Art and My Life: The Beginning to Now

Art has been a large part of my life since as far back as I can remember. When I was young, my mother had a paint easel and always had items to create some form of art. Whether it be collage or painting. I have always been drawn to art; the history, the look, the feel. At about 8 or nine, I started readying encyclopedias, yes, those. Internet was not a thing when I was young. When I got the "M's", I came across Michelangelo. I was drawn in by the beauty of the form. I was young, but was in awe. There was the photo of David, in black and white. When I saw it, I wanted to know more. I began flipping through the pages of every encyclopedia looking for more art. I found Monet, Manet, Pollock...any artist that had a picture of art in the books. I began looking at illustrated books differently, Disney movies, cartoons, etc. They were no longer the same to me. Over time, art was everything. The only thing that could match, was writing. The escape.

My childhood was loud. With siblings screaming or crying. Laughing or hollering. I was a middle child of 6 children. I didn't fit with the "olders" and didn't fit with the "youngers." My place was independents and art. I drew, painted, created and let myself go. My escape was creation. Creating a world that wanted me and excepted me. I learned as much as I could about art, writing, and the world of imagination. I didn't fit in the real world, but I was whole heartedly accepted by my imagination.

As I grew up, I was weird. Yes, that strange girl no one wanted to interact with. Those that did, made fun of my red hair, my awkward jokes or laughs, my nerdiness or the need to be the know it all. Yeah, I was the know it all. I will admit, I rubbed some people the wrong way. I only know that now. I was awkward. I was terrible at socializing. You can call it Neurodivergent, but I call it inexperience. I used to be out going, but closed off over time as my personality was off putting to most. I, however, didn't know it. I shut down over time and dove deeper into books, art and writing. Angry, confused and over all depressed, I found myself falling deeper into the world of imagination. I was unwanted by the world around me. It hurt and felt like misery.

Over the years, I fell deeper into depression and anxiety. I found my only solace in painting and writing. I think the separation that created with my solitary hobbies grew an even greater divide. It was strange, not many people were as into writing, reading or art as i was a teen. When college came around, there were people like myself. Yet, because I grew that divide and had lack of practice, I was not good at making friends or creating a social circle. I found myself around people and places that were not healthy.

With gun shot through my apartment at the young age of 24, I realized it was time for me to get my act together and fix myself. I found a therapist that helped and understood. I became a workaholic and devoted my life to the jobs. This only created a bigger problem. I gave up on art and writing for years and became a cog in the machine. I created a new face while I acted in the world. I would become someone else to customers and behind closed doors I would cry.

I gained what I thought was a job of a life time. I was an assistant manager at a large grocery chain. I was making more money than I had at any job. 80 hours a week and 6 years later and I now have an autoimmune disorder, chronic pain and severe anxiety. Being someone that gives their life to their job, it literally went that way. Due to the stress and my workaholic tendencies, I became sick. I took my leave at the beginning of 2025 and I am still trying to rediscover myself. The art is beginning to flow through me again and the written word is coming to me slowly. I am still recovering from the years of damage that was put on me. In time I will be back to who I was, but more healed and ready to conquer anything that comes at me.