Fishes and Friendships

I've recently come back to the world from a foray into my unconscious.

I was swallowed by that great fish from the depths. I am so enormous in my delusional grandeur that it took a week to suck me all in. Being admitted to the hospital was like being spit out, being born again from the awful death I dived in my own deep water.

One of the things that calms me greatly is reading and drawing. I like the meditative quality paper has. I am allowed in its embrace to remain still while travelling the corridors of fancy and dream. Unable to cling to the moment (here, now) that I craved after discharge, I found refuge in my awesome friend's blog.

The link is here: http://aquietweek.com/

A Quiet Week in the House is exactly what it promises for me. If I am reading Lori's genius blog, you can be sure things are going well for me mentally. It means there is a small respite in the corner of my confused and overwhelmed grey matter. So I revisited the blog this week. I found peace and serenity in her arty collages and inspiration in the calm way she expresses her own frenetic flights. I am pleased to say she is my friend.

I give her some credit for the neurotic drawings that have spilled from my pen these last few days.

I have been advised to keep my hands busy, and so I have.

With a little help from Da Vinci

Leonardo's Hands Sketch (with my text)

Wednesday night.

5 PM.

Psych ward.

I'm finally home.
After a rough week in which I was in and out of reality, I went into the hospital voluntarily. My mom stayed with me until I was settled in bed and had eaten dinner. Bryan stayed home with the dog, and was ever present in my thoughts. He handled the night alone, playing the game of distraction. Distressed, the dog slept in bed with him.

But these things were the farthest from my mind as I chatted with apparitions only I could see. I giggled to myself and tried hard to ignore the fact that the cameras I believed to be in every room of the hospital ward were unbelievably REAL.

By the next day, I discovered they were.



I worried about nothing but myself and felt no remorse for my egocentric absorption. I was in a hospital to be taken care of, to declare a full time out from the rigorous stresses of the real world. The planet stopped on its axis and took no notice of my small hands and worried mind.

Alas, one of my medications was too new to be on the hospital formulary, so I was taken off of it. I was given a higher dose of another medication instead. It did the trick. Well, that and a break in perspective and a distance from the delusional. I slept nearly 11 hours, and by lunch I was ready to leave. It warmed my heart to know my psychiatrist trusted my judgment enough to discharge me within an hour.

Mom brought me home, and I am a new person. From now on, I plan to channel my emotional stress into art and words. I frequently write and draw, but not the frustrated murals I've been doing the past few days in my crossword puzzle book/doodle pad. Some things shouldn't be kept under the skin, but drawn out like an infection with all the creativity I can muster.

The universe is real again, and I remember why it's interesting and worth it again.

It's a good life honey ...

"Now is the time on Sprockets when we dance ...."

Touch my monkey!

Okay, so he's missing the monkey, but I swear I can hear the techno music already!

This is Bryan about to blink, but I know I ruined the effect of the joke by telling you that. Bryan moves in officially on December 1st ... in just a few weeks.  Things have been peaceful.

When in hiatus from drawing portraits, I have been working on my novel. Well, my short story. I've already hinted at the climax of the piece and I'm just 8 pages in. It is a story inspired by my life experience, and my beautiful nephew's imagination. I dedicate it to anyone who dreams in colour.

Home life has been normal and boring, with minimal drama and long pauses of silence. It has been time to take a breath. The past months' frustration has dissipated and dissolved like vapor. Life has been a warm grey and a solid, calming pearl white. The world turns on its axis and forgets about me. 

I like it that way.

Colours

This week I've done nothing but draw and experiment with colours.

Twiggy:

pastel, 2011

And a cool friend:

pastel, 2011

I have decided to take my first art class since high school in January, at the local community center. Hopefully there will be lots of inspiration. All this is just an exercise in colours.

Thinking in colour is different than thinking in black and white. It's not just lines and shapes, it's pencil pressure and blending. Understood, I'm not an expert, but I hope to be one day!

