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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/books/item_id/2156259-After-The-Killing-Jar
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Rated: 18+ · Book · Personal · #2156259
A blog and journal about the day to day for an artist and writer
Just a place to share and work things through. Ever a work in progress, me and the blog.
May 22, 2018 at 12:00pm
May 22, 2018 at 12:00pm
#935068
I am one impatient monkey.

I decided to put my lifestyle back in order after a winter of comfort food. So I did. All at once. When it comes to lifestyle changes I can't do it in increments. There are too many opportunities to backslide, make excuses, or give up. I'm happily vegan again and have resumed my daily walk with Summer, my German shepherd.

There is the detox downside. The changes are so sudden and complete that my body always struggles to keep up. I get headachy at times just because I forget to eat when I should. That never happened when I was eating junk foods. I suspect it's blood sugar related. I know I'll be uncomfortable for a week or so but I know it' worth it. I wasn't vegan until recently.

Last year I did a personal vegan challenge and ate a clean diet for a month, with exercise, and the results really were beyond dramatic. Within a few weeks I was feeling like the best version of myself and my weight dropped significantly. Little aches and pains were gone. I had energy to burn. The lethargy was gone. I have to say I also cut out processed anything. The only sugars I allowed myself were natural sugars and an occasional vegan chocolate almond milk.

I don't remember where I backslid.. I would bet my buttons it was about Christmas. Holiday foods are the worst kind of enticing, especially those super soft sugar cookies. There's also the well meaning nay sayers. Some folks try to convince me vegetarian is good enough. No, it's not. That allows all sorts of loaded processed foods, sugars, and the big C.

Cheese. Cheese will destroy any diet in a heartbeat. How healthy are those veggies or salads when covered in cheese? Don't mistake me, I'm accusing no one but myself here. I am a glutton for the stuff. Especially fried cheese. Whoever came up with that was downright evil(awesome?).

I'll admit vegan wasn't easy at first because even products that are vegetarian can be unacceptable for vegans. Product are super sneaky with their labeling. Sauces and things can be absolutely loaded with sugars and things you don't want. Though I have to say, folks who ask what vegans can even eat surprise me... Believe it or not it's entirely possible for a vegan to eat like a pig and still be healthy and lose weight.

The produce section of the store is huge and everything in it is edible. I personally like raw produce, a lot. But there are 101 ways to make stir fries. Eggplant, gourds, squash can all be cooked and baked many ways. There are incredible vegan soups out there and there are even pasta options. I don't know if I would have made it without the pasta option as it's always been a favorite food. Don't forget about all the rices and grains!

I even learned how to make balanced smoothies with fruits and veggies. If you're interested in this don't let that panic you! You don't taste the vegetables at all. It tastes exactly like a fruit smoothy but has maybe half the nutrition you need any day. That doesn't mean you can't eat all day. You can eat veggies all day long and not worry about it. This isn't a starvation diet approach by any stretch of the imagination. I honestly wing most things with raw ingredients but if you're a person that prefers a recipe allrecipes.com has a great vegan section.

I am a huge animal lover but for me this is less about that and more about being healthy and happy. I live at my desk and I wasn't going to live long without making real and solid changes. My family is prone to both heart troubles and blood clots. Even being 33 I might've only had a few years left if I didn't take myself to task. I have way too many paintings to finish and things to write to just give up entirely. Not today, not today.
May 16, 2018 at 3:42pm
May 16, 2018 at 3:42pm
#934668
It's been difficult jumping between painting and writing. It's not as easy as flipping a switch because you know something needs to get done. Don't mistake me, I am not the kind of person who waits for inspiration to arrive like Romeo at my window. I'm more like the type of woman who swan dives off the balcony because waiting wears on me.

There are two different states of mind for the two crafts. When I'm painting or drawing I have two decades of practice behind me so it is more a matter of craft and focus. Writing demands a far more engaged mind as a result. Add my lack of confidence in regard to writing and it can very much be like beating my head against a wall. Not that feeling so has ever stopped me.

