Belonging

When you struggle to find your place
In such a vast and busy world
Where is your belonging
Where is your grace?

Who are you, without others
Can you still belong
To something even when it's nothing
How do you get along
When it's been a long time
And the path is a dead end
Where is your courage
When do you begin again?

The exhaustion is great
And not much energy is left to spare
So what do you do
Where do you go
When you feel nothing in the air
It's been too long
But you still must fight
For something will appear in the foggy night. 

It's been too long
But you still must fight
For something will appear in the foggy night. 

The Art of Solitude

So, I've just calculated that I am coming up on my 2 year anniversary... of single-hood. I'd like to view this as a celebration rather than a pity party, because I think that valuing my time being completely independent is important. Today, I went to an outdoor concert all by myself. It was good to experience-- to feel the loneliness and solitude for what it is, and to rid the insecurity and shame that can go with it. It's important to enjoy your own company, because if you can't than who else will?

I sat on the lawn of this mini festival alone for two hours, surrounded by couples with their children running around joyously, watching the various bands perform on stage. I felt exposed and insecure at times, but would just notice those anxieties ebb and flow. It was a good practice. I didn't talk to anybody, just observed my surroundings, and tried to feel comfortable and safe in my own skin in my own solitude.

I'm glad I went, because I wanted to go. Usually, I wouldn't go to events that interested me if I didn't have anyone to go with. But because friends and date prospects have been so consistently bleak as of late, I couldn't let my fear of exposed lonesomeness stop me from enjoying things in life any longer. I had to break that cycle, and today I did just that. And I am very proud of myself for that.

The thirties are so different from my twenties. As the majority of my friends and family start committing all their time to their significant others and families, going out and doing fun activities aren't as common as they were in my twenties. So, I can only hope that my turn will come to find that special someone, to essentially do everything with. But I am also not trying to just settle down with anyone just because I want to escape loneliness, so I'm practicing to enjoy my own company for now, and to not be shameful or insecure about it either.

I'd like to see it, this practice of exposed solitude, as an art. There is a beauty that goes along with doing things alone, and for everyone to witness. Instead of feeling sorry for people partaking in these activities of solitude (myself included), I'd rather commend them for their bravery and self-reliance (myself included!). Not that I want to participate in this solitude forever, but there is something to be said for this unique kind of experience in life. So, instead of choosing shame and insecurity, I'll choose gratitude.

Value System

I have realized that loans in the United States are against my value system and moral code. Why, you ask? Because I have just been paying theses loan companies money, right into their pocket, and have not even been paying off my debt. It's infuriating, because it's the capitalization of money, and at the poor's expense. It's disgusting, if you ask me. Why kick people when they are down? Pick on someone your own size.

So why would I take out more loans? Borrowing money from them has not helped me climb the social class latter in the past, and I don't even want to climb the corporate latter either. Because, again, I don't believe in corporate. Because I've realized it's against my moral code. So now what? It's this dichotomy of our culture around money that just seems insane if you ask me.

I was accepted into graduate school. But that means taking out more loans. So what to do now? Go against my value system anyway? What is my value system?

Maybe my study field of choice isn't worth me taking out loans. Maybe I need to choose something that is worth taking out loans for. But what would that be? Do I really want to become a clinical mental health counselor?

Maybe the "health" field is not for me. Because it is also a business like everything else. So I'm not sure what I'm going to do. All I know is I really don't want any more debt. But I also want to invest in my future. So I have to take some time to reflect if this is the type of future I truly want for myself.

Why am I public blogging?

You know, I really don't know. I could just be writing this all in my journal, keeping my thoughts to myself. But alas, here I am on a blog.

So why am I writing this on a public domain?

I honestly, really, don't know. I'll have to report back on that one.

The Handless Maiden

"The maiden is like a postpartum woman. She rises from the underworld birthing chair where she has

given birth to new ideas, a new life view. Now she is veiled, her babe is given to breast, and she 

goes on. In the Grimm brothers' version of 'The Handless Maiden,' the newborn child is male and is 

called Sorrowful. But in the Goddess religions, the spiritual child born from the woman's venture 

with the king of the underworld is called Joy."

