Just like a drug addict who swears they’ll get well and then soon after relapses, that’s where I’m at with this blog. I don’t do things by halves. When I start something I enjoy I throw myself into it and it quickly takes over my life, consuming time and attention until other things fray at the edges. That pattern has repeated itself across many interests over the years, and it’s exactly what happened to this blog. I deleted hundreds of entries — so much time lost — because I couldn’t write consistently enough, and as with past obsessions I would either spiral into over-sharing about my mental health or worry that my writing simply wasn’t engaging anyone. It’s like the newcomer to the YouTube vlog craze who believes they have enough material for daily videos, only to find it’s much harder to generate fresh content constantly and maintain the initial thrill. I didn’t want writing to become stale, a tedious chore I’d force myself to do just so I could claim the day hadn’t been entirely wasted — or more often, the late night or early morning, since I’m locked in an ongoing battle with this bitch called insomnia. We’re very well acquainted. (The time is 4:57am)
It’s easy for me to kick back and butcher some words and spill out some stuff that should really be confidential, and for some reason it always seems sensible to do this in the moment. I feel satisfied with the five pages I’ve just produced — right up until the instant after I hit the publish button and the unease of exposure quietly sets in.
I enjoy writing; there’s an art to it after all, and I must admit I have no natural flair for literature. Remember, I’m a high school dropout, and when I was there I paid very little attention to the curriculum. I was far too busy having a good time, and that carefree attitude showed up plainly in my grades. There are a couple of classes I now wish I had taken more seriously, English being one of them. The way education is structured means you need to grasp those early lessons to get a sense of where things build and take off in later years. I never did that, so most of my subjects, outside of art, were effectively complete gibberish to me. So please look past my spelling, punctuation, and general grammar — they are admittedly atrocious.
So let’s set some ground rules, Dave. Let’s bring up some things I will touch on in this blog and then they’re out, so I don’t have to tippytoe around them again. I may write about bits and pieces of my history in future posts, but I feel it’s safer for my sanity to keep many of these matters close to my chest. Most people who know me have a little insight into my psychiatric adventures, some more than others — thank you, Mum and Dad (and the Victoria Police, Beleura Private Hospital, and to my many shrinks). I’ve had over twenty stints in hospital, been a guinea pig for dozens of different medications, battled drug and alcohol issues with a few stays in the rehab ward, and lost friends and family along the way. I’m doing it again… too much info, Dave. But now it’s on the interwebs for the whole world to view — exactly what I didn’t want. Anyway, there it is; I’m glad that’s finally out of the way. One thing I will never do is bring up my main diagnosis casually. I hate using the term and prefer to mention it only on a genuine need-to-know basis. It carries too much stigma, people often misunderstand it, and it unfairly cops a bad wrap.
I am single. I don't want a wife, a girlfriend, children, a mortgage, or any of those other financial obligations and traps. I'll save the rest for the next blog — my feelings and chosen lot in life are personal and something I hold dear.
Stuff it — I’ll post it here. This may offend a lot of people, and that’s intentional. Good! Many of them deserve the difficult predicaments they find themselves in. It unsettles me when I think of the very young and the future facing the infants their mothers have brought into the world. Why bring them into this mess? I know this reads like a familiar, somewhat stereotypical train of thought — many people share it — but I can’t help feeling it. I have lost hope in my own future; perhaps humanity shouldn’t expect much either. Still, there are the proud mums pushing their babies in strollers, each infant as sweet and vulnerable as the next. Every generation claims their era is the worst, but in this instance the claim feels painfully accurate. We are clearly running on borrowed time. Why bring another human into such a bleak existence? Is it love, desperation, or sheer selfishness?
