Pain for Sale

I've been away from my blog for so long because in August, I relaunched my Etsy shop (an online site that sells handmade goods from all over the world), which had been sitting dormant since 2007. And every day since...I kid you not...I've been putting in a good eight hours a day, sometimes more. I'd no idea what a gargantuan...and satisfying...task this would be.

I owe it all to quitting smoking exactly one year ago (March 22, 2011), which unleashed a shocking amount of creativity. Yes, the smoking was obviously bad for my already fragile health, but as I was obsessing about it so much, it was also bad for my mental health, as the guilt trips were apparently eating me alive. Once I stopped smoking, it was as if there was nothing to think about anymore. I was free in a brave new world that didn't include lighting up, and I was positively shocked at just how much mental real estate the guilt had devoured.

At first my creativity exploded all over the place. I was painting again, writing songs again, I even made a YouTube video. I was also painting furniture and doing crafts like making paper roses, even creating bouquets that I would then give away. (!?) In short, even though I was still in pain, I was excited about everything, but soon realized that I was on my way to becoming the jack of all trades, master of nothing.

So I whittled it down to this: I need money, so which of these pursuits is the most likely to bring in some much-needed cash?

The answer was to use my art to create all kinds of funky items to sell in my Etsy shop, and with that decision, I've yet to look back. In the seven months I've been doing this, I've made over 170 items, which include art originals, art prints, pendants, lockets, rings, journals, with even more items in the pipeline.

Since the relaunch in August, it's indeed been a curious time, as certain days I feel like my old self again, so full of joy and excitement, literally bouncing out of bed in the morning, eager to start my day. But it's also been a period of alarming increasing pain in my face, which has required an increase in my pain medication. I've no idea what's going on, but obviously the necrosis in the bone is spreading, and I'll need to get more surgery...and soon.

Aside from the pain, which is excruciating, I'm just so afraid of this condition getting worse overall. I read recently that it can even spread to other bones in my body, not just my face, which is info I did NOT need to hear. I worry enough as it is.

I was going to start a new blog that focused just on my art and my Etsy shop, but I'm not sure I can split myself like that, as my art and my pain, and even the shop, are all so intertwined. So I'll start combining things and see what happens.

My concern is that I don't want to seem like I'm using my pain to hawk my wares, as that would indeed be tasteless. On my bad days, I can write those suicidal-type posts, where I'm pouring my heart out to my readers, literally in tears. "But by the way...have you seen this week's featured necklace...ON SALE?" That would be crass, right?

Actually, this week's featured item is a giclee print, below...just $15! Grab it while you can! (sigh...)

New 8" x 10" print: "Sahara"
The shop: maryannfarley

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The Healing Power of Honesty

Well, Open Salon has done it again. In my darkest hour, I poured my heart out in a post, feeling somewhat guilty for expressing such a bleak mood concerning the bleak circumstances of my life, yet instead of chastisement (which at this stage of my life I still fear), OSers opened their hearts in ways that completely caught me off guard.

And quite simply, things changed.

I suppose the change was set in motion a few days earlier when I was drawing and writing in my illustrated journal (as opposed to my reflective journal, where I write multiple pages at a time). In an effort to break the logjam of isolation, I began doing some illustrations accompanied by scribbled thoughts inspired by the image, yet instead of it being a satisfying exercise as it had always been, it felt empty and boring.

It wasn't until the sixth entry of this new Moleskine journal that I realized what the problem was: I hadn't been honest in the previous five, and when I began to write from my center, when I acknowledged that things had taken a bad turn pain-wise, the satisfaction returned, and momentum began anew with hardly any effort at all.

Of course, there was a certain amount of effort in taking up the pen and paint, but it was a small one, and one I enjoy, regardless of the satisfaction level. What I love about these little sketches is that I always learn something, even if the drawing is a monumental failure, so the effort is never wasted.

These drawings and written thoughts led me directly to an enlightenment of sorts, and that, in turn, led me to a new blog post, where I simply poured my heart out, setting aside what others might think. It all flowed out of me in a single sitting, and when I clicked "publish," I just sent it out to the universe, response be damned, and once again, I wasn't disappointed.

The comments I received helped in so many ways. Some people simply posted their compassion, while others offered more hard-core suggestions, all of which were concrete things I could try. No matter how short or long the response, I suddenly didn't feel so alone, and I connected with others on a level I don't come across in my day to day life.

