recovery

Uncle 2.0 (A kinder gentler surrender.)

/ StaceyRose / Leave a comment

When I began the graduate school application process I tried to maintain the belief that no matter the outcome, “good” or “bad”, that it had nothing to do with my ability to write or my value as a writer. I probably should have taken it to the next level and said that it had nothing to do with my value as a human being, because ultimately it doesn’t.

Grad school was to me was about what I valued.  I value education.  I enjoy becoming educated. Academia is my home girl.  However, I do realize that there are non-conventional ways of receiving the education I desire, and if it ends up that those are the avenues I have to stroll down that it is okay.  The sting of my experience comes from valuing the means of getting my education more than I do the education itself.

There is a balance I seek to find between my desire to achieve and the realization that my achievements do no supersede my humanity. There is absolutely nothing wrong with me wanting to succeed, but that success should not come at the expense of what really matters, my life and happiness. Looking back over the last few months I can see that I have been highly driven, but not exactly enjoying my life, even during times that were intended to be enjoyable.

I’m entering an easier phase of surrender as I continue to raise my white flag and wave it at Tisch Asia (the game is not entirely over, but it appears to be a blow out). At this point, I’m not too clear on “what’s next”.  I’m still feeling some residual yuckiness, but I know it is dangerous for me to live here.  I want to hide because I am embarrassed and ashamed, but I won’t.  Instead I’ll volunteer to be the fool that is brave enough to fail fantastically and be willing to tell the tale.

Rosie.

This Old House.

/ StaceyRose / Leave a comment

Recovering from co-dependency is being ripped away from everything you once knew to be true and being shoved out into the cold to figure out a new truth on your own (seeking outside support is highly recommended from my experience). Each step I take toward my new truth leaves a trail of uncertainty, fear and regret on my heels, just waiting for me to slip and fall back into my old ways of operating. The misconception I’ve had is that I can’t make mistakes. If I did –– I believed –– it would mean I was completely wrong and should never have left the comfort of my mother’s strangling skirt strings.

Thankfully, my beliefs are growing. They are the tiny multicolor buds in a flowering garden of possibility grown out of determination to do something different, and the desire to find out who I was really put here to be. In my heart I know I was not meant to be ordinary. Not that there is anything wrong with ordinary, it’d probably be easier on my tiny co-dependent soul if I were. I know I’m not though, in the same way a dog knows it’s not a cat, and a transgendered person knows that there is something not quite right with the body they were born into. So the work I’m doing now, is necessary.

The most difficult part? Not having the full support of the people I love, my family. While some members have supported my transition into being a full time artist from day one, others have been a harder sell. Now with me doing something as “impractical” as moving to Singapore to pursue a degree that I can get in the States, it feels like the bottom is falling out. Those that were supporting me are wavering and I’m in a revolving non-verbal stand off with those that don’t. It hurts. It hurts like fucking hell, but if I look back now I don’t know if I’ll ever get the courage to move forward again.

Building on a shifting foundation is rough. It feels like I’m flipping an old and rusty house. With every repair I make I find a new issue, like termites or a leaky roof. Termites and roofs be damned, I’ll build over, under, and through if I have to because I’m sick and tired of the rickety old abode of my life. There is a garden out there, that’s waiting to wrap itself around a regal brick home on a solid foundation to compliment it’s beauty.

Rosie.

Kick. Push.

/ StaceyRose / 1 Comment

over the last few weeks i’ve been bathing in disappointment in some form or another; quasi-unrequited love, abandonment issues, re-hashing of and working through extremely  difficult childhood experiences, and three grad school rejections. i feel like shit.  i wanna bust out windows. scream. yell. lay up in my bed with the heat set to  under blankets eating fudge stripes, popcorn, and white castles , watching valley of the dolls. ok so that  was my actual day yesterday. i’m not ashamed. i’d start breaking shit too if i didn’t already know what the inside of the city jail  looked like.

i’m gonna allow myself to fester, too. i’m gonna wail like mahalia. write angry letters i have no intention of sending to the admission offices of each rejecting institution and let them know how bad they done fucked themselves by not accepting me. i’m gonna screech bloody murder to the roof tops at those who chose to bastardize my childhood. i’m gonna throw celie shade on the romantic futures of every man that EVER trifled with my emotions. fuck each and every last one of y’all! and i’m going to do all these things for exactly 4 and 20 hours. anything beyond that, would be embracing misery.

As bad as I want to stay longer, I know I have a choice.  I have infinitely broad base of  people to  reach out to, things to do, and a life to live. I don’t have time to wallow in this. Wallowing never gets me anything but miserable, and most of the time even worse. So I’ll push through. Cycle through my “self-esteem” playlist for the thousandth time. Call my peeps. Cry. Laugh. Be. Then, before I know it, I’ll be sitting pretty on the other side with a brand new set of experiences to lend. All this begins AFTER 2pm tomorrow (exactly 4 and 20 hours after the camel’s back snapped.)

for now, i’m off to count imaginary slashed tires until i lapse into a prostrate coma.

Rosie.