- Clarissa Pinkola Estés, Ph.D. "Women Who Run With The Wolves," Chapter 14- La Selva Subterránea: Initiation in the Underground Forest. "The Handless Maiden," The Fifth Stage-- The Harrowing of the Soul,  p. 441.

Withdrawal

Today I am blogging to blog. I am frustrated, and I need to vent. It's quite coincidental (or just synchronistic) that I named this blog Venturous Joy. Not only am I an adventurous spirit and currently venturing internally and externally for my own soul searching, I am literally venting, too. So, this blog is aptly named.

I'm pissed. With my father. My car's brakes need to be fixed and my insurance got cancelled, so it is currently off the road. Therefore, I am stranded on a fucking mountain and I can't really get anywhere, and ultimately my dad can't go and get his booze. So he is losing his shit, and being really mean. At this point, after all this time living here and trying to figure out ways to get him off the bottle, I'd rather just give him a drink. Because then he'd be nicer. And that royally sucks.

To stay productive (which has been the good thing out of being immobile), we started to do some landscaping around the house-- like split and stack wood, clearing up all the shit that's been hanging around the backyard. Both my brothers tend to just dump their shit here, like it's a dump yard. I think it's really disrespectful that they do that. What is it about disrespecting and being mean to the ones we love the most? Why do we do it?

Despite my brothers' mess, it's been keeping my dad busy and, in my opinion, keeping his mind off of the alcohol. He stopped working for a few months now, ever since his working partner passed away. But he's now 63, so is probably in retirement mode anyway-- except that he has no retirement fund. Regardless, clearing up the backyard has been a helpful summer project.

The thing is I just can't be around him anymore. He's always criticizing everything I do, and I won't have it. I just can't imagine all the people who stay in relationships when their partner is verbally or emotionally abusive, let alone physically and sexually abusive. My father never abused me, except for neglect, which is a real form of abuse, and I'm sad to say that I'm grateful that it wasn't other kinds. But it doesn't mean that emotional or psychological abuse is okay. No abuse is okay. I've witnessed and endured my share in my lifetime, and I see right through the bullshit and won't allow it into my life anymore.

So, I'm obviously blogging for the reasons why I always blog, because it is therapeutic. Growing up, I always saw my mother writing, always. So I believe I take after her in that respect. I am grateful, and glad I followed in her example instead of my father's, which would have been to turn to drugs and alcohol. I am so grateful that I didn't take that route.

I know that he is being mean because he is going through a withdrawal of alcohol and cigarettes. But I also will not stand in the way to be teared down in the process. It's like I don't even care about helping him anymore. I really don't. So, I've been keeping my distance, not speaking a word to him, and if I do and he starts to become verbally abusive, I will throw those darts right back, because I can fight. But I'd rather just keep the peace and avoid him.

Hospital Hill

During the winters throughout my childhood, I remember going to "Hospital Hill," to go sledding. It was a great big hill, perfect for sledding. It was called "hospital hill" because the hill used to be part of a psychiatric hospital. The story is, that hospital eventually closed down, leaving all its patients to care for themselves, eventually ending up homeless on the streets of Northampton. I also heard terrible stories about how they tortured their patients at that place, as well as ghost stories of school busses being pulled up the that hill by the spirits left behind. Today, there is still a large portion of homeless people in Northampton, and I just wonder if there is a connection to the many psychiatric patients who were abandoned and left behind at that hospital so many years ago.

Today, as I find myself embarking into the field of mental health, I notice all these memories come back to me which relate. I believe that the mental health and psychiatric practices have vastly changed since, say 50 years ago, and I trust that the field is going in a more ethical and healing direction towards wellbeing-- while ceasing to ostracize those who struggle with mental illness. Because after all we are all human, and should all be treated as equals.

