I made this artwork the summer of 2024 on my balcony of a sublet. Today I am 54 days without smoking any weed which was a form of self medication I was using for years. I was never high at work or if I had anything important to do, I told myself that made it okay but I was still a daily user. Today I feel new level of depression unlocked. 54 das clean. look at this artwork I made a few years ago and it haunts me that I still feel the same way even though so much has changed. 

I have had mental health issues my whole life and I think I am starting to understand that the mental health issues I face are a bit different than what I think many people are experiencing. For as long as I can remember I have been experiencing intrusive thoughts. Typically they are about violent and graphic things involving me. 

I will jump off the cliff. I will climb the bridge. I will skateboard down this hill. I am chasing something I have never been able to reach. My life flashes before my eyes so constantly that engaging in behaviour like this feels like safety. Proof that I am still alive. Experiencing these things sober is a new terrain park for me. When I am weed free I am more reckless. There is nothing to numb or distract me from the intensity of the feelings. I guess when I was a kid I was experiencing them sober aswell but heres the thing. Since I have been assuming a quick death was inevitable for me for so long that reaching adulthood feels unreal. Where do you picture yourself in the future was always a ridicoulus question to pose because I barley pictured myself being alive.In more recent years I have come to a very satisfying conclusion that this is *very* different from being s*icidal. I am not s*icidal. I wont describe the multiple graphic ways my brain suggests unaliving myself on a daily basis because that is unecessary and they scare me.The point is that they scare me. I am not comforted by the idea of not being here anymore. I am reminded by this on the rare occasions someone reminds me what it is like to actually be s*icidal. To actually want to rid yourself from the earth. I love being here. I love being and making and to my own detriment I love thinking. I occupy this space when I am mentally ill where in one side I feel almost completely normal and then the other side is imposing on me, physical symptoms and ideas I can’t believe my brain has conjured. Today I am feeling almost okay. I am experiencing numbness in my extremities and frequent graphic images but I have a relatively clean home, I ate eggs this morning and I do not feel like smoking weed. madeleine is winning. 

I deleted instagram. It has been 5 days.My relationship with instagram has always been pretty okay but recently the slot machine feeling was so intense during the scroll. Scroll. Im ragebaited. Scroll. Im full of butterflies. scroll. Im inspired. Scroll. Im dejected. Comparing myself. I miss the void. I really do. Writing in a journal or sending my thoughts direcrlty isnt the same. Why do I miss the void. Why am I craving that impersonal connection. Whatever the reason. Im starting a blog. This is my new void.
I have been sad lately. Not a bad sad though. I am listening to a lot of wet leg. Everytime Davina Mccall comes on I can’t stop uncontrollably crying. I dont think I have veen able to feel this strongly in a long time. 

Im crying so much I have to plan it out in my day. I have art I want to share I dont know where it exists yet. Not instagram that’s for sure.