at my worst

At my worst

I was struggling

Lost, alone

Angry

And spiraling through downtown Toronto

Working as a bike messenger

A guy in an elevator said

You guys are a different breed

you’re like a goalie

(in hockey)

Pucks shot at us?

No. Cars

Fearless? Reckless? Deathwish? Stupid? 

No. Never stupid. Just in the zone.

At my worst. My most alone?

I struggled

And found satifaction I never thought possible in a bowl of pho and glass of beer.

At my worst?

I struggled every day. I battled daemons. I saw a therapist.

It wasn’t enough.

I bough clay.

I made masks

The energy had to go somewhere

At my worst?

Art was my lifeline

The anger I felt, the anxiety I experienced?

It all melted away as my hands moved the clay.

My pen to paper, the late night rants?

They fell away to smudges of clay

Make a choice. Change a choice. Keep working. Move the clay

When Laura was diagnosed? 

Stage 4

Median survival time twenty two months

That was really my worst.

I punched the clay. Ripped it. Tore into it.

I screamed

Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage

The one I love was threatened!

Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage

The nurse offered me a pill

Rage rage rage rage rage rage rage

The energy had to go somewhere

I made masks. So many masks

My hands, covered in clay

My face covered in masks

Hi how are you today? Fineandyeswearefinethankyousomuchforyourconcernyourhopesandprayersandyourlasageneandsoupandsadeyesfullofpity

Oh my!

I made masks

And the terror of existence subsided

At my worst, art was my only way forward

And now?

It still is.

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