You Can Find God In A Rothko Color Field

you can find god in a rothko color field

artist statement for photos not yet developed:

its cliche to run around taking pics of gravestones. yet i do it anyway. i take pictures of the same things over and over again.

exit signs.

yearning for loved ones.

the balance between processing emotions, grief, and running the other way. grief.

bring your loved ones closer, steal flowers from the neighbor’s, write their name in the prayer book of a god you don’t believe in. because its comforting to think you can help from where you are.

give grandma the memorial bench. its the thought that someone cared enough to, not the money and lavish treatment received. i miss her.

i miss people i never met. yet i feel my mother and father’s grief, i feel the holes in their heart, the weight of my mother’s sobs on the staircase, the night my grandfather passed.

i miss my grandma.

she’d be so proud. i’ll bring her a book. i know she loves me, she’s probably praying for me and doesn’t approve of who i really am.

but her love was infectious. it was strong. she was so proud of everything i did. i wish i had more time. i took her for granted. i still wish i could surprise her with flowers. go out for dinner with her. read her texts.

my heart starts to hurt. exit.

rush week

she’s really drunk. she loves her boyfriend, and wishes she was a man.

she’s adamant. she wishes she was a man. she used to wear a binder everyday, but then she met her boyfriend.

and her boyfriend wouldn’t love her if she was anything but who she’s pretending to be.

“i wish i was a man,”

“you know, i used to have these thoughts a lot before i realized i was trans.”

i’m stone cold sober.

“i’ve been ignoring it for years, wait do you want a white claw?”

i walked into this party with a shaking body, but i put on a happy face and talk to my friends. but they know its an act.

i chug my drink. i want to be drunk.

“are you alright?”

a lot of people have asked me this lately. i used to be good at hiding it. there must be something in the way i carry myself, or the lack of light in my eyes when i smile.

“yeah, just really fucking depressed. i don’t want to be here but i know i should go through the motions.”

i feel fine, but my body won’t keep up. i’m getting migraines a few days every week. i stopped getting my period. sometimes all the lymph nodes in my body swell up. sometimes i get so dizzy i can’t walk straight. (i started writing again)

i don’t have the energy anymore to keep up with a room full of laughing friends. my body language falters, the smile in my eyes is gone, my apparent apathy // disenchantment comes through.

but whatever.

“you’re so cool. you shouldn’t be sad, you have so much swagger.”

she’s medicated and four beers in.

i should join a frat. not sure i could do another cult though. i gotta stop going all in on an institution.

i don’t know how to end this. just kept getting worse. i wanna sleep.

they're not you.

i hate the people i love?

how have i been? i’ve been sitting here trying to type up a pretty way of saying i’m a wreck. so here it is, straight up, i’m at the lowest i’ve ever been. i was in the hospital because i sort of kinda tried to kill myself, i’ve gone a month and half without therapy, and in the meantime i’ve bruised the shit out of fists, i walk around in tshirts and everyone sees my wrists, i haven’t showered in who knows how long, everyone has asked me if i’m okay, (i’m not but i’ll always say i’m fine because i don’t know what help i need) i hate everyone i know i’m miserable to be around but its a fucking miracle i haven’t completely lost it yet. it is a fucking miracle that i am laying in bed doing nothing when all i want is to get blackout drunk and walk around downtown until something kills me.