Strawberry Moon

So, they say that tonight, June 20th, will be a "Strawberry Moon"; which supposedly got its name from Algonquin tribes, meaning the full moon comes in sync with the summer solstice, and the fruits are ready for picking.

I also know when the full moon is here because I begin to develope insomnia. It happens almost every full moon lately. But I just roll with it. Like the tides of the ocean.

I like to hear about Algonquin traditions, because I have Algonquin ancestors. My mother told me she remembers her grandparents telling her Algonquin stories. I told her that I'd like to hear those stories someday, if she can remember them.

 So, Happy Summer Solstice, Full Moon, Strawberry Moon. Don't forget to howl tonight.

p.s. not sure why the date and time is displaying Sunday, June 19th at 10:27pm. It is in fact Monday, June 20th at 1:28am.

Full Disclosure: Childhood Trauma & Sexual Abuse

To give a back-story of my reasoning for this disclosure, I am going through two specific kinds of ventures in life right now: 1.) I am researching higher education degree programs to attend to for a career path (essentially, my future), and 2.) I am venturing through the struggles of living with my father and oldest brother (essentially bringing up my past). Now, I am inevitably putting the two (my future and my past) together, and what has been the result? Psychology and Mental Health. There you have it.

So, while being in this cross-sectional state of research, I looked up the definition of sexual abuse, and I was led to this website through the American Psychological Association. It was entitled "Open Up! Writing About Trauma Reduces Stress, Aids Immunity." The article was basically saying that the more you disclose about your traumas, the more you heal from the traumatic symptoms-- like depression, anxiety and PTSD. This article was written in 2003, and since then, to my knowledge, this method of disclosure has been discredited by some psychologists, but only in terms as an effective talk therapy for healing. However, as a form of personal disclosure, such as journaling/blogging, this discredit does not apply. 

Therefore, I am going to test this theory. So, here we go. Full disclosure: Because my goal is to heal.

When I was six years old, I was molested by my twelve year old brother. All I remember was that he wanted to to try something new that he had learned (he was hitting puberty after all), and decided to use me to try and experiment with it. This was going to be my first experience with any kind of sexual encounter-- at the age of six. The thing is, I didn't even know what sex was at the time, and was too young to understand whether it was something I wanted to participate in or not.

About a year later when I was about 7 years old, my three siblings, cousin, and I were all at my Nana's house. I remember we were all upstairs in one of the bedrooms, when the same brother suggested we all play, "Truth or Dare." At some point in this game, he then dared my cousin, who was about 13 at the time, to "have sex" with me. I remember my brother literally picking me up to try and put me on top of my cousin, as if I were a play doll, all while my other two siblings watched. But by this time, I knew that I didn't like what he was trying to do, and I left the room. That night I went crying to my mother, and I told her what had happened. She was upset and called my aunt to inform her as well, and then continued to comfort me. The thing is, I don't think I disclosed everything, including the fact that it was my brother who was behind the whole "dare," and that he had tried it on me a year earlier. Therefore, no repercussions were made towards my brother at that time. All I knew was that what had happened wasn't right, because I felt violated. And what was important was that this time I had the courage to speak up and tell someone.

A year later, I was about 8 years old, and my brother would have this one friend over often, they were now 14 years old. You could say that I had developed a little crush on this friend of my brothers. One time he came over and somehow we ended upstairs alone together. My father and my other brother were outside in the garage, and I don't remember my oldest brother even being home at the time, which was strange because it was his friend who was over. He then led me to the downstairs bathroom to get into the bathtub, and then it became all too familiar of what was about to happen, again. But I knew better this time, and it was something that I knew I didn't like. It was then that I learned to say NO! right in that moment. He tried to convince me to stay, but I got out of that tub and got myself out of the situation. I had finally learned to say no, on my own, at eight years old.