I'm not a great fan of psychiatry, I have my reasons, but I can't help but wonder where that invisible line is? What is the line between self aware and neurotic? There are all these folks who throw words around like Neurotic and Narcissist if a person shows too much self interest.

Every society is flooded by people who think only of themselves. That's not mental illness, I would argue, it's just human nature. These folks aren't sitting around wondering about the difference.

Really, the only person any of us can ever know completely is ourselves. Even if we sat with someone who was verbalizing their stream of conscious thought, day in and day out, we'd still never know everything about them. But I love that thought.

What all that means to me is that regardless of how long and well we know someone, they will always be a wonder. There is always something new to learn or interesting facts to relearn. We're all out here with all of these stories inside of us. We are our writing. We are walking, talking, volumes of experience. We are each of us the only one of our kind that has ever or will ever exist. Not sharing ourselves, in my opinion, would be one of the worst things we could really do.

Didn't mean to go on such a tangent! Back to the good work!
May 10, 2018 at 1:14pm
May 10, 2018 at 1:14pm
#934309
I'm a Scorpio born on Samhain and the day of the dead. If I believed such things I would say that the stars aligned so that death and I were meant to be constant companions. As a Scorpio my tarot card would be death and I'd be aligned with Pluto, traditionally representing Hades. Samhain is the Gaelic winter festival where the veils between spiritual planes were thought to thin allowing the spirits of the dead to communicate. Dios de los Muertos is, of course, the day of the dead where the spirits of the departed are celebrated.

As it happens, death and I met before I was born.

I was born three months premature without hair or fingernails. My folks said I was their prettiest baby and I say I looked like an alien. My twin, however, never made it out of the womb. He or she was reabsorbed before having a chance. I have always wondered how different life would have been if my mirror had made it.

In childhood, between swimming in snake infested water and falling off of things it's a real miracle it was "only" a few concussions and broken bones. It didn't help that I was so fearless I would play with baby copperhead snakes bare handed. Yes, that was clearly a horrible idea but unfortunately that rarely stops me. If it were regular childhood injuries I probably wouldn't think much on it but normal has never been much of a part of my life. Bring on the disease!

It really depends on how a person thinks about luck. My family always tells me I have incredible luck and I guess I can agree, but we're not thinking about it the same at all. It's what I consider Irish luck. When it's good, it's very very good. When it's bad it's awful.

Anyone who's a fan of the outdoors is familiar with the insidious nature of deer ticks. Those little buggers will always find a way. I spent so much time in the woods climbing trees and exploring that it was inevitable that I'd be bitten, a lot, and by a lot of things. It wasn't even something I thought too much about other than I hated ticks because they looked like spiders.

When I started getting ill I wasn't concerned at all. I was around twelve and still had that magical thought that everything would always work out fine. It didn't feel like much of anything to begin with. I was tired and feverish but bugs come and go. Then my legs went funny. It started by looking like a rash that went from my knees down to the bottom of my feet. That's not especially unusual if you're running or walking through tall grasses often and I did that all the time.

Within a week of the first noticeable symptoms I was a big hot mess. My mother kept taking me to the hospital trying to get me help and they kept telling her it was just hay fever or some allergic reaction. Then stuff got serious. My discolored legs were swelling and I developed a fever sometimes as high as 105. I was barely conscious half the time and having delusional thoughts the other half. My mother basically had to threaten the medical personal for them to deign to bring in specialists.

So this is where that questionable luck comes in. I had something all right. Two somethings. I had managed to get myself bitten by one tick carrying two diseases, Lyme Disease and Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. One doctor let me know I was one in a million. Honestly, if I'm going to be one in a million I'd prefer it to be something like winning the lottery.

Lyme is sometimes called a silent killer because the symptomatology isn't especially obvious. It can cripple or kill a person before it's caught. This was before screening for Lyme was any kind of normal. That Rocky Mountain Fever probably saved my life. I'm obstinate at best. I never complained, about anything. I had to hit the point of nearly hallucinating before anyone realized how bad off I was.

