blinking is more than a pastime

i keep trying to say something about something but i have writers blog. Somehow I got the green check, so now I cannot stop even if want to. I was thinking I would write a fictional thing about being 60 and still facing the same old shit. About how I wish I had gone to therapy early in life to fix my traumas. I would be healthier but possibly I would not be the amazing artist I have become.

My whole life I have felt like an outsider. I have to admit that half my life I have been happy to not be part of it, and the other half, I have longed to be normal. Okay I could never be normal, it is not in my nature, to want to be a white middle class united states female citizen. It still makes me feel a bit nauseous to realize I am. I mean according to my sisters I am more of a failure then a person to respect. However I think if there is such a thing as history or herstory I will have made my mark.

I say if there is such a thing as "history" because sometimes I think I am the star of my own Truman show. That once I die my experiment will be over and the scientists studying me in my perimeters will be done. That my supposed mark will not really matter or will it. Again half of me wants to believe I will affect the young outsider geniuses. My life will inspire these young people who think there is more to life then living. breeding and being normal.

I decided not to die young. I mean I could have become another drug addicted youngster to die young. But I realized I was to shy for the short game. I had a better chance to have influence if I played the long game. I mean I think some of my best paintings about my view of our society were dark and I was young. However I do not think they would have made it into the mainstream without my more popular work.

I sound egotistical, and when I look around my studio I deserve to be even more egotistical then I am. For the most part my feelings of inadequacy are based on my families inability to accept my higher purpose. And while I would like to shove my genius in their faces the truth is I have kinda failed in their small world. In the own your home, be a middle class white woman I have failed.

I have however suffered for being who I am and accepting the crap from my early injuries. And yet again I would not be who I am if I was celebrated for being who I was. I walked a line between all the worlds. I am realizing now in therapy to acknowledge my talent. It seems the more I acknowledge it, the more I am acknowledged. The more I accept I deserve recognition, the more recognition I get. It is strange that I have always thought I was a fake and I did not deserve good things.

I suppose that is what I was going to try and write in a fictional way but it came out this way. My advice, like my life is half and half. Half of me wants to tell people to go to therapy early and other half of me thinks use your rough edges to create and go to therapy when you are ready for success. That is unless you are Kurt Cobain or Hendrix.