I've been doing a lot more volunteer work than paid work recently. Planting trees, cooking at a mental health community center. I don't mind it- because I like doing these things and they get me out of my head. If I stay at home too long doing freelance art I invariably wind up cleaning the refrigerator with a toothbrush or huddled in a corner, afriad of everything. I wish things would magically get better, but the truth is, I don't think if anything gets better it will happen suddenly or easily and I don't think things will really just "get better". I've been afriad of everything my whole life. As far as the volunteer work, the remarks are good on my resume but I tend to spend too much time doing these things and randomly traveling facebook than doing anything "normal" or "future thinking".
Sometimes I forget how weird my brain behaves. Amidst the cooking and mundane chores at the community center we also have an art group. Sometimes, when I'm not terribly unsocial I can participate in the groups. We sat down for this latest group and it seemed straight-forward enough. The question was "Who are you and what keeps you from your authentic self?" For the first part, the answers ranged from I'm a man to I'm an artist to I'm a Christian were shared with the group. I declined to share because I couldn't decide if I was my brain, my physical environment or God herself.
The I that is me needs to stop thinking about this stuff so much because it's not really that helpful. Things are beter when I can leave my room and simply do something. But it always feels like a monumental struggle and sometimes I just give up because I am tired of it all.
I'll be starting an internship soon. Leaving the stable housing and unstable work situation here to try something different. My counselor isn't working out and I'm not finding work but still, moving across cuntry is scary and uncertain, even though staying here is just as scary. I'm not sure if it's the right choice or the wrong choice. I've laid things out on paper, but usually these things look clearer on hindsight. I'm not terribly worried about being homeless or starving, although I am terribly worried about other people and police.
There was an incident on the bus this morning. A man, either high or slightly manic was yelling in some foreign language, gesticulating loudly. Like the polite Seattleites we all are, noone said anything. The bus driver assured us she was calling the police. The man had a bit of lucidity and apologized. She still called the police.
I felt really bad leaving the bus because I could empathise with this man. But again, I was scared too.
I took today off to watch a movie, came home and took a nap, then woke up but was afriad to leave my room because my loud roommate was out, playing his Christian music and cooking and I knew seeing him would mean a ten minute conversation about his sexual conquests, and so I stayed in my room for an hour. Finally I got the courage to leave.
I hope that I, now 33, can have some sort of courage. I'm tired of being a failure for everything. To have courage it would not be to make money and talk about sexual conquests or to be a person confined to my body, but to at least be. Even if all I do is sit in a shack in the woods, make art and hemp yogurt and sing off-key.
I, now 33.