third musketeer. Then they fade away for their reasons and I see them less frequently. I hate it, their reasons frustrate me and I focus on that, still missing the point. I hate them, I hate my attachment to them, I hate them for leaving. Then I ask why? I avoid answering this question for days. I tell myself to stop focusing on them and focus on myself and on my body, suddenly I know the answer to my question. I hate them because when they leave I am left with myself. I am left to face my problems and feel my feelings I’m forced to focus on myself instead of other people.

It’s not that I necessarily need validated by them or supported by them but it’s quite literally that I lose myself in other people. I become completely intertwined in their life. I take on their problems, their concerns, I check how and what I’m doing in contrast to them. I think about them all the time. I think about them this much so I can’t think about myself. But when your goal in life is to become a fixture in someone else’s life when they are absent for too long you are suddenly lost.

At first I thought that I was losing my identity. This isn’t true I gain my identity, I gain my problems and my burden. It’s all too much for me.

I listen to Adam’s Song by Blink-182 on repeat. Just a few days before I listened to this song and enjoyed the last verse. This song is written about a 17 year old that is about to kill himself. The last verse slightly changes the lyrics from lamenting about how the past was better to excitement for days to come. I restart it before it gets to the last verse. I did like that verse for a day, I’ve hated it for years though. I’ve never put the song on repeat because I always did it manually before the upbeat verse comes on.

I listened to this song a lot in Philly. I would ride my recumbent bike to work and play this song over and over again. For a very long time when I would sing it I couldn’t sing the line “tell mom it’s not her fault.” I would get all chocked up and start to tear up. It was so hard because I couldn’t help but imagining how I wanted to say that to my mom, to tell her, “it’s not your fault.” Thoughts of suicide were obviously heavy on my mind at this time.

Next I listen to an old Reply All podcast, What it Looks Like. The podcast is about depression and about how people get through it. The person it focuses on at first is Jamie Keiles a writer and at the time a student.

At one point she comments on the never-ending inwardly focused tormented thoughts that she got caught in. “If I could just figure out why I’m sad then I could become less sad then I would be happier but I have to keep thinking about why I’m sad.”

Then Reply All’s host PJ Vogt comments on his experiences with depression. One of his friends hanged herself not to long after finishing high school. She had skipped her senior prom to take a first responder class and always carried surgical gloves with her because she always wanted to be ready to help anyone that may be hurt. Despite this in her suicide note she lamented that she couldn’t help people as much as she wanted to. This is exactly how I feel so often. I care for others before myself. I see how dangerous this mentality is but breaking it is another story. I think this is a trait found in many depressed peoples. The endless desire to help other people, without recognizing the need to help yourself.

PJ goes on to talk about how he was depressed and suicidal for a long time. “For all that time I just thought that everybody’s brain was like that. The same way I genuinely can’t imagine that anybody doesn’t always kind of want to be eating potato chips. I also just thought that anybody’s brain faced with a sufficiently difficult problem would suggest that one easy solution would just be dieing.” I expressed the sentiment that everyone feels that way to a friend when he told me he was depressed in high school, turns out that isn’t true.

When PJ was numb or depressed he would go to a folder that contained things from his friend who hanged herself. Because to him feeling sad was better than feeling numb. That is where I am and I can’t stop myself. I’m digging deeper into depression unable to figure out what will get me out and doing all the wrong things.

Art Not Words

For a few weeks I couldn’t write enough blog posts, post after post was being written waiting for the time it would be published. Then I started art and became entranced with it and uninspired to write. That’s why this post will be about some of my art projects.

The first one to follow up my lavender black hole came when I didn’t have my drawing pad, all I had was 3 hole punched paper. I had been feeling a compulsion for days and I was suddenly overtaken. The song that inspired me was The Neighbors by St. Vincent. I was first taken by the lyrics, “How can Monday be alright, Then on Tuesday lose my mind?” But so many of the other lyrics are so great to. Such as “What would your mother think, What would your father do, What would the neighbors think? If they only knew”


After having this one up for a week one of my roommates kept asking me if it was Tuesday, and if I was going crazy. These comments frustrated me because the point of my art started to be to take it seriously and take my thoughts seriously not as think of myself as crazy. When she was in my room I ripped off every one accept a few and changed it to “Then on Tuesday they knew” and one that says “Because I told them.” This is largely in reference to something I told many of my good friends after first having the thought. I was feeling really spaced out and had a very strong desire to cut my wrists (knowing it would ground me in the moment). I talked to a friend who just moved to germany first, then I proceeded to let many friends know about this feeling. I felt safe telling people and safer having people know. I also was made to feel less crazy and since now my friends knew they could better support me. I am again humbled by my friends and credit my support network for helping me validate how I feel and remind me that my thoughts and experiences are by no means crazy but actually quite normal.


