Identity Crisis Summer 2017
The world has twisted since this picture taken at National Rainbow Gathering last year, and so have I.
A deep depression has taken hold, even though I’m back on Cymbalta for it. I start therapy tomorrow, so let’s hope there’s at least no harm...
I must open up, in hopes there are hopes.
I tried writing about it, gonna share.
I called it: Identity Crisis Summer 2017:
So much irony having an identity crisis because I've come Home and am living with Family (blood, not Chosen). But I individuated so very very strongly, and then some. Ran away age 14, came back at 15. Ran away age 26, came back age 30. Ran away last spring, came back now. Moved to the other side from family of Rock Creek Park (after months in the mountains) to raise my kids in a diverse community, against Dad’s wishes, and ...I dunno, was he right? After age 10 they had a less privileged upbringing, which turned profoundly underprivileged, and now the side effects of poverty haunt us.
More irony is that there are facts of my existence that are very unusual, yet I feel nothingness, emptiness, clear vast blank, which is sometimes euphoric but mostly terrifying. I have rare traits, and I didn't fabricate them. Like I birthed twins, accidentally concieved but profoundly WANTED, and their dad was/is a sh*t. He did things that would be impossible in the age of social media, even tho I understood we had an open marriage. Use your imagination.
I have the drive that artists have, yet the unmotivated state of a depressive.
One of my beloved musical partners said a year ago, “Oh, are you just gonna do Walkabout?” and my answer was YES, sincerely, but I kept letting my non-shine-ity hold me back. And I got wrapped up in some dreamtime, sorta. I DID go many many miles and have lots of adventures and see scads of sights. Then NYC in April/May was kinda painful, cuz I THOUGHT I could do the job at the lovely Ganas Community, but they let me go and my poverty mentality grabbed their offer of “Sure take the whole paycheck, but be gone if so” (it's more complicated) and I regret that, MAYBE.
Maybe not, cuz my daughter DID get deep strong benefits from Mom being Home. Until we clashed last week when I got profoundly triggered and alienated her. (Which would explain Strong Sadness) Prayers requested for HER healing, which'll overflow to US.
IS there such a thing as a Healer who loses her sh*t, gets profoundly triggered and alienates her beloveds? Why yes, every shaman I know personally (and there are many) does that. But I then doubt my healing abilities. The Wounded Healer is a real thing but your own healing should have actually happened! Mine has, but I guess I'm in relapse.
Yet, last Solstice, 3 weeks ago, the circle I was part of insisted on my priestessing some of our process, and I did it. And my daughter lovingly attended with me, and she knew the Spiritual Giant Women who were in the circle since her childhood. That is good, deeply good.
Then on our way out that beloved young woman said I was like “comic relief for the circle”, a jester's role that sometimes (frequently) works for me. But does that mean I was justified in reading about Pierrot's Columbine's and Harlequin's poly triad (my take) for HOURS the other day, learning way more than I can use about jesting, and dreaming more?!? I don't know. I sure do love learning and exploring. And dreamtime.
Also on our way out of Solstice ritual my daughter called her twin brother to describe our antics. The wondrousness of shamanic dancing. I THINK she was telling that, but I have Selection Bias, though I KNOW she was delightfully recalling.
He wasn't there because 1)it's a women's circle, not my choice originally 2)he insisted there is no such thing as spirituality, though I would love him to argue that I've also got THAT wrong.
He, my beloved son, called me last Saturday, after I spent Friday night in the hospital. He showed his philosophical bent and worked to reassure me that everything is ok, bless him (oops). He Stood Up for Mom. See, my siblings? This is an excellent young man. Period.
They'd been recommending surgery, which is always to be avoided. I have a complicated medical history that is disgusting and infuriating to hear. So I'll spare you, even though it matters for this. Most pertinent NOW is that the red streaks radiating from the (internal) wound are gone and the pain is too. And more surgery would undoubtedly cause more adhesions which started this whole thing, besides incompetence of medical professionals. See my performance piece entitled A Scar Is Born, with the happy face ending. It isn't online; hopefully someday. I waver between open book and discretion. Frustratedly. Of course I would benefit from a manager and an agent.
I am in limbo of sorts. I have deep friends, and also am “getting the word out”, and the fact is, I use social media a lot. If it isn't interactive, social media can be mentally harmful. Sez I and others.
Home? Hometown? My family of origin has rejected me harshly, mostly in those microagressive ways, but more. Attempting to have my children removed and put in foster care in 2006, and other outrageous treatment of my children and me. Cousins and extended family are quite decent and loving. One must mention the mental illness of my older sister, who fixated on me (and mine) or decades, wrangling other family against me. Though it began very young, that's over now.
