Bubbling

Bubbling. That used to be the sign I’d watch for which told me I needed to sit down and write. Something would bubble up inside me that I knew needed to come out. Or sometimes I’d catch a certain phrase from multiple sources and feel the need to explore what it might mean. Just now “enemy” came up in a song I was listening to and that had been the word that was bubbling in my  brain all night. So, let’s fucking write it out.

I think the idea of bubbling used to be the only time I blogged. Not just that really, but also the only time I’d write at all. Stuff would get fucked in my head to the point of implosion and I needed to vent some of the steam before I blew. My therapist strongly encouraged my writing and all that led to me starting a “morning pages” routine. I got that idea from a book called “The Artist’s Way”.

And I’ve been following that formula for years. I write 3 stream of consciousness, unedited pages freehand in a journal. Just whatever is on my mind. It can be random nonsense. Ha…that just reminded me of Blake knowing I write morning pages each day, so he wanted to try it himself. he was probably 5. He wrote things like “I see the TV. Dad is sitting in his chair.”

But, it really can be that mundane. Just whatever is rattling around in my very damaged, very fragile mind. I need to get it all out. The point of the exercise is to get rid of some of the clutter, so that the artist can get to the art they really want to create. And I’ve found that my canvas is this blog. My first blog that was like this was more raw, because I didn’t do morning pages. I only blogged when life bubbled over.

And it’s kind of cool to me that this is the first time that I can remember in a really long time that I morning paged earlier and then bubbled tonight. It may be due, in part, to the feeling I had last night after writing. I was in control. I felt like the real me. I was confident. And honestly, it might have been the first time since the breakup that I had that sense of contentment that my therapist and writing helped me experience for the first time a few years back.

There was a noticeable calm about me last night. And that was a very unusual feeling compared to the chaos that I’d grown accustomed to over the last few years. I didn’t have the need to say something funny to get feedback that I’m okay. Or to have a corner bar to walk into and have people know my name. I just felt cool. Calm. Like the real me.

And most of you might not get what the fuck I’m even talking about. And to get it, I probably need to paint a picture of what it’s been like to live life as me. And that brings me back to the word of the day…enemy. And what I realized tonight is that my life has been interrupted by the presence of people I would characterize as enemies to my mental health. And the actions of those people have led to voices that I battle daily that tell me my worth is negligible at best.

I’ll just be going about my day and out of the clear blue, I’ll have one of those voices remind me of something I fucked up. It can be something I did last week or something I did when I was 13. But, it’s like there’s this constant internal attack on my self-worth. I don’t have a little voice that reminds me of the good things I’ve done. What I have is either those "i'm a fuck up" voices or memories of people who supposedly loved me making me feel like an after thought.

But, what I do have is writing. It’s the only weapon I’ve found to effectively combat the little voices. And in that sentence…oh fuck…I was taken back to little MatthewBlake. I didn’t have someone fighting for me. I didn’t have a champion. My voice was taken from me by an abusive grandma. The picture that just came to mind is what childhood was like. I’m in a Sunday school class at an old folks home (because that’s where our church met). I’m wearing this velvety green shirt. I say something stupid. Or get an answer wrong. Or something. And the teacher makes me feel like an idiot. That was one of my recurring memories that made me feel like shit. And it would replay over and over in my fucked up mind throughout the years. the feeling I can still remember. My face was red. Everyone was looking at me. I was a disappointment. Shit. Just playing that back…I’m out of breath.

Red-faced matt would have this embarrassment wash over his whole body. And ya know what…thinking about my kids…and how there’s no end to what I would do for them. How the fuck was I left to fend for myself at such a young age? How did I not have a champion? Was that what my mom apologized for on her death bed…not standing up for me?

It’s just an overwhelming feeling coursing through my whole body right now. Fuck all the fucking people who put me through the shit I went through as a kid that created an adult with a head full of doubt. I’ve never believed in myself. Assumed failure at every turn. Started to pursue dreams (two hit wonder, my screen play, running out of interesting, etc) only to give up at some point, because I was conditioned to believe I’d never go far. (cue Frightened Rabbit’s song “State Hospital”  )

Two lines into that song and I’m in tears. The idea of a “state hospital birth”. Born to crazy people. Born in a mental hospital. Not literally, but that’s pretty much my story. Abuse that you can’t talk about. Christianity used as a cover to make the family look functional. The way my family took shape is a mind fuck for me to comprehend as an adult, so what fucking chance did I have as a kid?

I realized though, in writing this out as a way of processing my past, that victims get muted. But, whereas when I was a kid I was powerless, now I can stand up. The voiceless, embarrassed, shit for confidence matthew blake never had a chance. But, there’s an adult me who gets to fucking turn the tables. I have the voice now. And I’m the one who gets to press mute. Not, in the fucked up family tradition way of fucking over innocent kids, but in the way that I get to say fuck off to any and everyone who is an enemy to my mental health.