The first piece of art on my door quite honestly made me feel like a crazy person. It wasn’t as refined looking and it was also conveying a message that I was “loosing my mind.” So I began struggling with what I just talked about above, not feeling crazy. This struggle most clearly comes out in my next piece from the “This is Art” series called “207/213 +7.” Prior to this piece my coworker explained to me a Venn Diagram of the line between crazy and artist, she specifically mentions Thomas Kincaid I balanced him out with Syd Barrett.


To make myself feel less crazy and more artistic I bought some sketch paper and started the first of my “This is Art” series. This series is paper that has “This is art.” written on them anywhere from 207 to 365 times. My first one was done at my friend Spaced’s house. She was doing work and I had figured this might happen so I brought over paper. Previous to the art I had run out of nutrients and shut down. She fed me and then got to her work. I put on St. Vincent and got to my work. I switched it up listening to her first album, Marry Me, instead of my recent staple, Actor.

The combination of regaining mental control post-very-hungry and this album these thrust me into a somewhat disassociated state that I’ve done much of my art in. I was no longer present in the room but in the art. I argued with myself constantly through this piece drawing a “fine line” that was quite thick and specify where the “art” was in this piece. I also constantly argued with myself whether this was art or not. I have had great conflict with my art not sure if I believed I was crazy or I was making art. The term art didn’t feel like it fit my work but the arguing with myself continually throughout this piece helped lay the ground work to let me consider my work art, period.

After getting half way through the page and struggling the entire time I got frustrated and laid down. I ended up falling asleep and woke up quite disoriented, and promptly went back to sleep (in a bed this time, not the floor).

To finish this piece off I laid it on the ground in my floor not quite frustrated enough to crumble it up. One of our cats laid on it helping me vicariously take out the frustration I still have with this first piece. (Hint if you click on the image and then on the new page right click and click “View Image” the image will become larger)

207/213 +7

207/213 +7

My next bunch of This is Art was simply writing “This is art.” You can see them below.







My next piece of art came to me on a whim and I think I’m going to remake it with one tweak (glitter). Either-way this was a canvas that I originally was just painting a lavender base over since it is a used canvas. Once I painted the lavender base and it dried I decided to paint a black stripe over it, a repeat of the “fine line” between crazy and artist. I then hung up the piece over my lavender black hole and proceeded to take pictures of it drying. My black paint has a puncture in the container so it’s very runny and I photographed it 7 times as it dried. adding for a cool effect.




And finally some three dimensional pieces that I have been working on regarding dreams. This are long in the making with the idea first coming into my head November 2009. This is the iconic Dream Crusher. The first picture is one made in 2009 and the following pictures are recent schematics for making a my three-dimensional Dream Crusher which you can see the start of one. This Dream Crushers will both be operated manually and not by motor. The plans show schematics for the small one that is part way done and also a larger one that would have a full plexiglas side. This is for demonstration purposes only. Ideally any fully functional one would have no or limited plexiglas as this is obviously a weak spot in the design.





I am Who I am Mix 2015.3

1. Partition – Beyonce
“I sneezed on the beat and the beat got sicker”

2. Devil in a New Dress – Kanye West
“We love Jesus but you done learn a lot from Satan
(Satan, Satan, Satan)”


Kanye West shares a good deal of my views on Jesus and the use of the upside down cross. And to fill you all in I’ve been recently obsessed with upside down/St. Peter’s crosses and made myself earrings that I’m wearing right now.

3. Runaway – Kanye West
Let’s have a toast for the douche bags
Let’s have a toast for the assholes
Let’s have a toast for the scumbags
everyone of them that I know.

