The Girl Who Had A Heart Made of Clouds…Starring Julia Roberts (hahaha)

I did this drawing in Charleston, and it helped me to realize how important drawing has become to me. It is a bit of a redux on my back fence and a painting that used to hang over my great-grandmother’s couch…a young girl napping at the base of a tree, with some Alpine-ish village in the distance. The painting, in objective content, was fairly innocuous. However, I always found it to be a bit ominous. Why was the girl alone? Sleeping?

Perhaps it was unnerving that she never woke up – caught in eternal napping. I associate the picture, for some reason, with war. When I was young, I was fairly certain that the girl was not resting, but hiding.

I have always had an overactive imagination and sometimes the plausibility of the imagined seems to be more…well, plausible…than what we are told is real and vital in our lives.

My imagination is real and vital in my life.

My thumbs have gone numb, the left far worse than the right. I think it has to do with banjo posture, supporting the heavy neck of the instrument with my weak wrists and hands. My hands become bothered fairly easily. I don’t tend to notice until they are swollen and numb. I am still going to play music as much as I can.

It is a strong survival tactic. Nonetheless, I admittedly look like hell in the Song For Whomever is Searching video. I do not have a black eye – I am just tired and a bit drawn…no pun, at all.

I haven’t realized how tired I am, because my schedule has slowed to a fraction of what it was. I tend to rest now when I feel like I need to rest. The last couple of months at work, I was literally woozy and near-disoriented by fatigue. I crave dreaming as much as I do sleep. My body, however, is quick to tire…has been for a long time, since I was sick with the H1N1 back in the fall.

The past couple of days have been a bit busy with the walking and talkingness, preparing for the August birthdays of my children. I really want to be a mom with vitality, but I just seem to get slower and less vital.

I think it has something to do with clouds…I am looking forward to the clear blue skies of October, when there will be no clouds.

I am still strong, but damn – I am tired. Tomorrow is round one of the girl’s birthday acknowledgments. A Bike Riding Extravaganza with a couple of her friends. I am expected to ride a bike. I will be glad to. I look forward to the movement and speed.

I think I am going to get in touch with some prisoner advocacy groups. My primary goal is to use my story and experience to provide insight into the experiences of people who are caught in the psych machine and to raise awareness of the dangers of mis-prescribed medications, especially in regard to children.

I still take medication. Which has side effects and is not good for me. Nonetheless, I respond fairly well to it…a 225 mg dose of venlafaxine, augmented with lorazepam as needed for human-related anxieties. I wish I didn’t feel like I needed it.

Perhaps if my network of support were…well, perhaps if I had a network of support…but, I do not and the circumstances of my walking and talkingness are a bit trying…I am under some fairly heavy scrutiny from various individuals and the consequences of any apparent aberrant mental state, including run-of-the-mill sadness or emotion-based reaction is viewed as evidence of insufficiency as a maternal figure.

Which is sad and emotionally antagonistic…so, what’re you gonna do? Make sure your prescriptions are filled.

The venlafaxine is ridiculously expensive and there was a lapse in my insurance coverage…however, I have gotten off of venlafaxine (Effexor) once before and it was a sickening feeling, everything all pulsing and woozy.

I am not in a position to even consider coming off of it right now.

Who knows what kind of mess my innate chemistry is in after all the tampering over the years. It seems to me that the physiological brain – such a clever and responsive bit of work that it is – would adapt it’s own chemistry to accommodate the introduction of a synthetic.

For every action, there is an equal and opposite…blah, blah, blah…I am not even sure I believe in some of the fundamental tenets of physics anymore.

It seems to me that a lot of actions don’t do a damn thing thing at all…

I hope you all are well and vital. I am going to bed…to ready myself for another day of post-mod anti-pop phenom madness…which mostly consists of domesticity and daydreaming at this point.

Ah, yes…prisoners. I think that I may try to contact some advocacy groups and see what I may be able to do to ease the humanity that is held captive. Maybe just write letters. Maybe draw pictures. Something.

I would love to go tooth and nail against Big Pharm…but, in my current state, I am certain I’d not do much of any consequence. Of course, I hold Big Pharm and the Psychiatric Machine at least somewhat responsible for my current state. But, fuck it – I am one among many…the world is full of weary survivors. I wish we could all sing together. That would make me feel a bit less like perhaps life is simply a hard lesson, full of massive antipathy and complacency and a deep sad, never knowing…

“wherever you are, there you are…” That has never worked for me, as a philosophy. I’m too prone to ask why? Because it makes no sense…I want things to make sense. I don’t want to be useless and lonely and poor due to my own failure to connect the dots the right way. My dots are all f*cked up, a tangled mess of dot and line.

No, it really shouldn’t have been as peculiarly traumatic as it has been…not without good reason…I am trying to find some way to make it feel as if it were all worthwhile.

That is why I want to help people…so I don’t feel like the things I learned from the ache – shared and solitary – and misunderstanding were all for naught…

I want my kids to see me try to stand up for what I believe in…right now, this is as close to standing as I have gotten. I am sitting down. Writing. My left thumb is totally numb. I am going to bed.

My hope is that you are all safe and warm.

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