Just in case catching two diseases wasn't enough I actually had a splintered wrist at the time, probably from gymnastics. There I was in the hospital being poked and prodded every two minutes and fed massive doses of dangerous and harsh pharmaceuticals with a broken wrist on top of it. This is my luck. If that's lucky I can honestly say I'd rather do without.

Between that and my mid twenties it was mostly standard brushes with death. An almost car wreck here, a near drowning there. Certainly a lot of self destructive behavior almost always revolving around my lovers. Just a lot of pretty normal bad choices but I somehow escaped all the worst consequences. Maybe that actually was some kind of luck.

My car accident in my mid-twenties was one of those freak accident kind of things. Maybe not the accident but the results and all of the consequences that followed. There is a part of me that thinks I'd gotten off easy going through all of the crap before and that the accident and aftermath were just karma coming to call.

That aside, I have a separate blog for that monologue, I nearly died about half a dozen times between the accident and my medical care. There was the brain swelling, seizures, stroke. None of those were actually diagnosed or treated. There were a lot of assumptions made by a lot of horrific medical personnel and I was fed a lot of dangerous drugs. I am so sure of my experience and understanding I will speak of it publicly even if I'll never have any recourse.

Thirty three years and the biggest chunk of it has been dodging death. You know, maybe that's exactly what is normal in life. It's only natural that death mirrors life. It's like a very dangerous dance that we all have to perform. Alas, it's a contest that doesn't end with trophies being presented. Well, not the trophy any of us want to have.
May 9, 2018 at 4:18pm
May 9, 2018 at 4:18pm
#934243
I'm finally starting to develop a realistic writing schedule so that I'm getting something done everyday. Now that is mostly ironed out I can start spending more attention on the actual craft of the work. Progress!

I'm leaning more into prose right now though I'm still working with poetry. Prose seems to make the most sense for saying a lot of the things I want to say. Maybe there are a few epic stories in my life but mostly they are these small, but significant, experiences. Prose is just perfect for those.

I saw a comment somewhere while I was browsing that professional writers don't share unfinished work and they certainly don't give it away for free. Well, I don't think that's true by any measure. If you're a silent presence how exactly are you going to attract readers? Just hope they find your work out of millions and decide it's the one to buy?

I have to associate this with arting, painting and drawing, because that's where my experience lay. There is something about watching an artist work that folks just find fascinating. I do it. I watch artist videos of every variety and I love them. There's this wonderful rare opportunity with writing where readers aren't just watching the process, they become part of it. How incredible is that?

Artists share their work at every stage. It's the only way we're going to be recognized by folks that want to support you by buying your work. Just because they can look at your painting on the computer doesn't mean they aren't going to want to buy a print to hang on their wall. There's a lot of difference in the significance there.

There's something about books which most writers and readers share. Just because someone read a chapter of your book online, or even your whole book, doesn't mean they won't buy a hard copy volume. They'll want it on demand and want to be able to easily share it with others.

I don't know. I don't think I have the time or energy for pessimists that are just masquerading as realists. It's not realistic to undermine the creative process of others just because you think it doesn't work for you.
May 7, 2018 at 5:57pm
May 7, 2018 at 5:57pm
#934119
This journaling process isn't particularly easy with The Killing Jar. I'm going to have to do it in pieces in order to not drive myself nutters. Again. I don't have the option to get preoccupied with trying to be a savvy wordsmith. Right not the only prerogative is to get as much information down as I can. The editing will come in due time.

The down side is I won't know if I have anything worth sorting out for a book until I'm done and I've edited a few times. This is not the kind of patience I'm especially good at. I want it all to add up to something but there's no guarantee it ever will. I guess that's really how everything works.

It's hard to write about the past without looking back, at the writing I mean. Every time I do I think of ten more thing I'd like to write about a moment, a place, a person. There's no help for it. I just need to write things in chunks and pages. The details will find themselves down the road.

