Meant to move
I find it interesting that in the entirety of my studio, I’m spending most of my time in one corner. The corner where my chair lives. My laptop propped up on some plastic bins holding yarn. The window sill acting as a handy shelf.
This corner has been my safe space over the past week, as I’ve been withdrawing some from the world. And that’s not to say I haven’t left the corner. I’ve engaged with the world a few times this week.
Being in this corner feels like a sort of metaphor for me.
I’ve been pondering some about what my story is, and separating myself a bit from my ‘old story’ that feels attached to my old name. Earlier this month, as I approached my 36th birthday, I realized that the calendar looks exactly the same as it did when I turned 31 (Easter even fell on the same date). The year I turned 31 was very much a hitting bottom experience for me. And I’m feeling like I don’t want to spend this year, with the same dates falling on the same days, reliving all of the stuff that happened half a decade ago.
Being in a corner, which sort of means there are things behind me that prevent me from going backwards, feels like a sort of metaphor for me because everything around me is in front of me. I mean, what’s behind me? The back of the chair. The wall. Technically the shelves with art supplies.
The past is the past. It’s an old story, and behind the wall. It can’t sneak up on me and pull me back down to bottom (unless I forget that this corner is my safe space).
What’s important now is the story of me, now. Of my future. Of my path. Of the choices I make. Not the things that happened five years ago.
And I’m not saying that I’m forgetting the past and ignoring what I learned. Because I’m not. All of the things that happened then helped make me who I am right now. What I’m saying is there’s no reason to keep living in the past and berate myself for my mistakes and hold on to the idea that I should deny myself happiness and acceptance because I did stupid things then.
Living in the past is like standing still. I’m not meant to stand still. I’m meant to move.
Opening Up
[note: I originally posted this on my Facebook wall on March 9, 2012.]
Six months ago (later today), Sam and I closed on our house. In six months, we have rewired the electricity, torn out both sinks (which are still not installed), and painted four of the six ‘rooms’ (the hallway is as big as a room). We officially moved in on October 31st.
Other events in the past six months:
One cat has passed away (Ginger). The other nine appear to be thriving.
I closed the door on a 4 1/2 year toxic relationship.
I regained a friend I thought lost to me.
Sam and I opened our marriage and, in early January, I started my first relationship with a long-time friend,Tuna. I went to see him 2 weeks ago. That relationship ended twice this week. Ultimately, the timing was bad for all involved, and there may be a chance to salvage the friendship.
Why am I talking about this?
For one, it’s hard to go through this mostly alone. A few people knew about the relationship, but out of fear of judgment I kept it to myself and publicly acknowledged him as my friend, as he had been before and during the relationship.
For two, I’m tired of keeping parts of myself secret. I realize that there are parts of life that “should” be private, and for a lot of people, that works for them. For me, it feels important to be as open and transparent as I can be, because to censor this part of my life paves the way to censor the rest of my life.
I don’t expect anyone to understand or agree with my choices. Sam has read this and given his blessing. My ex-boyfriend has told me that he and his partner agree I can speak about this publicly if I choose. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need or want anyone else’s permission. If this bothers you, I will not be offended if you de-friend me. Every time I look at the poster in my studio of my superpowers, and remember my word for 2012, sovereignty (the definition, for me, being ‘the spiritual quality of not giving a fuck what other people think’), I remember that one my responsibilities in my life is to be emotionally authentic and to live my truth. I may go about it in ways that appear messed up, but I am doing the best I can, and have grown a lot. I handled the break up with grace, according to my husband.
I don’t have all the answers with this, and don’t expect to for awhile. If you’re able to offer emotional support, it will be welcomed.
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I’m not going to include all of the comments to the FB post here, however I am pasting in Tuna’s comment. Partly for posterity, and partly because of how much it means to me that our friendship has a chance of thriving.
“It takes courage to come out and share what we bury deep with our community. Sometimes it is a wondrous surprise to see the out pouring of support we get when we do.
Being the person who was in the relationship with you, I have a unique seat to how this post unfolded. Thank you for sharing and allowing yourself to be emotionally vulnerable.