About two years later, I was 10 years old. I was watching TV with the same old brother, he was now 16 years old. I was sitting on the floor close to the TV, and he was sitting behind me on the couch. He then asked me, "hey, do you wanna get it on?," while snickering. I told him that it wasn't funny because we both knew about what he had put me through previously. He laughed and said it was just a joke, but then asked again anyway. Furious, I ran upstairs, wrote my mother a note of exactly what had happened, and then ran down the street to these gravel banks where I would sometimes play. I waited until dusk to walk back home. By the time I got back, my mother had kicked my brother out of the house, and he went to live with my Nana. The molestations were over.

It wasn't until much later into my adulthood that I would tell all my immediate family members about everything that had happened to me. It was in fact freeing for me. I had disclosed to all but one person: confrontation with my brother. This sexual abuse had impacted me greatly, and I knew I was going to have to confront him at some point in my life, I just didn't know when. But when he came back to live with my father and I, the inevitable was likely to happen. So, of course, now that all the trauma has been resurfacing ten-fold within these past few weeks, confrontations have been made. 

Well, that's where I'm at with the whole process. We'll see if my symptoms of depression, anxiety and PTSD start to subside now.

UPDATE: To begin, my deliveries in confrontation at first had unfortunately been out of anger, and therefore my brother would deny any of my traumatic experiences ever happening. But to give an update, eventually, we successfully had a confrontation, a conversation, and genuine apologies were made. I feel so grateful to have worked out this trauma with my brother, it doesn't feel like trauma anymore. Let this be an example of the power of healing through personal disclosure, confrontation, constructive communication, and reconciliation. 

Here is the website to the article:

http://www.apa.org/research/action/writing.aspx

Disowned

I had a dream the other night that my mother stopped believing in me, and disowned me. Then told me to go be a stripper.

Well, that's just life I guess.

Ferns and Thorns: The Values of Art and Creativity

As I sit outside, on my little hand-made patio/walkway between two stone walls, I observe my surroundings. There are two types of plants growing out from the walls-- a thorned type of plant, and ferns. One, a plant has a defense mechanism with its thorned protection, and the other, just green and free. These two plants, I think, are representative of my father. But I will leave that metaphorical correlation to the imagination for another time.

However, I will use this fern and thorn plant symbolism to my creative advantage as well-- because, that is just what happens with a creative mind. I write this blog simply for my own wellness. And for that, I share this publicly, for maybe you will gain an insight on the power writing-- as a self-expression and self-working tool. "Believe in the power of art and creativity," is what my mother used to say to me, and taught me to believe in too. I always have to this day, and I always will.

We only tend to value a selected few artists, many willing to spend hundreds, thousands, on ones art. Why is that? What sets these artists apart from the millions of other artists around the world? If you want to know my honest answer, it's conceit and effective marketing. That's it. It's a source of insurmountable self-belief and drive to expose your art to the world, trying to convince people that your art is different, more valuable than the rest. Not that anything is wrong with conceit, it's just about how much one has of it.

Therefore, in this culture, if your conceit is high, your value is high. If your value is high, the more likely you are to receive monetary compensation for your art. Because, after all, money is our society's ultimate value symbol. So, to tie this in with the symbolism, the paid artists of world are like the thorned plants, they are not free, they are just protected. But then you have the artists who make art, because they must. It's a means of survival, to keep their mind and heart clean. It is a purging. So, why have conceit over the purge? It doesn't matter, because the art is just the digestion of ones internal work. The art, after all, does not matter, so what use will it be to someone else? That's why these artists don't put a price on their beautiful piece of digestion. Somehow, to me, these kinds of artists equate to the ferns. And somehow, they hold a more meaningful type of value for human wellbeing.

For these fern artists, the art ends up holding value not so much in the product, but the in the process of healing the artist receives from it. And this value is priceless.

Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day weekend. The weather is beautiful, and all I want to do is be with the friends that I really don't have, and to have a fun time. But, today was the day that it really hit me. I am alone. As much as I want to be hopeful about love, I can't help but feel the depression. I do want love, to create a family of my own. Although I never really talk about it and am usually private about it, there is this deep yearning that is just undeniable.

