I have this terrible habit of wanting to be at my best at the very beginning of everything. It’s a large part of what sabotaged my attempts to control my depression. I’d say my bipolar, but frankly, I like the high side for the most part. So this time, I am trying to be careful, and slow and thorough. I am trying to have patience with myself. Asshole Brain tells me that I’m taking too long, that this will never work because I’ve already failed; I tell it that the only way I’ve already failed is if I quit. That is the ONLY guarantee of failure, I force feed it logic that it cannot refute. And then I continue on doing as much as I can even if that’s just getting dressed in the morning. I also force myself to give myself credit for every positive gain no matter how seemingly insignificant.
Then I go brag about said gains on social media, because even if Asshole Brain refuses to give credit, I know my friends and loved ones will. And I am always astounded by just how much support they give after I hit that enter key. Hell, that enter key is TERRIFYING to hit at first, again thanks to Asshole Brain. (Is anyone else’s mind trying to sing that to the tune of Blackhole Sun?) So I tell it, “Look, you’re an asshole. Possibly one of the worst I know. What could they possibly say to me that’s worse than what you already tell me? What have I possibly got to lose?”
These self-conversations go better with anti-depressants, but they’re what got me to the point that I even bothered to go get anti-depressants. I finally convinced myself that if they weren’t going to work, I hadn’t lost anything, and if they did work, I’ve gained at least something. And they worked in the past, so Asshole Brain is being irrational. Asshole Brain doesn’t like to acknowledge that, because she’s an asshole. The key is recognizing when it’s Asshole Brain talking; I’m getting better and better at it.
So onto the aforementioned artsy therapy. I want to make art. I need to make art. It is me and I am it, without creating things I, my true self starts to fade away. That sounds sort of pretentious, I’m sorry, I can’t help it. The words just sneak out like thieves in the night, giggling to themselves about how much of a douche they’ll make me sound like. Bastards. I am not yet up to full artist capabilities. I’ve made a few truly new creations, but for the most part my brain fizzles out on them. So I decided I could paint my Swirlys on glass, they’re easy to reproduce and I figured they’d look pretty as suncatchers or what have you. I tried with a sharpie and ink. Sharpie looks real black on paper. It looks real blue and streaky on glass.
In my search for a better alternative I discovered Gallery Glass stuff, and I am now hooked. I can create new things, made of old things; so my brain doesn’t have to work real hard, but it gets the satisfaction of creation. My first pieces have a sort of lumpy look, but I’m improving. It’s my basket-weaving if you will. Of course this post is pointless without samples of my creations. I plan on putting them up for sale in the near future, as soon as I figure out how to frame them.