MANIFESTO OF SELF
Portrait of ME by Walt Bartholemew
Oil on Canvas
MANIFESTO OF SELF
How do I write a manifesto of self when I don’t even know what my self is and am only just now finding her after 53 years on the planet? I write this not out of narcissism but out of necessity, for survival, for life, for continuing to hold out for the word that has become such a mockery - HOPE.
I stand at the crossroads between hopelessness and hope, and I need to turn in the direction that will lead me to the open road of the rest of my life.
Let me state some facts. Because data is nice.
Let’s start with the liabilities:
I am not an easy person, nor have I ever been. I am hard on the people around me, and mostly I am hard on myself.
I am often fueled by guilt and dread.
I put self-validation, such as art and writing, before people because it is through art and writing that I can tap into the self that was squashed early in life. It gives me the mirror I lacked. I see myself through what comes out of my hands and my head.
I live in a constant state of doubt. This makes me the most unpredictable person on the planet. I change my mind a million more times than I change underwear.
I cry. A lot.
Sometimes I drive and scream.
I have many wounds that have never healed and many I don’t even know about. My wounds can make me hurt other people. They can make me hurt myself.
I am an addict. I was born an addict. I used addiction to escape pain, and every single day of my life I have to fight for my sobriety.
I don’t know how to let go and I don’t know how to hold on.
Sometimes I hold on so tight I strangle. Myself and others.
I feel guilty for almost everything I do.
I take the blame.
I am in need of both validation and isolation. It’s a hard mix.
I am in desperate need of suturing. I am fractured, compartmentalized, a jigsaw puzzle with the operative word being saw.
I have made a lot of mistakes.
I have remorse, regret, and confusion.
I want to do what’s right so bad that I often do what’s wrong.
I often feel like a deformed being, like I live in one world and everyone else lives in another world.
I don’t sleep.
I interrupt.
I talk too fast.
I try to do too much.
I hold grudges. Forever.
Now I will see if I can list complimentary assets to each liability. Ready set go.
Even though I am hard on everyone around me and hard on myself, I occupy a state of continual self-evaluation. I always Fess Up, and I do try to be a better person and understand why I do the things I do, though the amount of shit I need to address and correct is overwhelming. When I fuck up, I own up. Even if it takes me a while to understand.
What is the good side of being fueled by guilt and dread? Trying so hard to do the right thing that sometimes along the way I make people really happy. That I overcompensate for my guilt by going out of my way to please? Probably I’d be better served finding a middle ground here.
I put art and writing before people, but art and writing are critical to my survival and my health. By pouring myself into art and writing, I get the stuff inside me out and am a happier and more balanced person when navigating the daily world. Plus, coming from my extreme background and living so far off the grid, living in the ordinary world can often seem impossible. Art and writing give me a safe alternate world, and out of it comes art and writing that I share with the world!
Living in a constant state of doubt and unpredictability also means that I’m flexible and fun! I can do things on a whim! Things don’t need to be set in stone. Call me at the last minute! Change plans at the last minute! I don’t care. It brings excitement to life and mixes things up and means that often I experience things I otherwise wouldn’t, and if people want to put up with me, they can experience them too. So there!
Yeah, I cry a lot. SO WHAT. We cry for a reason. Crying gets the bad stuff out, and the bad stuff is better out than in. I shall shed my pain through tears, and if you don’t like it don’t look and don’t listen. Now pass the Kleenex.
Driving and screaming is a killer outlet for extreme emotion as long as you do it safely and it doesn’t end up literally being a killer. It’s probably preferable to drive out into an empty wasteland and then scream. Which I also do! I am practicing catharsis at its most literal level. I am also a fan of driving out into the desert and bashing the shit out of crap with rocks and hammers and even shooting the shit out of bottles and cans and old mattresses with my rifle. Guns, in the right context, can provide catharsis too. Go ahead. Shoot me.
The opposite side of the pain of wounds is the relief of healing. With wounds as big, numerous and deep as mine, the smallest fraction of healing can have a rippling effect of relief. Most notably, I love to experience the joy of seeing the ones I love benefit from my healing. It is the counterpart of seeing what my pain has done to them . . .
Yes, I am an addict. And addiction will be a battle for the rest of my life. But I will out myself as an addict without shame. I will share my recovery through writing and art, and through my recovery and my fight with addiction and my commitment to sobriety, I will help others throw away their shame and keep up the fight with me. ADDICTION IS A DISEASE. And every day I need to foster the cure and be sure that it stays in recession. Art and writing and sharing and honesty are my greatest tools. Secrets are my worst enemy. Here is a fist pump in solidarity to those who understand the disease of addiction. Pow. We will win the battle.
