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pharaohsketches

Ballpoint Romance

illustrations and portraits.

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pharaohsketches · 2 days

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mental health marker journal 7 (?): the dark triad

I’ve been comfortable making jokes about my mental health for many years. OCD is like a nagging partner in my brain that screams and screams that nothing is free from contamination. and the worst of the disorder is, well, tucked in a painful box in my chest away from misunderstanding eyes. It’s a hellish condition to have and I’ve always understood that if my nagging passenger annoyed and exhausted ME, then I must certainly be annoying others. Humor helped with this, to an extent. Anyone with actual ocd knows that people don’t exactly treat you like a joy to be around.

So when I essentially had something like an intervention with my therapist sister about having a personality disorder, I don’t think that the people closest to me expected me to be so wounded. “how long have you known I had this?,” “many years.”

I cried consistently for around 3 days. And when my husband started to try to joke with me about it, I didn’t like it. and that was new, because joking about my mental health, and all dark things, is how I’ve survived life. I think I finally kinda broke when he said something like “this is why we’re so good together, we joke about everything.” “I don’t want to joke about this, I’m grieving myself as a human being. I’m grieving that I don’t have anything about me that is not informed by a personality disorder. I’m just a pile of these traits now.”

and mostly, I’ve gotten a little better about it. It’s trending upward. But then I have a bad day, and I’m just grieving and crying all day long. That was yesterday.

I’m making freely joking around about it a realistic future goal. I want to laugh again.

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pharaohsketches · 4 days

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marker journal 7: ghost stories

I remember the first time I fell in love with ghost stories. My sister and cousin said we should sit in a closet with a flashlight and tell scary stories. They got bored quickly, but I was entranced. I sat in there longer than anyone, begging them to come back and keep up the game.

the addiction progressed to sneaking off during library hours in elementary school and picking up “In a Dark, Dark Room” and “Scary Stories to tell in the Dark.” I read “The Green Ribbon” probably a hundred times in second grade.

And then a wonderful thing happened, my dad came home one day with a big cardboard box; inside of it there were probably a hundred goosebump books. Someone at his job’s kid had gotten bored of them so I was the recipient of this treasure trove. I think something about these stories tugged at the sadness and uncertainty in my life. There’s an honestly in good scary stories that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Now, I collect vintage “Give Yourself Goosebumps” and Christopher Pike paperbacks, goosebump VHS tapes in the lime green clamshells. The little thrill of partaking in a ghost story, the sadness of relating to a very human condition, has never left me.

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pharaohsketches · 7 days

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mental health marker journal 6: Night

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pharaohsketches · 10 days

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mental health marker journal 6: cult of personalities

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pharaohsketches · 11 days

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mental health marker journal 5: getting aquatinted with death

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pharaohsketches · 12 days

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personal/mental health marker journal #4: family camping

Not too too much to say about this one lol when I lived in government housing some people in the neighborhood would set the dumpster outside of my room on fire a lot. I guess I was 16/17. They were not actually doing anything past that I suppose so I’d watching it burn pretty often while I was trying to sleep

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pharaohsketches · 13 days

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Mental health marker journal #3: bombs

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pharaohsketches · 16 days

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mental health marker journal day 2: creating butterflies

”you’re not hallucinating are you? Like fully seeing things?”

“yeah, I am now. I can imagine a butterfly above my hand and it’ll just be there.”

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pharaohsketches · 17 days

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mental health marker notebook #1 I am becoming weeds

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pharaohsketches · 29 days

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you probably think this world is a dream come true, but you’re wrong

I was recently trying to explain my more personal paintings to my husband. Talking about the premise behind what I’m trying to show, what I feel about life. I talked about how life exhilarates, scares and brings me joy in the same way that a crappy circus blowing into town does. But! Specifically, there’s this feeling when something, like a county fair, is trying too hard to be happy. What ends up happening is that it feels unnerving. That feeling is really where my anxiety lives. It’s a tiny thing that sums up how I experience life.

I ended up summing it up like this: “when it comes to my personal body of work, I want people to feel like they’re having a panic attack at Disney World.”