I no longer have to listen to those voices. I no longer have to be an embarrassed little kid. There’s power gained in voicing everything. Hiding shit? Fuck that. Here it is man…if it helps someone else know they’re not alone in facing their own enemies, great. If it’s only an exercise for me to not be alone with the shit that I wrestle with daily, great. It’s just that I’ve learned that I feel better when I let this kind of stuff out. I bubble. And people relate.

And see…even that…more evidence that I’m making progress. The kind of stuff I talk about out here on the blog…that’s the kind of shit that most people would get red-faced about. Fuck that. I want to be known man. And I need this kind of stuff to remind me that the shit that happened to me isn’t my fault. My enemies have tried to put me into their little boxes, so that they can feel powerful.

Writing breaks me out of whatever hold they had on me. And that must have been the feeling I was experiencing last night. I was in control. I felt so strong. The end of this last relationship took me right back to 7 year old matt, laying in the fetal position, just trying to get some rest. It was all the more devastating because of the past trauma that it brought back up. But, it was muting her, the same way I muted my dad and others that gives me a chance to get through the day.

They don’t get a say anymore. I don’t have to let their actions tell me that I deserve to constantly be put on the back burner. I get to define my worth. I can write my way to good. And that was the problem a few months ago. I would write my way back to a good state of mind, only to open up my ears to someone who would put me right back in the fetal position repeatedly. My hard work to get on top of my mental health would be undone with a few words. Fuck that.

So, to be here tonight. writing again. Instead of on the mental spin cycle that I went through last fall. This feels like heaven. I don’t have to listen to the people that don’t have my best interests in mind. It’s funny…that made me think back to champions. I have so many champions. So many people rooting for me. So many people who have reached out to talk about something from the blog. I used to have a list. Maybe I need to get back to that. It was my list of champions. It was anyone who had ever liked a fb status related to one of my blog posts. Or commented. Or messaged. Or whatever. I would look at that list whenever I needed a pick me up. And you know what just broke my heart? I was thinking, I have never had anyone say anything negative about the blog. But, that’s not true. The one person who talked shit on my sacred space…this blog…the place where I try to keep my wits about me and process all of life’s shit…the one person who has ever said anything negative was my dad. The guy who should be my biggest champion is one of my top 3 enemies to my mental health. That’s really shitty. And I can only imagine how differently my life would have gone if my dad had given me reason to believe in myself. It’s impossible to know, but I can’t help but think it would look something like what riley has going on in her life. She and I went to target today. that’s where we go to chat. And buy cute pillows. And we were laughing. And she gave me a big hug after. And she will never fucking know the pain that is having your dad be your biggest enemy. She is fucking killing it in this life. And she has zero doubt that I’m her biggest champion. Straight A’s. a youtube channel that just went from 700 to almost 800 subscribers in a few days. She told me a story about taking a performance class. She’s a 7^th grader. In a school where she only knew a handful of people before the year started. It was only once she got into the performance class that she realized she didn’t know anyone and that it was made up of mostly the popular kids. red-faced matt would have fucking run for the hills. Super confident riley stood up and took the challenge head on. She has a voice. I’m still looking for mine. Apparently she did incredible in her final performance and had 5 different people who she didn’t know real well stand up to tell her what they liked about her performance. Champions. Fans. Subscribers. Kid has them all. And the best part of that for me is knowing she believes in herself in a way that I probably never will. And to watch her pursue dreams. It’s too much man. It’s overwhelming to know that me taking a fucking stand against the family bull shit has helped her. Has helped her brother. has made me a better dad and person. And only right there did I pause and realize that what I just wrote is just like what I write in my morning pages. That was some stream of consciousness shit right there. I’m just going to leave this as one big paragraph instead of taking away from it by trying to polish it up. But, holy god did it feel good to get out. the tears keep coming. And there is tremendous pride knowing my kids are growing up with confidence in themselves and a knowledge that they will always be front burner material to me. I went through what I did. And I’ll gladly pay that toll and keep paying it if it means the kids don’t ever have to suffer from the shit that I have like a dad who wouldn’t stand up for me when I needed him to, but instead will stand up to me when I try to express this shit on a fucking blog. I exercise my right to mute that kind of shit. And anytime I get those little voices trying to make me feel worthless, I need to handle it the same way. My home is what I created. My home is me and the kids going the way I have chosen to lead us. and we’ll keep talking shit through when we have issues, instead of pretending like everything is fine. My home is this blog. My home is story time with friends and strangers. My home is me sitting by myself these last two nights. I think I’m back. But, really I can’t ever remember feeling this good. And man…when your life is marred with constant mental gymnastics…it feels so fuckin good to be off the spin cycle. To be unfucked. To mute the enemies. And actually listen to my champions. And perhaps my biggest one was my old therapist. she'd say, “Matt, I love you to pieces.” Listen to those type voices. And mute the people that try to bring you down. Oh and I just realized the parallel there…just like my morning pages let me get some surface shit out so that I can write out here on a deeper level, muting our enemies is key to being able to hear our champions cheering us on.