I don’t know how to let go, but at least I love HARD. I don’t know how to hold on, but at least I give you freedom.
When I hold on too tight, it can really hurt. Or you can just give in and have the biggest fucking bear hug of your life.
There is nothing good about feeling guilty. I am turning this around and feeling pride. I have survived. I have lived to tell the tale. Considering everything I have lived through, I have done a hell of a job at getting through life. I got myself through Berkeley with an 8th grade education. I have always worked jobs where I’m helping people. I gave birth to a beautiful daughter, and I am trying my damnedest to be a good mom despite my aforementioned liabilities. I have turned my pain and my life into art and have shared it. I have published articles, been anthologized, and sold and shared my art. I’ve had one solo art show in Tucson and another coming up in LA. I have accomplished many things in my fucked-up life! Though the force that has driven me to do so much has often come from a confused and tortured place, it is also my incredible will to survive that drives me forward. So guilt, take a backseat you useless motherfucker.
Yes, I take the blame. I always own up and fess up, but I also am willing to take the blame for every type of fuck up. I do it readily. What is the asset to this? I guess that I can be more forgiving of others than I can of myself. That I am self-critical. That I don’t see myself as perfect. That I know I am flawed and fucked up. That I am in no way smug or arrogant.
Yes, I need constant validation. And it is annoying as fuck. But I also produce a hell of a lot of writing and art as a result! Yes, I need isolation, but I also produce a hell of a lot of writing and art as a result!
The flip side of being fractured is slowly feeling the pieces of myself come together. Healing. The little itch where the broken pieces are mended. The relief when I can breathe deeper instead of wincing. The power of honesty and unity of self. It takes work to be solid, but imagine what will come out of me when I am solid, considering what comes out of me in my broken state! Each suture is cause for major celebration. This manifesto is a big suturing. Let’s celebrate!
Not to be a cliché, but the only thing I can do with my mistakes is learn from them and try not to repeat them. I’M FUCKING TRYING. At least I am self-aware enough to acknowledge them and try to fix them, even if I sometimes (often) fail.
Remorse, regret and confusion lead to the desire to not ever have remorse and regret again and to do the right thing, though confusion cannot be avoided. I want so desperately to live a life with no more remorse or regret. Have I succeeded? No. And I am blindsided by the pain when I fail. But I have also learned to hold onto hope and look at the good instead of just focusing on the bad. Did I spend as much time with my dad as I would have liked before he died? No. Was I with him the night before he died? Yes. Did he hear me say I love him? Yes. Did we reconcile with our past? Yes. Is he watching over me now? Yes. That’s the best I can do.
I want so badly to do the right thing that I can be suffocating. But that also means that I have busted my ass to help my daughter, and I have helped her. I have been a great mom even while being flawed and hyper vigilante. I am by and large a shitty friend, but when things are really dire, I am there.
So I’m a deformed being who lives in a different world. Fine. That means I have a lens on the rest of the world and I can show you what I see through art and writing. I can take my vision and turn it into things to share with the other side of the world, and then maybe we can meet in the middle somewhere.
I don’t sleep (though I sleep better as I heal), but at least when I’m not sleeping, I’m thinking! I’ve written a lot of poems in my head during sleepless nights and then spat them out on paper the next day to share with the aforementioned world. I also pet the cats a lot, and that’s good.
I interrupt. Tis true, but that’s because my head has so much going on inside it and I’m in constant wonder at the world and I want to share share share! But I’m trying to get better at this.
I talk too fast, but at least I have cool and/or funny things to say! I make people laugh every single day of my life. It is a gift that I have.
I try to do too much, but at least I get a lot done. One day I’m going to make a list of everything I’ve done, and then maybe I can slow down. But for now, onward . . .
I hold grudges, and this ain’t so good. I mean, I will hold a grudge forever. I am trying to learn to let go. No good comes out of holding grudges. The only time a grudge is an asset is when it provides safety. Like that person hurt me so many times I need to hold a grudge forever so he won’t hurt me again. Oh, so hey, in that light, grudges can be like a suit of armor. But sometimes, and most often, forgiveness and understanding probably would serve me better.
End Manifesto of Self. Consider this a rough draft. Just like me. Life is always in a state of Rough Draft.
No time to edit for typos, but typos are also part of life. Life is messy. I am messy. I am me.