I know I must sound crazy.
It's this overwhelming sense of dread.
And the heart of all my problems
Is I know it's all my fault.
I've been feeling very angsty lately. I've written freely in a notebook for the first time in years. I've had opinions instead of reactions. I've questioned institution and expectations. My pencil has brushed across paper to sketch out inspired artwork. Some I like. Some brings disappointment, but with a desire to turn the page and improve. God, how I've missed inspiration! I managed to get down the semblance of Sarah. Although, I don't feel I captured her full beauty. Dissatisfaction with self is the only way to improve. Romantically, I'm happy, and I like spending time with my friends. However, my responsibilities aren't working themselves out. My grades are slipping, and the employment I can spare the time for hurts my soul. I think back to when I once created regularly. I painted, drew, and shaded. I wonder if I was this unsatisfied with myself. Is that the only way I can pour expression onto a page? I remember blissful ignorance of my social shortcomings. I had pride. Anyone who didn't like me was wrong then. I lacked female companionship, a very positive portion of me. (I guess I'm sort of needy like that.) I had friends though. What I didn't have was freedom. My artwork reflected a desire to escape, to experience something unusual: dragons, superheroes, demons, weapons, mystical creatures. Fuck you if you just thought "nerd". My reality was dull. Comics and fantasy provided me an escape. Boredom was my inspiration then. Deeper came from the desire to have more, which is the most innately human feeling I know. Then why did I share my art with others? Once again, I wanted more. This time, I wanted attention. That is still a driving force in my disposition. I find that through humor. To drive the creation of aesthetic beauty, it seems my desire for more stems from a need for more from myself. I've not been living up to my abilities, taking the easy route to the extent of not even enjoying my hobbies anymore. Finally, I'm inspired again. I've regained my goal of perfection as well as gained a deeper rut to climb out of. Mixed blessings and wonderful curses.
Old News
I want to be a rock star. I enjoy nothing more than to find some music that puts the rock in me (much like the spirit to an evangelical) and just go nuts. I grab my cheap sony microphone and pretend I have a crowd of thousands moshing to the words that spew from my mouth. There is nothing that creates such a beautiful dichotomy between pain and pleasure. I can get knocked down and around for a good ten minutes in a pit, taking elbows to my back and shoulders to my jaw, falling down just to get jerked back up again. I get out feeling bruised, battered and more alive than ever before. I was driven by the outside force of banging drums, riffing guitars, and driving vocals. I want to be at the head of that. I wanna take the stage and throw up my rock fingers.
I wanna be a stand up comic. I truly respect the ability to make people laugh for an hour straight. I respect it more than the abilty to recite an entire encyclopedia. I've been told I'm a funny guy by several people who may or may not exist. We'll leave that to the courts (That's not funny, btw). I do make the occasional witty comment that sends people reeling, and I definitely make constant attempts at humor that cause people to laugh uncomfortably and out of pity. I have an uncanny ability to recite other peoples' stand up routines, but I haven't taken the time to write down any of my own material. It seems that once you put a joke to paper, it loses a lot of funny. I'll get my scientists working on that right away.
My Greatest Aspect
Like I said before, life experiences are also important when determining the definition of a human. Oftentimes, you can trace most of someone's behavioral patterns to what's gone on in their lives. Occasionally, these behaviors are shaped by a single event. This is true for me. My event occured when I was 14 years old on April 20, 1997. I was outside my church after a youth group meeting when I was struck with dizziness and a sharp pain in the left side of my head. Thinking little of it, I laid down. At some point I lost consciousness. When I came to and looked at my right arm, which I believed was at my side, I saw it grasping my shirt at my chest area. Losing control of a body part, having it move on its own, is a terrifying experience. I faded in and out of consciousness. I had a grand mal seizure and vomited. I was having a major stroke, but I had no idea what was happening to me.
The EMTs arrived and put me in an ambulance. A 40 minute drive to the hospital seemed like a mere 15 to me. The next three days are a blur of electrodes, hospital beds, nurses, doctors, tests, needles, pills, and missed time. When time finally slowed down, I had my own room and my parents explained to me what had happened. An artery in the left side of my brain had closed and my right side was paralyzed.
I spent a month in the hospital, most of my waking time was filled with therapy of different sorts: physical, occupational, speech. It was a month of good surprises and great leaps in recovery. The doctors were amazed the first time I pulled my arm to my shoulder. They oohed and aahed when I moved from my bed to my wheelchair to use the bathroom on my own, when I just wanted to pee without assistance. They were a little frightened when I walked to get ice on my own. Steps like the last were my own decision. I needed to get out of that hospital, and I needed to break free of my restrictions. I eventually regained full range of motion in my right side, and was granted leave from Scottish Rite. My summer was filled with therapy and injections.
I'd do almost anything to have my right side back to normal. My right arm still has near constant mild spasms that are very difficult to control, and I don't have full command of all of the muscles in my right leg. I'd love to be able to play sports and live a completely normal life. I'd love to be able to write or draw with my previously dominant hand. I can't even cut a bagel unassisted anymore.
But, having a stroke, realizing that nothing lasts forever has taught me a lesson that most people don't learn until much later. I'm humbler. Living with a disabilty has taught me to better deal with the minor annoyances... most of the time. Sometimes it all catches up with me, and I snap. But, for the most part, I'm a better person.