Most of these parents smile and go to jobs they hate to pay the mortgage, childcare, credit cards that are maxed out on necessities like food and medical bills, but it always comes back to bite you. I don’t need the latest phone or that brand new car (to get me to a job I hate to pay the car off), and then there’s the childcare trap where parents sometimes pay as much as they earn for a single day. I don’t want the property taxes. I don’t need the swimming pool or caravan. I live life largely debt free, and because of that I enjoy a quieter, happier existence. I’m not missing out on a thing, people. Some may find it sad that I don’t desire or strive for these trappings. HA! I couldn’t be happier. I have never been good with commitment, especially to things like the above. I value my TRUE freedom. I’m responsible for myself: my finances, my choices, my ability to wake in the morning and simply say screw it — I’m sleeping in. No packed lunches for social lunches or pressured dinner parties; I can dedicate my day to watching Netflix with not a care. My momentous expenditures are my prepaid mobile bill, my minimal web hosting fee (and if I didn’t pay that you wouldn’t be reading this right now), and medications that cost about ten bucks. There will always be car issues and fuel is dear, but that’s inevitable and I do get half‑price registration. Most people don’t have five hundred bucks for emergencies! I’m getting off point here. All I am saying is I’m a pessimist with a pretty bleak outlook on life. I wish I didn’t, but how can one watch the news — not the sanitized mainstream pieces, but the real happenings around the world — and rest easy? Just because the sun is out and the birds are chirping does not mean it will be like this forever. I don’t want to get too conspiratorial on you; I’ll leave that for another blog… maybe?! GO PLANET EARTH!!
My one true outlet is art — and web design. I’m in a bit of a pickle at the moment because the art store doesn’t open for another week, which is why I finally have time to write silly little blogs like this. I plan on going epic when the stores do open. First, I’m going to raid Officeworks and grab as much paint as I can from the Mornington location, then make the oh-so-enjoyable trip into Frankston to hunt for some reasonably priced canvases. Once the art shop reopens I’ll place a proper, slightly extravagant order. I’ve got the creative juices flowing and a concrete plan: an eight-part series built from these sessions. I already have plenty of ideas — and if someone wants to lend me 2K to speed things along, that would be very welcome! LOL
As usual, I’ve given too much of myself, but I need to be tougher, braver, and stop worrying so much about what others think. I remember my 92‑year‑old grampa telling me, just weeks before he passed, “One thing you learn as you get older: you give fewer Fs about what others think.” It was the first time I’d ever heard him use that kind of colourful language, and it really stuck with me. I’m on my way, Gramps, though people still manage to bring me down now and then. I’m not one to dress up much, and the world is forever telling me to change pieces of clothing I’ve worn a thousand times. I’m not at your stage yet, Gramps, but I’ve got another fifty years to work on it. This was the old boy who’d cruise the nursing home with a hidden bottle of red or whiskey tucked away in his electric scooter. I miss him terribly….
Another joyous thing I went through for two and a half months. I did a couple of stints in rehab for alcohol. I don’t want you guys to picture me as a raging alcoholic or assume I had a massive problem. I often felt like a lightweight compared with some of my hospital housemates. I was surrounded by people with jaundice who consumed bottles of spirits every day, some of them in their fifties. Many patients were there because they were court ordered. And then there was little old me who had simply been drinking a few beers too many. There were various levels of dependency, but mine was on the low end. It was connected to the psych program I’d been through sooo many times, and rehab had been suggested to me. I went to the classes, though I mostly felt they were a waste of time. I have now been sober seven months, but none of those programs is what truly helped me. I’ve been warned that people need outside support and can’t quit on their own. I call BS. I did it for myself, by willpower, and for the most part it has felt like a breeze. I have developed a real hatred for booze and never want to drink again. I know that’s what many hungover people say the morning after, but for me this resolve is long term.
To jump from one topic to another, this elaborates on my thoughts on marriage and children and everything that comes with those expectations. I enjoy my own company deeply. If I had my way I would be the only inhabitant on earth — just me and Amy Winehouse, keeping each other’s counsel. I only have a small network of friends and some members of the family tolerate me at best. I’m happiest when I’m on my lonesome. I keep up with a few acquaintances on Bookface, which is much easier than trying to catch up with people in person in the real world. It’s a real struggle to leave the house and if I do manage to go out it feels like a major outing. I don’t want sympathy; I want to be left alone. This attitude inevitably works its way into my art. Outside of art school I have never painted around other people — it’s a solitary task. Just me and the spinning tracks of Tool or Pink Floyd, losing myself in the process. “How will you ever find a girlfriend, Dave?” Um, I won’t. Poor me!
So! I’ve given you the basics in this rather long post. I doubt you made it this far in the blog—if you even started it at all—but if you did, thanks for sticking with me. The next update will arrive in a couple of weeks as I continue to document the progression of my latest art adventure. Maybe by then I’ll have something more concise and interesting to write about than this long-winded mess. Thanks again for stopping by!