You are one of my best friends. I am here for you as long as you keep the portal opened to do so. For now I can vividly imagine some day in the future where I end up in Tampa and come knocking on your door.
Yours,
Tuna”
Shining Light on Dark Places
[note: this post originally appeared on a self-hosted WP blog.]
Jan 4, 2012
I’m kinda impulsive.
Well, a lot impulsive.
If it looks interesting, or fun, I’ll probably do it. Or sign up for it. Which is what I did when LaVonne Ellis mentioned a list she started with writing prompts.
The first prompt she sent out: tell a story about drugs.
Now, I used to smoke cigarettes, but quit 12 years ago. And it was never really a thing I needed, so I just simply quit. Caffeine does nothing for me. I’ve never really been into alcohol – just New Year’s Eve and my wedding anniversary. I don’t do drugs. I barely even take anything for minor pain.
No typical addictions here.
I do have an addictive personality, though. When I was in therapy, the med-prescribing nurse tried to diagnose me with internet addiction, along with the three personality disorders and depression.
I think it’s not the internet, though. I told my therapist that I could substitute anything, and show the same behavior. The internet is just a convenient way to feed whatever addiction had taken hold.
When I read the prompt, I felt compelled to hit reply and write. I don’t consider myself a writer at all, which I find amusing because I keep this blog.
The story I wrote focuses on a relationship I had for a few years that invaded my psyche so pervasively that I can hardly believe it and I’m the one who lived it.
When I finished writing and emailed it to LaVonne, I really didn’t like the idea of it being published anywhere. However, she emailed me back yesterday morning and said she really wanted to publish it in a micromag in March.
Wow.
She offered anonymity, if I wanted. While I considered that, she sent a second email, saying on second thought, let’s publish it on the blog.
Holy fuck.
Sam gave me his blessing, saying that I am brave to shine a light on a dark place in my life. I then checked in with myself and my two best friends, and took a breath.
And said yes.
I decided to go with my name instead of anonymity because I think it’s important to own my words.
I truly do feel lighter, even though the voice in my head is berating me for being so open about a mistake. Mistakes happen, though, and are worth the pain when growth happens.
Your Turn
Have you tried shining a light on the dark places in your life? What happened? Share with me in the comments, or email me (skajawills at gmail dot com).
Comment Zen
The entire topic presented in this post and the story I wrote is pretty touchy for me. Please don’t offer advice. Hugs, tea, and high fives very welcome.
Comments
Just Start
[note: this post originally appeared on a self-hosted WP blog.]
Aug 26, 2011
Finding parking at the Seminole Heights Starbucks in Tampa is challenging. Often Sam and I take a trip through the drive-thru before we drive to a different location to get some work done.
Today, though, parking was easy. I’m sitting in a comfortable chair, in a corner alcove. Sam is next to me, writing answers to questions in longhand for his own betterment.
Listening to Blue October, gearing up for a live acoustic concert.
I remember the first time I heard their music.
One of the many break-ups with a man I have never met face to face, who lives about 45 minutes from me. He was playing it at a virtual bar.
Later on, another song came to my attention. A request during one of my many DJing shifts at that same virtual bar. (Picture below is from my SL DJ days.)
Now, they are one of the very small group of musicians with full discographies on my iPhone.
One of the appeals is feeling understood in some way by the music. The lead singer lives with a mental illness. As do I.
In a world where mental health is both ignored, and known because of drug ads everywhere, I live with not one, but several diagnosed mental illnesses and do so without taking pills. With few exceptions, I avoid ingesting medication.
With my sense of humor, I get a flash of a title: Skaja Wills, drug-free since 2008.
I smirk to myself, remembering the story when I stopped anti-depressants for the last time.
The biggest influence in my life at that time had recently begun taking meds for his own issues. He verbally kicked and screamed when I told him that, with therapist approval, I was going to try to cope with my stuff without drugs. That I believed, and still do, that anti-depressants would not help me, do not help me.
“Skaja, you need them to live.”
And despite my beliefs, his verbal needling got to me, and I relapsed. Only for a short time, though.