I feel like I need to pep talk myself in the mirror every time I know I'll be working on the journal. Poetry is like singing along with a song you've always sung. It's something that so often happens when you're not even paying attention. It's a matter of feelings and word play. Even when it goes dark places there's a bit of joy to the practice of it. It's almost like balancing an algebra question. if a+b=c then c-b=a etc.

Writing stark truths in a non-fiction format is a bit like dancing naked in a public square. I like to think I'm honest but I think we all have lines of privacy we find fearful to cross. Then there's me. I'm like "this is a terrible idea, I'm going to do it!" That's one aspect of my nature that has never and will never change.

There's a reason I say my card is 'The Fool'. It takes a special kind of person who is either brave or foolish enough to dance on a cliff edge. In my case I feel like I'm doing cartwheels.
May 6, 2018 at 2:26pm
May 6, 2018 at 2:26pm
#934040
Then I realized almost a week later it would have been more practical to start with a general introduction. Whoops! That's what I'll do today then. Once upon a time.. kidding! I don't think too many fairy tales happen in Missouri but I could be wrong.

Art has been the cornerstone of my life since I could sit upright. My dad has always been an artist and musician so as soon as I could sit up and hold a pencil I was taught things like piano and how to draw gesture drawings. I took dance courses and tried to learn every instrument I could lay hands on. I'm not saying I was or am great at any of it, definitely not!, but it did start me on a path.

From my mother I learned how to read, write, and type. Just like how dad taught me music you taught me to read as early as possible. By nine I graduated to reading full length novels. My 'Fear Street' became Stephen King. I was voracious. Mom would take me to the library and I was a kid in a candy store. I would check out anything that looked interesting, sometimes as many as 30 books at a time.

Authors were my rock stars. I wanted to be a writer more than anything so I started writing short stories and poetry. That's how that great love affair began.

I never thought I would leave my midwest town. I was lucky enough to travel a LOT as a kid because my two sisters both played competitive softball. The only part of the country I haven't had the fortune to see is the northeastern states. You can bet your buttons I want to see Maine... Yes, that is because of Stephen King.

I ended up spending my mid and late teens in L.A., California. I didn't see that curveball coming and I am still endlessly grateful that I got to experience it when I was young enough to appreciate it all. I've never been the beach bunny sort but the beach at night under a clear sky is something everyone should have a chance to see. I loved it there and those were some of the happiest years of my life.

Then I ended up in Minnesota. I don't think culture shock really covers my feelings about that. The best part was I moved there in autumn but after all those years in California all I had was shorts, tank tops, and the like. I spent several weeks living with a blanket wrapped around me until our belongings arrived.

I went into an art program there with the intention of becoming an art professor in time. I never became a teacher but I loved getting my Bachelor of Fine Arts degree. I was blessed to meet just incredible people all over the place up there. In the program, in the town. Still some of my closest friends.

After college I ended up moving to Kansas. It was meant to be "the beginning" of my life. I was out on my own and rooming with old friends and I really thought my life was just going to keep getting better. The move started so well. And ended terribly. One car accident has defined eight years of my life and will probably always be the most significant event in my life outside of birth and death.

There was no option but to move back in with my folks. Now I pursue the arts with every ounce of energy I possess. Though painting is where I do best economically, jewelry and embroidery are actual hobbies, but writing is still my first love. Even though I don't feel particularly gifted at it, it brings so much joy into my life. Especially being part of this community on WDC.

I want this to be the year. I want to compile a book and just make it happen. I'm not much of a fiction writer anymore but believe I can create something special with poetry, prose, essay, and art. I hope so! It's not a matter of recognition but regaining my personal pride and confidence.

That was a bit more of a novel than I intended to write but it should be a good backbone for future entries >_O I haven't journaled outside of my personal journals in so long I am completely winging this.

Back to work!
May 5, 2018 at 10:26am
May 5, 2018 at 10:26am
#933973
The great poetry sorting is going really well! I keep different binders for different projects so I have this old five star binder (Exactly like the one I had in high school!) where I keep my poetry. I do work in notebooks but I always try to keep a copy in the binder as well. I've copied the poems and parts of poems I want to work with into a larger notebook to make it easier to work on them.