4. Metamorphosis: Three -Philip Glass

I would often intersperse listening to Kendrick or Kanye with listening to this album by Philip Glass. It’s an epic album and makes you chill out and feel quite epic at the same time. I’ve finally listening to enough of Philip Glass to throw him into one of my mixes.

5. Man in the Mirror – Michael Jackson

This song caught me one day in the car. It also spot on reflected my views on change:

I’m starting with the man in the mirror
I’m asking him to change his way
And no message could’ve been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change

6. The Fall – Rhye

I’ve heard this described as one of the best break up songs. It’s so positive and soothing yet that is what he is talking about.
I love this album and found myself soothed by it many times.

7. Alright – Kendrick Lamar

Kendrick rocks, recently he replaced Kanye West in my listening habits. This song is especially good and up beat. But we gon’ be alright.

“Wouldn’t you know
We been hurt, been down before
Nigga, when our pride was low
Lookin’ at the world like, “Where do we go?”
Nigga, and we hate po-po
Wanna kill us dead in the street fo sho
Nigga, I’m at the preacher’s door
My knees gettin’ weak, and my gun might blow
But we gon’ be alright”

8. Blacker the Berry – Kendrick Lamar

This song is too dense for me to explain but I sincerely love it and would suggest decompressing it on genius where they dissect each part.

I relate a lot to his anger of white mainstream culture:
“You never liked us anyway, fuck your friendship, I meant it”

“You hate me don’t you? I know you hate me just as much as you hate yourself”

And I appreciate him calling himself a hypocrite for “weep[ing] when Trayvon Martin was in the street,” shortly before saying “sometimes I get off watchin’ you die in vain.” To briefly explain this he is hating a culture that in the words of his grandmother hasn’t changed because “shit don’t change until you get up and wipe yo ass.” Yet remembering that in no way does this validates killing such peoples. (In my mind this isn’t hypocritical but reminds us that bettering yourself is equally important to destroying the system oppressing you.)

I would often shout along to this song expressing my frustration at white culture in the same way I wish I would yell at others on my own behalf related to transphobic treatment I’ve received. Which makes me think of the song Transgender Dysphoria Blues by Against Me! which would be the next song were it not already on a prior mix.

9. Baby I’m an Anarchist – Against Me!

Not only is this Against Me! but it is also something I faced frequently. I have had my anarchism tested from time to time and I ran into numerous debate infatuated socialists who made me even more fervently anarchistic. The condescending know-it-all nature of socialists is frustrating. Not to mention that they are predominately white men (need I elaborate?) that makes me think of them as the left’s libertarians. Well meaning mean who think they know better than the working class and want to “help” them.

I’m an anarchist and will always be. It inspires how I relate to people and how I structure my interactions small to large. Just to note since many people compound anarchism with overthrowing the state. This is stupid, an anarchist friend and I talked briefly about this and how we thought the government should be socialists for now and less authoritarian and bureaucratic.

10. Hey Mami – Sylvan Esso

She is another soothing voice that talked to me when I was loosing it and when I wasn’t.

11. The Neighbors – St. Vincent

This song inspired some interesting art. I also listened to this album repeatedly.

“How can Monday be alright
Then on Tuesday loose my mind”

How can monday be alright

12. Depreston – Courtney Barrett

Her musing caught me. I find it entertaining, though often quite negative.

13. Atlas – Dawn of Midi

This music borderline puts me into a trance. Very good.

I Lost it and My Roommate Made Me Stay There


Saturday afternoon:

I’m feeling really worked up and don’t know it. I go on a bike ride and end up suddenly feeling, feeling sane. My thoughts had been racing all day but I hadn’t minded it, now my mind is clear. I sit down on a bench and start reading In the Dust of This Planet. Sleepiness rolls over me and I finish the next page before laying down my head. I close my eyes, shortly afterward the world begins to shake. I let it. I feel my thoughts, my feelings and just let what happens happen. Twenty minutes later I wake up and bike home listening to Sylvan Esso. Nothing seems real.

A copy of a copy of a copy. The world is far away, just like the narrator describes in Fight Club.

I bike home.

Along the way I dash in and out of traffic, I’m mostly safe, but safe like you are when playing frogger – you obviously don’t want to die, but it’s not real. It’s only half real to me, I’m only half there.

To bring myself down I scream Could I Be by Sylvan Esso.

It only furthers the rift. The world isn’t real, but I know it is.