Frustrated Much?

coloured pencil experiment 2011

I've been in a weird place lately.
I have neglected everything except my little projects. Somehow, this blog got left by the wayside.
As I was looking over the previous blog posts and journal entries, I noticed the word "frustrated" came up a lot. It's been going on for months. The stars in my mind have gone supernova.
I remember writing here that I couldn't wait to see what would come about when and if all that built up energy came bursting through my hands and eyes.
It has happened.
I started writing a novel.
I was somehow inspired to buy a huge packet of coloured pencils and draw all day. (This above was the first experiment with them. Before you say, "Get back to your life and stop loving on yourself so much," I must explain that the best thing for one to draw is themselves. You are your own best model. You will stay in place as long as you need yourself to, and the angle is always easy to return to after a break.)
I have started a writing/critique group out of various friends, and have been editing and writing and constructively criticizing.
Phew!
It's been a long road out of dissatisfaction and malaise. But I am feeling better and more awake, more alive.
So this is just a note to let you all know I am still alive and kicking and screaming.
If it awhile between posts, it is only because nothing is happening worth mention.
My life's just not that exciting, folks!

Communication

There is a war. It is disconnected and dysfunctional.

sketch by me, 2008

I seem to only be able to communicate in metaphor and allegory. I CAN talk simply, but when I do, I am lost and lose words and fall apart. Mostly I remain quiet, thinking nothing I add to the conversation will be worthwhile. So I stitch my own mouth shut. I am better at writing things out than speaking them. Sometimes I am very very quiet, sometimes very very loud.

It depends on whether you are talking to me about one of my passions or not.

A lot of my frustration comes from this miscommunication. I can't seem to speak normally. Even Bryan has had to learn to adjust, and often tells me, "It's hard to have a conversation with you when you're this way." Problem is, I am "this way" most of the time. Oh, I put on a good performance and can seem eloquent for doctors or teachers, or other people I've rehearsed for. But if you really want to talk to me and see my face light up, ask me what I'm obsessed with. If you're not interested in that one, I've got plenty more.

Am I the only one who can't make small talk?

Aspies?

I've been frustrated lately. Really, really frustrated. I drew this image, as it popped into my head while Bryan was discussing his novel. I've been distracted by my own thoughts and moods, and can't seem to get outside of them. I can't poke my head through the tiny hole I've made for reality. I always seem to make my outlets much too large and real life way too small.

So I took a break. My best friend flew in from California, and we had two weeks of just sitting next to each other (sometimes quietly talking), while each was absorbed in her own tasks. This is where the interesting hair on this picture came from. I've had bursts of creativity, and more and more of a foul mood when dealing with the world around me. It was nice just having someone sit with me, even if we said nothing. I even began the arduous task of crocheting my first pair of socks!

But everything else suffered.

I discovered that tension displays itself in my jaw. I clench up into near teeth-grinding over things. And then come the headaches. And then I wonder where the heck my real self is gone, lost as it is in a miasma of phantasy and refracted reality.

When I came back to the world from my self-imposed sabbatical, I discovered a nice article by a blogger named "Bad Cripple" had been pinned to my social networking wall ... by my awesome friend Lori, who must be psychic. (P.S. You should read his blogs!) The article was on disability and identity. Down by the corner at the end of his wonderful little rant was an online quiz for Asperger's Syndrome. Being the naturally curious type, I took it. My scores in the Asperger spectrum were quite high, but what if it was a simple problem of the  internet not being able to factor in severe schizophrenia? Here is my score sheet:

Noted, this test also showed me as "gifted" in the explanatory pages that followed. Always when I get a gifted score, my faith in said test is undermined. I feel utterly out-of-sync and unable to do the smallest things. But is my frustration part of a deeper neurological disorder?

*Deep thanks to the folks who created this "Final Version 2" quiz, and to Lorifishes, who always knows just what to say.