I adore these rainbow colored flags I get at the dollar store. It makes it so much easier to keep track of what I'm doing with what and I don't have to go through every page to find what I'm looking for. Most of my active notebooks and sketch books have dozens of flags hanging out the top.

Some of the pages in the poetry binder are over a decade old! I finally got around to getting paper supports, rainbow colors of course, so that the pages won't rip or fall out. There is something incredibly soothing about keeping a writing binder exactly like I did when I was young. The binder I worked in as a kid was stolen when I was 16-ish but I found its doppleganger a year or two ago at a thrift store. Maybe the thrift store god was trying to hint I needed to get back to writing.

I've always wondered why anyone would steal that binder. It had a ton of writing in it. It was too distinctive, I'd painted on the cloth, for anyone to actually use it at the school. Maybe they just wanted to read what was in it or maybe they were just being spiteful. Whichever the case I learned an important leason, always keep multiple copies of your work! Boy do I.

It's dawned on me that if this blog is 'After The Killing Jar' then what I want to write about my car accident, and the issues surrounding it, must be called 'The Killing Jar'. Writing about my experiences is a tall order though. Though it's been eight years it has never gotten easier dealing with the subject. I think it's something I need to do sooner or later though.

Back to the grind stone!
May 3, 2018 at 4:27pm
May 3, 2018 at 4:27pm
#933878
I've never been much of an attention seeker. That is definitely not the best trait for an artist of any kind, let me tell you. It's why I never stuck with acting or singing because I really didn't want to be center stage. I was alright at it but the anxiety of it was awful. Once, I tried out for my high school talent show as a joke because I thought me singing this particular song was funny. What wasn't funny was getting in and having to sing in front of hundreds of people. -_-

When I started leaning into art, painting and drawing, it took me years before I could really fake the confidence long enough to share things. I remember how painfully nerve wracking it was to first offer work for sale. I was entirely convinced nobody would want to buy any of my work. That little flutter of anxiety has never gone completely away. I've spent years and years building a very collectable body of work and I know there are people that really do want my paintings. Everytime I post a piece for sale I'm still half sure nobody will want it.

Now writing. It's the area of my life where I probably have the least confidence. I've always wanted to write a book though. When I was young I wanted to be a literary rock star! I've definitely grown out of that, which isn't a terrible thing. Now I want to put a book together simply so I can just have something tangible to attest to my efforts. It would be something solid I can hold and feel pride in.

You know I even picked out a sweater for my book jacket picture? That was about a decade ago but I've kept that sweater just like I've kept copies of all the poetry that hasn't made the cut. So many of my dreams have landed by the way side but not this one. The only person who can sabotage this dream is myself and I know it.

The older poetry all need to be retouched. I was head over heals with them back in the dark ages, when I was young, but they just don't read right anymore. There are so many words and they're saying so little of real substance. Instead of throwing my hands up about it I am going to buckle down and give those pieces a chance to start over. Old poetry deserves a second chance!
May 2, 2018 at 6:02pm
May 2, 2018 at 6:02pm
#933836
Now that I have the biggest speed bump out of the way! I really want to compile a book this year. I'm pretty invested in that.

As soon as I could sit upright I was involved with dance and music but my first real craft was writing. When I was nine I started writing short stories. I lived in books for years and years. Unlike other parts of my craft I don't really have any confidence in my writing. But I just keep coming back to it like a rejected lover.

Maybe I'll finally be able to romance it this time! If not, it won't be for lack of effort. A poem a day can keep the disappointment at bay!
May 2, 2018 at 2:14pm
May 2, 2018 at 2:14pm
#933821
I never know where to start a new journal. I've been an avid journal keeper my whole life but that first page is always the most difficult. I've found the best way to go about it is to just dive in. So here goes!

A killing jar is what is used to smother bugs to prepare them for mounting in entomology. I think the title hints very well what kind of life I've had the last eight years or so. It also pretty accurately indicates my complicated relationship with medicine and science. For the sake of a readable introduction I'm going to paraphrase my experience to start.