This boost from so many open hearts filled me with a much-needed and newfound energy that I hadn't felt since the new round of pain started over a month ago, and little breakthroughs began happening all over the place. One thing I realized is that I need to give up my art studio and bring everything home. For a few years, I've been struggling with the realization that I no longer have the energy to get there, nor can I afford it, yet giving it up felt like a failure to me. It would have been the period at the end of the sentence that my life has drastically changed these past five years, that I no longer can physically do the things I've always done.

Yet in accepting this fact, I can see all the good that will come of it. In having all of my art materials here at home, I will most likely paint more, not less (which has been my fear), and I'll have some extra cash in my bank account to boot, which I so desperately need. I've been spending a few thousand dollars a year to keep my studio, but it's become more of a storage place than a place of creativity, as when I go there, my isolation seems to feel more intense. Some studio mates have moved out due to their own financial issues, and it's just not the same place it used to be. And so it is time that I make my own changes.

Another astounding, even life-changing, insight was that this strange malaise actually began when I went on the Percocet in early September. While I definitely needed something to curtail the breakthrough pain, I suddenly realized that perhaps Percocet wasn't the answer, as for some, it does indeed cause depression. And in my case, when depression increases, so does the pain, so I found myself in a loop of pain, depression and pills.

To have this light bulb go off above my head was akin to an angel whispering in my ear, so my doctor changed my breakthrough pain medication back to Vicodin, and indeed the weight caused by the Percocet lifted. I will definitely note this little incident in the "not all meds work the same for all people" file for future reference.

While these insights might not seem like a big deal to others, I truly don't think I would have had them had I not been honest with myself and others, and I actually feel inspired to give up the studio, to bring all my cherished paints and paintings home here with me. In the last two days or so, I've been actively thinking of how I'll rearrange things in this small one-bedroom railroad, and I think it'll work.

It seems that momentum has been once again set in motion, and I am thrilled. But it wouldn't have happened without my taking the risk of being honest with others, and without their compassion in turn.

So thank you, Open Salon. While it was important for me to be honest, it was equally important that you offered such comfort and support. I would not have found this new place without it.


Note to those reading this on Blogger: This blog is cross-posted on Open Salon, a social networking site in the form of a blog.


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The Wait Is Over

It occurred to me the other night that for years now, I've been running a tally of all the unfortunate events that have occurred during my lifetime--a tally that has often left me feeling overwhelmed and bewildered, even bitter and jealous towards those who seem to have had such an easier time of it.

But you know what? I'm sick of feeling that way. While lying in bed that night, I suddenly felt that yes, it's true that I've suffered in ways that most people would consider torture, but I also felt that it's all been quite an extraordinary journey in terms of raw life experience.

For reasons I don't fully understand, there's been a sense of shame attached to it, and I see now that I still carry secrets, even after all this time. And in my subconscious mind, these secrets are the proof that at my core, I don't really deserve to be walking around among the masses feeling good and healthy. I'm a fraud, and all this shitty stuff that has happened is because of that--not because I'm a fraud necessarily, but because of what I'm hiding.

But then it hit me: Having survived all of these disasters has certainly made for an extraordinary life, and when I look at it alongside my God-given gift of communication, I can see quite clearly that I'm not really doing anything with it.

On the one hand, there is this all this extreme life experience, and on the other are these communication skills that I've been developing for years. Whether they're skills in writing or painting or music doesn't really matter; it's what they've all added up to that counts--an ability to communicate on various levels with various tools, and I'm not using them to their fullest.

When I used to write songs, I would always incorporate my life experience into the work, even if the songs were somewhat fictional. But when physical pain took over my mind and body, I simply couldn't find the words or the melodies anymore that could express what I was going through. It was that bad.

Painting became an easier outlet, but at some point, my life and my art began to part ways, and I began to wait for that golden day when I'd finally feel better, when the pain in my jaw and face and abdomen would be gone, and then I'd be able to make use of my talents. Only then would I be able to fully enjoy them and make sense of all this, as if 20/20 hindsight were the only valid lens to look through.

But you know what? That painless day may never come. I must face the fact that I've been in pain for nearly a decade now, fighting it every inch of the way--seeking out every resource, every treatment, every doctor I thought might help--and while I've improved in some ways, the suffering on certain days can be as bad as it ever was.

I see now I'm not living an integrated life. While I've been able to accept the darkness in my soul and in my history for the most part, I haven't been able to accept the dark truth that life can be grossly unfair, and when our bodies fail, it can be terrifying...and enraging.

But there's another truth here, which is that no matter what shape we're in, physically or mentally, we deserve to be loved, and we particularly deserve to love ourselves just as we are.

I thought that I'd accepted all this, but the other night it was an a-ha moment indeed to see how I've just been waiting to come alive again. And waiting. And waiting.

The wait is over.