Part of my family's rejection might come from the fact that I am not straight. I was born with the bisexuality. It's true that I wouldn't have had to act on it, even though I already had at age 7, and then how about this one: I truly am gender nonconforming. I was in a theatre play at at the age of 12 in which I played a man, so maybe that's to blame, but I was always been told to be more ladylike, and only with the recent freedoms granted have I not had massive angst about clothing. Instead I've been doing drag surreptitiously for over 3 decades. At an all girls camp, one must have “drag”, teehee. The girl who played the (cross dressed) lead was stunning and talented and I had a big crush. Didn't recognize it for what it was. Nowadays I would have been allowed to. A few weeks ago I was in line at a pharmacy and the person behind me didn't think I was moving fast enough, so they said “Ma'am? Uh, sir? Erm. There's a space in front of you.” Just a few days ago at the hospital my attending physician asked if I was sexually active, immediately following with “Male? Female? Both?” to which my easy answer was “Both”. Because she offered me that option and it is truth. Before our recent liberations, I would have had to quickly discern how to honestly answer, so as to not offend the doctor and stay pertinent to the case. MY gender and sexuality are twisted together, but please know that they are not the same thing. Always the activist, another problem of mine...
More reason to not feel nothingness: I'm a recovering alcoholic addict, and the stats are low for longterm recovery. Another rarity. I have become a sort of 12 Step Junkie, so I have that indoctrination of “A day without ____ is a productive day”, but... it rings hollow too much, so YAY for all the other tools. Like not isolating and having a network of people, but ironically I am only speaking with one or two f2f. Depression is contagious; gods forbid I bring it on you. My latest are NarAnon but the Most Useful is Underearners Anonymous. Here's how I'm not gonna break the 11th tradition: I know people in those programs, and I did not say I was a member. This is the 1st time I've ever even come close. My intense fear of doing a wrong thing is probably at play here.
Furtherly ironic is me not playing music with others, or at all; more of the self-destruction of depression. Until yesterday, I hadn't picked up my guitar in 9 days, practically a CRIME for a string player. One benefit of being in my home city COULD BE the network of musical connections that I truly developed here. Just a few years ago there were several public events where when I showed up without my instrument, I got scolded. But I need Right Livelihood, and there are many factors that have made music not my livelihood.
Yet I still am having a massive identity crisis. And having the classic symptoms of depression, Very Low Motivation, confusion, sadness, indecision, vicious cycles of ill health due to lack of self care, because... what's the use. It is significant that I went for medical care the other day and fortunate that I did. I will never suicide; I could not do that to my kids.
I am researching grad school to get a master's in psychology and become addictions counselor, hopefully utilizing my BA in studio art, my musical core, my jesterly nature, and my initiation as shamanic healer. Attempting research while wasting time, cuz I aint worth the effort, and having fabulous sammiches.
Obviously I am also hyper-graphic, compulsive with many things, and am knowingly using the hour of Good Mood that follows Morning Coffee to write this. I'm also considering full time work for a friend's Green Company, secretarial stuff. I do hope they actually noticed how genuinely butch I am, and heard me when I said grad school is likely in my near future.
Anyway, idletime is for the birds. Though I'm tremendously grateful for the Soft Landing that my auntie is providing for me here in NW DC. I just wish I wasn't living alone, but a beloved cousin has invited me to her beautifully crowded house in Bethesda for grad school time, and we're talking.
This beautiful picture of Rainbow Gathering 2016 feels worlds away. In many ways, it is. But I myself took it, and I was there. Sincerely. Just because the Spirit Names I have been given didn't stick, and I look like a Failed Soccer Mom with the S.A.D. Diet to strangers (deformed belly with that old wound, & authentic Nighttime Binging Disorder, please don't shoot me), doesn't mean I don't have relevant vital depth and value.
Depression sucks. It killed many members of my family and it's not gonna take me.
I'm just changing, and seeking. I was a performance artist, I was an illustrator, painter, my writing has been published, I will always be a musician, even if I believe people who consider females incapable of that, eff that. I am a multimedia artist. I put on an excellent concert 10 days ago. I had a visual art exhibition 16 months ago. I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and goldangit I handled the weirdest election in US history in a coal town, worked their general store, then worked in another pretty-well-integrated-with-mainstream commune (my preferred lifestyle, attempting freeganism, seriously) in NYC and … I'm gonna figure out how to tell these tales. And integrate them with my life.