Around my 32nd birthday, a year after my life started to fall apart, I took my last med.
It wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy.
Living in my head is a trip. I look brave, and I do brave things. But I am afraid of a lot. I worry about what strangers think about me sometimes.
I worry that I don’t have anything interesting to say.
I encourage the people close to me to do the things they want to do with their lives. But, man, it’s hard to follow that same advice.
Ask me what I want to do with my life and I barely hesitate before I answer: Art. All I want to do is make things and take pictures.
And up crops Resistance. In the form of excuses, cats that are often too inquisitive at the wrong times, lack of inspiration, fear of sharing what I make. And the seemingly logical reasons, the meta work.
For this first new post of this new website, I offer two words that I hope you’ll take to heart.
Just start.
Loss
[note: this post originally appeared on a self-hosted WP blog.]
Dec 1, 2011
Ginger died today.
Our vet suspects cancer, based on a mass he found in her abdomen.
Bean, as we called her, came to us this past June. While living at the apartment, we met many stray and feral cats. This kitty, however, was the first to walk right up to me and nuzzle my feet.
We noticed, while watching her eat some food we provided, that if another cat came near, she ran away. Yet she came right back to us.
I took advantage of this to put her into a carrier and get her spayed. While she spent the following 48 hours in the bathroom, recovering, Sam and I decided to keep her.
She got her name when Sam filled out the intake form. In time, Ginger became known to us as Ginger Snap, Ginger Cookie, Ginger Rogers and then Ginger Bean. Finally, just Bean.
She was a torti, which brought our total to four (Dot, Midnight Oil and Creedence are the others). We could tell her apart from the other because of her tipped ear. Her demeanor also set her apart. It was as though she didn’t understand that the other cats were like her. The first few weeks she spent in the bathroom, or on a shelf in the bedroom.
Eventually, she started to explore the apartment. She found the large art table, and spent most of her time there.
When we moved all 10 to our house, she adapted well. She found the back of the easy chair, and spent many days of the past month sitting there.
About two weeks ago, Sam noticed how lethargic she had become. A visit to the vet revealed a slight temperature, so we did a round of antibiotics and did our best to coax her to eat and drink. She was on the mend until yesterday, when I got a feeling that she wasn’t doing very well.
A visit to our vet brought suggestion of cancer, or feline AIDS or leukemia. He felt a mass, but was unable to get a clear x-ray.
Today, her breathing became really labored. We got x-rays, which underlined the worst. One doctor asked if Ginger had been hit by a car.
While on the examining table at our vet, Ginger quietly stopped breathing.
Her death bookends 2011 for us, with Blondie having died last January.
It’s not easy to deal with loss of any kind. Loss of a beloved pet hits me because I can’t help but wonder what I did wrong. In both Blondie and Ginger’s cases, there is very little we could have done to save either cat.
I’m also amazed at how brief a time span can affect us. Blondie was with us just over 3 1/2 months. Ginger was with us just a few days shy of six months.
It’s possible that pets, like people, come into our lives for a finite period, and sometimes they go when they’ve ‘served their purpose,’ so to speak. Sometimes they leave before they’ve finished their work.
I see glimpses of Blondie in my other cats, and his gentle spirit in some of the people in my life. I suspect the same will hold true for Ginger.
RIP Bean.
Deciding
[note: this post originally appeared on a self-hosted WP blog. it is here in edited form.]
Oct 23, 2011
Having never owned something bigger than a car before, I’ve really underestimated how much time and energy this house is taking to be ready for Sam, our cats and me.
I framed it in a tweet one night saying that my house is a big mixed media project. Being an artist, this is probably the best way to view a lot of things in life.
Works in progress.
I’ve been a homeowner for about 55 days. I really and truly thought I’d be moved in already. Before the closing date, I told my mom my whole plan: close on the house, get it tented for termites, paint, get electricity rewired.
And there was the long-planned trip to San Francisco in the middle of everything.
What’s happened in actuality?
Got the keys on the right day. Then slowly started to figure out rooms.
Spent the better part of an hour standing in front of hundreds of paint color choices, debating the colors for each room.
Calling about warranties, utilities, contractors.