Two blocks from home a women is walking her dog, the dog is peeing. I look at her. She looks at me. She smiles. She’s real, I’m in the real world. I continue biking and she disappears. That moment is gone forever, just like how reality feels right now.

I make it home. I see my roommates and I make it clear to them that I’m crazy. I refuse eye contact, now they aren’t real either.

In my room I finish listening to Sylvan Esso’s album while lying in my bed trying to take a nap. Instead thoughts start badgering me, memories start coming at me, Diane starts trying to molest me. “Get the fuck away from me!” I yell, “Leave me the fuck alone.” The thoughts are trying to get me to do things I know I don’t want to do. They are trying to take things I like and exploit them to make me do harmful things like cut a upside down cross into arm. “Get the fuck away!” I yell.

My thoughts are racing again and my perfectly organized room starts to get to me. I throw off the covers and run over to my dresser. Pulling out two drawers I throw them on the ground kicking around the clothes that fall onto the floor. “Almost enough,” I think. Then I go over to the bookshelf and toss all the fiction and spiritual books on the floor. Success.

I begin listen to The Weakerthan’s song Watermark on repeat. Now I know what I have to do.

I run down stairs and slam onto the floor as I slip on the wooden floor. Laughing hysterically I get up and run to the basement. I find the lavender paint, some painting equipment and sheepishly bring it upstairs, hiding it so my roomies don’t see it. I again refuse eye contact, I’m in another world and cannot be brought back, not right now.

I scamper upstairs once I find everything and begin my project. Two song lyrics are inspiring me.
“We sit and watch the wall you painted purple.” – Weakerthans
“Paint the black whole blacker.” – St. Vincent


“It’s just lavender, it needs to be darker!” I think. So I run downstairs slipping again on the floor and falling down. I get back up and grab brown a black paint and return to my project. Blending the lavender and brown I get a nice dark color in the center. Building the circle bigger and bigger I switch the song on repeat to The Strangers by St. Vincent. I’ve waited 3 years for this moment. I grab the black paint a tub to stand on and begin painting the title of this piece: “Paint the Black Hole Blacker.”


The black paint isn’t as black as I’d like, it’s to thin. I keep putting more and more on and realizing the paint is running. “Yes!” I scream as I see the amazing look the running paint gives to this piece. I keep painting more and more, bigger and bigger. I add more brown, I begin splattering brown, black, lavender all over it. Just what I’ve always wanted, It’s done.


I show it to my roommates and they are not sure what to think. They are fearful, excited, happy and concerned. The new one, Da Hottie, sides with crazied happiness, the feeling I’m expressing. Jamie sticks with concern longer, but eventually gets happier. They both take pictures of it and Jamie begins sharing it. My friend Von begins expressing concern, simply texting “shit” as a response to seeing the picture that Jamie sent them.

After a little while of laying in my room alone basking in the glory of this piece and the feeling of being crazed Jamie comes in. They sit partial on me and ask, “Why is Von worried about you?” I pause and realize I’ve finally been caught, and am relieved. As we start talking Jesse helps me realize I am not losing it, I am not caught, I am free, I have gained something from this whole experience. I have been trying to paint this on my wall for years. I always resisted it. Now I’m becoming more impulsive and more real, more aligned with the true me.

I haven’t lost anything I gained this painting on the wall. I sit with that a while, Jamie leaves and I keep sitting with it. I lay down and try to take a nap, listening to music and relaxing I realize that I need to leave, I need to run. I pack up my stuff and get ready for some sort of outing. I go to leave and Jamie stops me. They ask me where I’m going, why I’m going and when I’m coming back. I can’t answer any question but I still want to leave. I say I’m anxious, and hungry and just need to get out of the house. They ask how they’ll know if I’m safe. I say I just will be, and that they can call me and I can call them.

After a protracted fight about whether I should run or not Jamie reluctantly gets me to stay. I stay with my pain and crazy and tell them what has been going on in my head. I stay with my feelings and am forced to acknowledge what is going on, forced to treat my body with respect, forced to be present. They force me to face my pattern of running and to be with myself.

I eat some food and I find a quote of where I am:

Only now are you going your way to greatness. Peaks and abyss, they are now joined together for all things are baptized in a well of eternity, and lie beyond good and evil.