A terrible time to improve

Hope is scrappy

and

hope is nebulous.

You can think

you’ve got

your fingers

around it

and then

get the

wind knocked out

of you,

and then

ultimately

later find

that others

were holding

hope

for you.

There is,

however,

a limited

certain number

of times

that someone

can be kicked

before they

make a decision

about it.

Continuing to

get kicked

is the result

of inaction.

Maybe you

never asked

to be

in this ring.

Still gotta

make

that

decision.

I forgot.

I don’t get to engage in life honestly, 

like that somewhere out there 

normal person who gets up 

and stretches, yawns 

and starts their day. 

I’m so jet lagged. 

I am paying penance 

at the cellular level. 

My bones ache, 

my nerves

tingle

twitch 

or

scream. 

The body I 

carry, the one that

 I’m schlepping around

was there for every last injury 

that I inflicted on myself in distress.

Although some on purpose cuts were made

most of my sins were chemical, only some

ever verging on the side of surgical

a little handful of pills, as a treat

a little dance with alcohol

a half pound vial

of ancient 

vintage

dental murcury 

solid thick glass

sturdy heavy liquid 

it moves like it had its own 

intent and willingness to slide

eagerly straight down the gullet

I feel like I am a reanimated corpse.

and I’m also not sure if that’s not indeed factual

Perhaps it is because the meat bears the heavy load

of the whole history of the ways I’m trying to

destroy myself and all the ways that

I continue to destroy myself.   

I know my sins and I 

pay the price 

in taut 

sinew. 

My muscles 

hold the memory 

of impacts, physics

colliding me in those crashes

my hips hold the tension memory of rapes. 

I know for sure that the body keeps the score, 

I even went on to read his textbook. 

I show up every morning 

in recovery and it 

doesn’t feel 

like

it’s

work 

but it’s hard

and heavy on the soul

and boring to slog through

and growing, but ultimately slow.

You have to be so consistent with it,

The only work ethic I even have

is for art that I don’t even sell. 

I have a few rules down pat. 

Things happen in silence. 

But I know one thing. 

invitation to semantics

I cannot grasp 

the depth of you 

but I so 

delight 

in tasting 

the physics 

of its viscosity, 

a child 

eagerly 

pulling 

their chilled hand 

in from 

where it had been 

dancing 

on air currents 

through expressways, 

I cannot understand you 

the same way 

that a bug 

does not understand 

the 

enormous 

human 

endeavor 

of automobiles 

and highway construction 

or the change 

in the eddies 

that presents them 

face first 

with mirrored glass, 

I am temporal, 

weak, 

fallible, 

splat, 

and incapable most of all, 

incapable of 

perceiving your reality, 

try as I may 

to veil my gnostic turpitude, 

I am seen 

as I am 

and 

yet 

somehow 

unimprisoned, 

I did not 

before this 

know 

that love letters 

could be written 

by the craving 

to share 

Russian fiction, 

please keep

bringing me morsels

my darling,

 pull them up 

from the nets, 

the worthy nuggets 

most honest, 

that you sail 

the tumultuous seascape 

of your skull cage 

to collect, 

while I titter 

and bask 

and slap 

at the tide pool 

that I have access to 

and play 

at being 

a toddler philosopher 

just beginning 

to understand 

the meaning 

of wet. 

GISHability

For #gish item #158 and #disabilitypride we were asked to make a portrait of a disabled person out of something representing their contributions. 

I made this piece in honor of Marsha Linehan, the woman who has saved my life and many others with her creation of Dialectical Behavioral Therapy as a method to treat Borderline Personality Disorder, a disorder that she shares with her patients. It is made with quotes from her textbook and DBT skills. 

When it comes to explaining art, especially if it is fairly plain, you always get the question “how do you know when it’s done?” 

Of course, it’s never done. No such thing. 

But this comes from a basic flaw in understanding the artistic process. 

Artists just fix the most wrong thing they can currently see. Then the next most wrong thing they see after that. So it’s an easy assumption to make that by improving the amount and type of flaws an artist can see, they would improve substantially.

 But it’s not as if the painting has a certain number of flaws and after each one, check mark that part is done. Because every line and color that gets adjusted changes how the eye perceives. And the more flaws that you are attempting to rework at the same time, the more likely you are to become demotivated and just give up. 