Getting estimates, making decisions. Buying paint samples, making final decisions on colors for some rooms, and making changes for others. Then finally buying paint.
So, as we’re approaching the end of October, and the final days of this apartment, there is still so much to do.
And it’s really easy to complain and say that the house isn’t done, when the more accurate statement is that the house doesn’t look the way I want it to look. The walls aren’t the colors I want them to be.
It doesn’t feel like me, yet.
A Better Perspective
Things are not the disasters they first appear to be. In most cases.
Is it easier to paint a room without cats? Absolutely.
But, let’s think this through. Most of my cats are under 3 years old. Given the life span of cats, I could wait over a decade for them all to pass on, or I could go with temporary discomfort and close them into one room while another is being painted.
Would life be better if both sinks were installed? Have to go with yes, there.
What happens when it’s time to remodel the kitchen? I take my cue from my childhood, when my parents remodeled the house we lived in and the couch was in the kitchen and dishes were washed in the bathroom.
Life and construction throw us detours. We deal with the orange signs and closed roads because we know something different (and maybe better) is coming at the end.
The point? To stress out less about this house being ‘unfinished’ and to focus more about living in a big mixed media project. Because the house will never be ‘finished.’
Comments
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Awesome work in progress!
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I really love this, for a number of reasons…
a) I remember going through all of this (minus having the cats, but plus having the kids!) ourselves just over 5 years ago. I remember washing dishes in the utility sink for a couple of weeks (NOT fun). I remember the feeling of being unsettled and not feeling like I could just sit and be because things weren’t done to my liking (LOVE that you said that the better statement is that the house doesn’t look the way you want it to look yet). I also know that even now there are things left undone (from the very beginning!), and they may never get done to my liking…. Which leads me to my next comment…
b) the fact that you’re comparing this to a big mixed media project is just brilliant. I love that too… life really *IS* one big mixed media project! There will always be changes that can be made, always things that you see that can be improved in your own eyes, always room to edit and play with it some, etc.. I really love this and want to remember it in my own life.
In fact, i think i’m going to write that on my white board right now. “Life is a mixed media project. Stress less, live more.” <3
About me
a blog about life, cats, and home ownership. all content written by skaja wills. i make art, too, which you can find at www.skajawills.com.
365 Random
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Twitter: angelnsullivan
says:
Virtual hugs, tea AND high fives all coming your way, chicky…
I’ve bared my soul in public. I know it can be HARD hard stuff to do it.
SO proud of you….
Here we go… your word of the year is already kicking in… can’t wait to see where the year goes
<3
*Hugs, Tea, AND high fives*
Twitter: Ellie_Di
says:
I think it’s wonderful and courageous of you to both write the story and to turn down anonymity for its publication. A true moment of showing strength in vulnerability.
I’ve been working more on sharing dark or scary spots in my life through writing, and the feedback I’ve gotten is astoundingly and overwhelmingly positive. The more I do it, the more I truly believe that by sharing our stories we create community. While I’m not terribly good at it yet, every time I hit “publish” I get better.
High fives all around. <3
Twitter: torideaux
says:
I have loved slowing getting to know you, revealed through your darkness, watching as you’ve lit candles and adjusted lamps and bared your soul. With each shadow that melts away, I see more and more of who you are, dark and light all together… thank you for being so brave, and being such an example. *flick* (that’s me, flicking a Bic in my own shadowy soul)
Twitter: subtleharmony
says:
Definitely hugs, tea, and high fives from me! Two words are in my mind right now – brave and courageous. That’s what you are.
One word. Inspiring. <3
I remember that dark time. I didn’t know the details, but knew you were battling for your life. Well done, you.
@Angel: I know you know what I’m talking about with this, because we’ve talked about it. Really grateful for you being there for that.
@Effy: Yay!
@Ellie Di: It was scary and a lot of freaking out, but all of the feedback has affirmed my choice to share. I’m really glad I did. Thanks for the encouragement to publish this.
@Tori: Thanks, you.
@Gin: Thank you. And thanks for the push to publish.
@Tamz: <3
@Dar: Thank you.