While I can try my best to be content and practice gratitude daily, perhaps that is my problem. Maybe I'm trying to be content in a situation where I'm truly not, and I'm harming myself in the process due to the dishonesty with my true feelings. I am grateful for many things. But for some reason, living back with my father and now also oldest brother, I feel more alone that I have ever felt, even more than when I was living alone.

Even though I remain in this admitted depression, I do still practice gratitude daily. But if I were to give a progress report on my learnings, I would say to not settle with people just because you don't want to be alone, or because you have nowhere else to go. You are better off taking that leap of faith and jumping ship, than to continue living with those who don't or can't help you grow. Now, I understand all those relationships and marriages where two people stay together because it's comfortable, or because they are too dependent on each other financially or emotionally. But underneath it all, they are gravely unhappy, not growing mentally, emotionally, or spiritually. I feel for those people now. I understand now.

I am still not working, and have no income. I am trying to start my own freelance business of sorts, but I am completely reliant on my father for shelter and oldest brother for food at this time. I can tell you that I am extremely grateful for them, because they are, in fact, taking care of me in that way. I am also grateful to get to know them better as people, for they are the two family members whom I really knew the least throughout my childhood. They were also the two I have suffered the most from psychologically, or at least I think they are... So, inevitably, it has not been easy living with them. Despite their providing, in which I'm sure they might take great pleasure (or great burden) from, food and shelter are only one part of the puzzle of well-being. What about the spiritual, mental and emotional growth? Because that IS just as important.

So, I just feel trapped, like I'm in a stalemate, and I don't know how to get out. I remember reading a quote once by a contemporary singer, songwriter and producer, Frank Ocean, who said, "never run back to whatever broke you." Well, it was my father and oldest brother who I think really caused the most of my internal damage-- although they may not realize it now, or were unaware of the amount of damage they caused at the time. But this is why I feel so alone. I am completely foolish to be living back in the house that held so many of my broken childhood memories? Or am I extremely brave and wise in doing so?

Either way, I do believe that I am here for a reason, and there is something I still have yet to discover and learn before I can move on. I just won't see it until it is behind me. But whatever it is, I hope it comes soon, before I feel like I shrivel up and wither away.

Room With The Weeping Willow

Nana's house was always a safe haven, or as her second son, my father would say, a "safe heaven." I went to that safe heaven last night. It was beautiful. Nana brought me to this special room off the side of her house that I have never been before. It was a big, open and sunny room. The ceiling rose so high, and there was a giant weeping willow in it. It's feathered limbs swayed in the breeze that gently came through the tall glass wall windows. It was so peaceful, it was so beautiful. I thanked Nana for bringing me to this special place. It was a most special moment, because it was her safe heaven.

This Fucking Mouse

Every night, like clockwork, this fucking mouse decides to take laps around my fucking ceiling like it's training for the fucking Boston Marathon. Always in the middle of the fucking night too, mind you. It's 12:30 fucking am right now. Like damn, Mouse, why now? Why not midday when I'm not fucking trying to sleep? Please, Mouse, please. I ask you to get your exercise at a reasonable fucking hour, or just get the fuck out my house. It's springtime now anyhow, so you'll be fine outside.

Or just chill the fuck out.

But alas, it still makes its laps as I type........................................................

Rock Bottom

If I were to ever know what rock bottom felt like in life, now is that time. I believe I have reached the bottom. It's dark, it's cold, it's lonely and completely lost. I'm trying to search for my lifeline, the rope to help me climb out of this empty dark well. I look up and see light, but I just can't seem to figure out how to get there, to get out of the darkness. People say to just move. Do something, anything. There are things I have done, but it feels like I'm just running on a treadmill, out of breathe and haven't gotten anywhere. If this isn't rock bottom, then I don't want to know what is.

One thing I did learn yesterday while getting lost in the woods, searching for the "answers":

"If you are lost and you can't find the path you were on, create a new one."

I can only pray that there is no where else to go but up from here.