This is a perfect metaphor for the process of growth through DBT. Thesis and antithesis reaching synthesis. Followed by re-evaluation. Then do it again. You continue to fix the most wrong thing that you can see. Until… when?

Until the risk of exceeding the limit of your skills is greater than the reward of the fix you are trying to make. “If I push this further am I gonna ruin it?” 

This is likely what people find most frustrating about the first line traditional therapies. The skill gap. Your ability to see flaws will improve before your ability to handle them does. 

This is the opposite in DBT.

Your ability to see flaws and cognitive distortions improves as you begin using skills and gaining experience with them. It is only then then you begin making the connections as to the true sources and solutions of your behaviors.

Those connections may have only traumatized you if you were still functioning at the same level as before. 

You need practice walking up to the line and knowing whether you can take another step or not and you cannot learn that academically. 

You’re gonna ruin a lot of work. Eventually you tune in your sensitivity and awareness so you can spend more time in the safe zone of fixing things before you reach the limit of your skills. That’s when you can actually begin the real and profound work safely and know that wherever you end up going with it, you have the capability and control over what’s directly in front of you to be able to handle. 

I had stopped making art for 10 years after a cruel drawing professor in college. I also was institutionalized 22 times during that decade. That part was more about identity. It was play that developed the confidence and learning that results in me now being introduced as an artist, and as the person that I’m actually comfortable living as day to day. 

Practicing non-judgmentally which gives you the time and experience to develop your own meaningful conclusions, and improving your eye but not practicing systematically, will both allow you to improve. One has gotten you into a productive practice, though, and established a baseline, and done so without relying on installing a harsher critic. 

I lived it before I became it.

And it is only now that I feel safe enough to go deeper.

But it is with a better understanding

And a better mindset.

And now… no one can take it away from me.

See I once thought that the goal was to get good at something. 

Now I realize you only need to be good enough to fix your mistakes to be quite dangerous.

And you’re already ahead of everyone that’s not even trying. 

But is this piece done? 

Not if Marsha Linehan says it isn’t. 

I’ll be fixing it up digitally to give away as a downloadable if she gives permission. 

Little moments

Today I saw the brain zapping technician that was my favorite, always the gentlest, most uplifting soul, at the pharmacy when I was picking up my meds. I got to tell her that I was doing better, that I was figuring it out. She smiled and asked for a hug and said “That’s why we do this.” I did tell her that ECT hadn’t been a good choice for me, that I didn’t have the adequate coping skills or experience with being happy or the inevitable huge difference that the eventual crash felt like compared to a depression when you were used to no more than “meh” normally. I told her that after my first suicide attempt, when they tried ECT again I lost 8 months of memory. She told me it wasn’t uncommon, and a number of patients coming out of depression feel weird and unable to tell if they’ll ever feel normal. We talked about institutionalization and crime and how we as a nation feel 4 years at a state hospital is too mean but we are totally okay with the resulting homelessness and prisons full of mentally ill. She made me promise that if I ever lost this hope again, that I’d “let them fight for me, because we’ve done it. We’ve made people better.”
I said, “yeah, hope is not the winning. Hope is the battle.”
“And we’ve already won the war. Anyways, I gotta get goin.”

I do not like that I noticed that the only thing in her hand was a fifth. I do not like that I worry about the drinking habits of people I haven’t seen in nearly a decade.

Magnetic

If I’m rubber

and you’re glue,

I think maybe

we need to look

a little deeper

at material properties

cuz it might be

more accurate

that I’m a

rare earth magnet

and you’re

austenetic stainless steel,

because

I’m strong

and shiny

and brittle

with a

secret core

that fragments

into shrapnel

and

you

were

never

all

that

magnetic

in

the

first

place.

Albert Ross

Albert Ross

go ahead,
clutch
onto the
version of me
that you see
in your head.
the illness
of my
has-beens
and
human beans
is falling away
in my own.
I am re-making
my missed takes
in exciting
new ways.
you are wrong
and you
will flaunt your
wrongosity
with flags trailing
from tandem bikes
and flower crowns
and marching bands
stomping femininely.
the day
will come
when the
burden of
being wrong
will hang
from your neck
because the truth
will be evident,
marching into reality
day by day.
until then
you can
cling to
your version
of me,
like water
trailing through
my leg hair.