I was in a car accident about eight years ago. It was bad, I didn't have any broken bones or penetrating wounds but I experienced a secondary traumatic brain injury. That's where the brain is bruised or lacerated internally and swells in the skull. I was misdiagnosed, mistreated, and ultimately suffered two bouts of psychosis because every medical intervention began and ended with feeding me massive doses of pharma. One of the worst things to do when someone is suffering a brain injury.

Everyone lied. My roommates lied, the doctors and nurses lied about what they did or did not do for treatment. I was never correctly diagnosed, treated, or rehabbed. My family tried to do what they thought best for me but I received none of the assistance these agencies were responsible for and with all of the ass covering going on I had no assistance and no legal options.

Before the accident I was happy, healthy, and independent. I was in my mid-twenties and it really felt like the best part of my life was just starting. I was too busy working to do much art but I was getting to the point where I had a job, a home, and was ready to bring creativity back into my life.

Some of the highlights of after the accident was the psychosis. An actual waking nightmare defined by delusions and paranoia. I had several seizures and or strokes but there was never any diagnostic work or tests done. I've actually had people tell me that if the doctor didn't write it down it didn't really happen. I'm not a doctor after all! I mean, how would I know if I were having a stroke? I hope the sarcasm is coming through there.

There was a point where I was actually comatose but conscious at one facility. While I was laying there unable to move or speak I could hear the attendants making jokes about the patients down the hall. Needless to say medicians aren't my favorite people.

Some people are blessed with trauma induced amnesia. I, am not. I remember everything in painfully vivid detail. Especially with so many people trying to drug me stupid or tell me I was wrong about things, undercutting pretty much every effort I made to heal and regain my confidence. I made a point to remember everything I could. Funny thing about an unfortunately good memory combined with artistic inclinations, people have a hard time telling me I'm mistaken when I can draw every aspect with crazy detail even years later.

The medical community did me no favors. Between the drugs, the un-diagnosed PTSD, the after affects of the injury I was barely alive when they were done with me. I had to teach myself to read, write, speak, and draw by myself. I had to fight tooth and nail to get off the twenty some pills they had me eating every day.

Oh you can bet anything that I wanted to die. I'd lost my home, my job, several friends, my sanity, my future. No one would listen to me about what was wrong and what had or had not been done. Who believes crazy, right? That's exactly why the worst abuses have always happened in psychiatry.

Life went from being a treasured adventure to something I basically have to endure.

What always got to me was being told my anger only hurt me. What hurt me was the abuse, indignities, and the neglect. I think I have every right to be furious. Especially since I never got any justice or redress.

Yes, of course I'm still angry and in pain and I always will be. Despite that I don't actually dwell that much on it anymore. For a few years that was all I could do. Now adays talking about it rarely evokes any particular feelings. When it does I make art. I draw it, I write it. Short of my birth and death this is the event that will define my life.

I won't be sorry for feeling victimized. Or for having become who I am. I don't think I'm especially likable anymore. I've been through so much darkness that I have little patience for many things. I still try to be a decent person and to keep moving forward. It's like being a fighter is so programmed in my DNA that even when I am in the middle of giving up I just keep going.

I'm probably a better person for having gone through it all but I just can't forgive everything I lost. I'll never be entirely independent. I will never marry or have children. I always wanted my own home and family but my confidence has been so brutalized by other people's doubt that I can't risk that I'm wrong and pass a genetic defect to kids. Everything that meant anything to me is over and done with.

I'm definitely a better artist for it because the only way to numb the mourning feelings is to work non-stop. Last year I finished over 300 small paintings, countless drawings, probably a few hundred pieces of jewelry. I just keep on going. I will always just keep on going.

I'm really hoping that writing can help heal the worst of it. I'm not actually a big talker for an artist and writer. Learning how to be this kind of brave again has been incredibly difficult. Letting people back into my life, being involved, saying what I wish; It's been one of the most difficult things I've done in my life.

So there! Those are the basics and I am committed to being honest and as positive as I can be in the future.

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