Survival

So, update: I didn't end up going to the orientation. I had a nervous breakdown all morning on the first day. I also had a nervous breakdown right before the second interview the week prior, too. So, like a little kid when I didn't want to go to school, I listened to myself, and just didn't go. 

Here's the thing, when our emotions and body react to certain situations, we are usually in fight or flight mode, and it's usually important to listen to those emotions. We are taught to "just suck and up and show up," even if we are feeling extremely negatively towards the situation. However, if we are feeling and telling ourselves this everyday, what is that telling us about the self-care of ourselves? Or is this just internal "tough-love"?

Well, I payed attention to my reactions. I listened to that voice that kept saying, "this isn't right, this isn't right." At least not right for right now. It reminded me of the days I struggled in middle school. I dreaded each day as I woke up in the morning, until I made a change one day to switch schools-- which ultimately made my high school experience one of the most happiest times of my life, believe it or not. But would my high school experience have been great regardless, had I not made the switch? I will never know.

It seems to be that the ultimate internal debate is changing environment vs. changing attitude. Well, if you think about environment, there are thousands of species who thrive in one ecosystem over others. Why try seeing if they will survive in the environments in which they struggle, if there is a way out to something that is better for them? Is this so wrong to find environments that bring us nourishment and happiness? Does this make them weak if they have a place to go that is just easier for them to survive? When did the priority of self-nurturement become such a taboo?

If you ask me, happiness is not a luxury, it is a means of survival as well. I don't want my life goal to be suffering, I want my life goal to be happiness. And even though I will struggle inevitably, at least I'll know it will be worth it for the betterment of my well-being.

Because while you can be physically alive in this world, you can still very well remain spiritually, mentality, and emotionally dead. And that, in my opinion, is no way to live.

We'll see, though. Maybe my attitude will eventually change. I mean, didn't all of our species evolve from fish? I am happy staying a fish for now.

Vocation

Well, I start the new job orientation today. Although, yet again, I don't feel a strong connection with it (it's more like a "should do" to try something new), I have to remember that every experience is a learning experience. And although I don't think it is the truest career path for me, because I still don't know and am still in "exploration mode," I am just going to try it anyway. Because, to be honest, it's been two years since I quit my last job and, well, I just have to do something. So, wish me the best-- and that this will lead me to some kind of better understanding and clarity of myself and my inner vocation.

Idle Hands

Our culture is centered around staying busy. What if I don't want to be busy all the time? I'm not sure if I like that word. It just sounds like a feeling of constant obligatory action-- which doesn't really sound like enjoyable action. A few obligations a week sounds better to me. I understand staying in motion is good to keep the wheels turning, because you know the saying-- that "idle hands is the devil's workshop." But then again, we are also living in a culture that is making meditation more trendy-- which is in fact, very idle hands.

I don't want to be busy. I just want to enjoy life in everything I do, whether my hands are idle or not.

The Post About Nothing

For the first time in my life, I am doing Nothing. I do not have a job, I am not going to school, I am not in a relationship. I do not have one cent to my name, and I currently live with my father who is providing for me. I sleep most of the time. And when I am not sleeping, I am either eating or watching internet TV shows or Facebooking. Which I still equate to Nothing.

This is depressing. I know.

For the first time in my life, I feel like am exploring what it's like to really have nothing going for myself. Except the fact that I am living with my long lost father. So really, that is the only work I have accomplished, by reconnecting with him. So I guess I am delving into this Nothingness for a reason. And that is in fact Something.

It's still depressing though.

But now I feel like I have to shake myself out of it. I just HAVE to start doing again. Get back out there again. Take my life back again. I am going to trust that this Nothingness happened for a reason. It's been almost two years. And in my heart I feel that it is time to move on.

I must change my scenario once again. Or else I am afraid I will be stuck here for a very long time. I don't want to remain stuck here. Although I am so grateful for this opportunity to come back home and reconnect with my father. But I must get my wheels turning again, or I might as well just die. And I don't want to die.