I wrote for help on my facebook on Thursday night out of desperation. It is not the first time in these past 5 years. I always feel embarrassed. It also infuriates me that people who have stayed over, or who I have fed, or treated to movies, meals, etc in the past when I was earning more than them, judge me now, and have the attitude that I should be more like them. It is a lesson for me not to become like them, and that I should be generous always. It is also a learning experience that some people feel entitled to others’ generosity but are stingy when they have more.
An artist who I worked with 10 or so years ago, who left and had a child and went on to study and get an advanced degree is working in academia in the same state as the place I was staying until Sunday. She replied on facebook to go to where she is. I messaged her, and she told me to take a bus, and I am here now. I have been here 2 nights. My friend told me that if I like it here, I can rent an inexpensive room, and may be able to practice art here. We spoke of the challenges of being in that city we were in and the expense and stress of being there. I am amazed by how I am supported. I am safe again. I realize that I was not taking care of myself enough, and worked too hard in the arts, for too little money. I may have been desperate for acceptance. I am considering that I may have been competitive in a closeted way. Its nice to bee in a smaller city, walking around. I miss the friend I was staying with until Sunday. I am glad to be out of the city I was born in; and think that I was addicted to being a native from there, and an artist. I need to look back to my past with demanding parents who were never content nor happy. I need to see why I need so much to be accepted. I was told by my friend who’s house I left that his parents thought I am weird and that they are afraid of me. I do not know if my strangeness is from not feeling like I belong on this earth, and avoiding things that others are used to, and not having the same value system as a result of poverty, or if it is because I choose to be unconventional.
The past 2 nights, since I got here I reflected on what damaged me the most. I used to think that the physical abuse was the worst. I was never pimped, the intercourse was when I was about 10 years old and as I know it only once, and I thought the mental abuse was not harmful. I have been looking online and seeing a lot about sexual abuse and mental abuse survival but not physical abuse. One woman on youtube who’s account is “lovethewiccan3fl” mentions that her father liked to throw her into walls. It is the first time I heard that another person experienced this. She is young, and it seems like she is getting therapy and lives in an apartment. I am about 2 decades older than her, but hope that soon I can live in an apartment and get therapy.
I am in such surprise at the sudden changes in my life. I know I should be practicing gratitude, but I am still letting it sink in that there is life outside of being an artist in one of the global art centers.