The Sandbox

Amnesia, Art, Healing

8/6/17

6:09AM

Authenticity

Up early as I went to bed early. I remain still depressed, moving forward but uninspired. 

A

What feels right…what feels good. 

S

Just moving, A. It doesn’t feel good but it’s right. The other house is much, much clearer. Today I hope to get out for a run soon as it’s been so hot and then I go to the studio for a meeting.

One foot in front of the other but man, I feel a depression inside of me. 

A gloom I can’t shake.

An inability to grasp something that feels good…feels right. 

A

It’s okay. 

S

Is it? Or is this about par for the course? Am I looking for a narrative upon which to hang my depression or is there really none? Is this whole dissociative amnesia theory bullshit?  Do I more simply need medication to cheer me up?

A

Most people would have turned to something. 

S

I wonder about that book I read where the woman went off the deep end doing psychotherapy and it was medication she needed. 

A

What do you think? Do you want to take meds?

S

No. 

A

What feels right…what feels good.

S

A meaningful life which, A, I don’t have. 

A

What gives meaning? 

S

I don’t know. Maybe I just need rest. 

A

Maybe. 

S

Yesterday I did something interesting. 

A

Yes?

S

I took the first section of the book and just put it all up onto the website. It’s disabled. No outside viewer could see it. But it was at least a way to hoist the thing out, just like all the stuff I move out of that house. 

A

And?

S

I haven't had a chance yet to really see how I feel about it. But I got a hit that it was the right general direction. 

A

How so?

S

It was somehow a way to move forward, to clear a path to a next step. To take what feels like has been an endless internal struggle and to move it along. Though I haven’t had a chance to really look at it, it felt like it might be a way for me to be able to see the work better. 

I never really have understood the deepest reason as to why I put so much work up onto the website—what was driving that—why it felt so right (and feels so right) to do. 

But this feels like the same dynamic playing out. 

A need to get the work hoisted up and out to another place. 

A

A change of perspective?

S

Maybe. 

 

8/7/17

6:24AM

Authenticity

I woke yet again depressed this morning. 

I went to the studio yesterday, one foot in front of the other, which usually makes me feel good but yesterday this wasn’t the case. 

A woman introduced me to a friend by saying that I do the same thing—over and over and over again. It was just plain and simple mean and rude. Shortly afterwards, a man who doesn’t even know my name said something also really mean about my body which made so uncomfortable. 

I acted a blithe and un-phased spirit in both cases. 

But as soon as I got into my car…tears. 

And when I got home, more tears there. 

I could feel now what I felt a lot of growing up which was that my summer and my life had turned into a real joy desert; hardly a ping or pang of joy. A persistent gloom inside that’s settled now for weeks. I remembered how very few moments I had growing up where I felt happy; the feeling of joylessness now and then clashing together as I remembered and felt my past acutely inside of me. 

I woke this morning to thinking that nothing feels good, nothing feels right, except taking my Sandbox time this morning to research if antidepressants might be the way to go. 

A

Nothing wrong with that.

S

I did have a positive, I think, thing happen yesterday—barely noticeable but it was a change. 

A

Yes?

S

I was running at the lake, like I’ve been doing for years and years. Every time I go past this one section where I fell in March of 2014 and gashed my arm so bad I had to go the ER I get scared and hesitant. I slow down, feel a sadness and fear kick in, and I carefully slow down, remember my fall and walk past it. 

Yesterday—and I lapped the lake twice—I went past both times without fear. Without even thinking about it. 

And I wondered if it was a sign of healing that particular PTSD that lasted for years. 

Healing is that way, I keep proving to myself; it just sneaks up on you when you’d least expect it. 

And maybe this will be the case around this depression I’ve been feeling for a while now. 

A

We are in the desert right now but remember, this will not last forever. Try and have hope. Try and have faith. Remember it was you who wrote these words…

***

The story of my waking up from dissociative amnesia began in January of 2013. By November of that same year the Sandbox was born and for years the story has evolved. 

For much of it, however, I was groggy, more in a state of waking than being awake. I was not conscious that I was healing, not conscious that this was a healing journey. Like a broken bone knitting itself back together without instruction, I was working hard—but from the inside out—without real context or perspective. 

Until one day I felt better, like a a pristine fresh water lake suddenly appearing in front of my eyes after miles of walking in the desert. 

 

Every piece relates to the others but every piece is also unique. This is what it means to have a voice. Do not let someone's meanness steal your joy. 

Every piece relates to the others but every piece is also unique. This is what it means to have a voice. Do not let someone's meanness steal your joy.