My Story: Lonely in a Crowded Room

We moved to a small town in south-eastern Wisconsin in our early 20s. Imagine long, winding country roads. It was quiet and beautiful. Our house was on just under an acre of land. The land was in the shape of a long rectangle, and our house sat about in the middle of it. Our driveway leading up to the house was a sharp upward hill. If you’ve ever lived where it’s cold and snows, then you know how much it sucked trying to get our car up the driveway when it was icy! Once you’ve made your way up the driveway, there were a few stairs and then a path that led up to the house.

So we had a big front yard and our house was barely visible from the street. It was also framed by trees and large bushes. Later we found out the bushes were actually an invasive species, but we didn’t mind! We loved them because they filled in with leaves in the spring and summer so much that you could barely see the houses next to us. In winter when the leaves fell, the houses reappeared. It was like putting a hot drink in a mug that changes from the temperature. Voila! The entire scene changed.

City Girl on a Dark Street

Our street had no streetlights. It was very dark and very quiet. I had a love/hate relationship with it because it was so dark and quiet it kind of freaked me out! There were many times coming up the pathway to our house in the dark where I felt something behind me, or I was scared someone was going to jump out of the woods and murder me (which I realize isn’t statistically likely). But I’m more comfortable with some noise and lights than when it’s super quiet and dark. Maybe that makes sense since I was abused in a quiet and dark place, or maybe it’s because I grew up in the city. Or maybe it’s a combination of both?

I loved being surrounded by nature, but sometimes it was too isolating.

A Devastating Loss

Sadly, about two years after moving into our house, my father-in-law died from cancer. I mentioned in the last episode that he used to say our yard was like being at a state park and going camping. His laid-back personality perfectly matched the peaceful atmosphere of our property. It was such a shock to our family when he died. He was only 51 years old.

He had cancer before. It started as kidney cancer. After treatment and removing a kidney, he was healthy for several years. During a regular check-up, the doctors found the cancer was back and had metastasized to his lungs. He went through several new kinds of treatment. There was so much hope that he would make it through. Unfortunately, he passed away when my husband was only 24 years old. Losing his dad when he was a young dad himself was especially hard on my husband. He needed the support and mentorship from his dad to help him through being a husband and father.

It was an incredibly difficult time for our family. Unfortunately, I couldn’t relate to what my husband was going through. I wasn’t a good support for him while he was grieving. And neither my husband nor I could be a support to his mom and siblings. It was really hard on us all.

Nature’s Embrace

There’s a reason I described our land, yard, and where our house stood.  On one hand, it was comforting to have our house surrounded by woods and away from the street. It was like being embraced by nature. On the other hand, it enabled us to continue to numb our feelings and withdraw. We used marijuana as a way to cope because we were so isolated and alone.

My husband also wrote music to help him through the pain of losing his Dad. He created a bunch of really awesome songs that expressed his deep sadness. I’m grateful he had this creative outlet when he needed it most.

Together, we continued to play video games as our social life. We played several popular MMORPGs like Everquest, Anarchy Online, and World of Warcraft. We joined guilds, had friends online, played on separate computers in the same room, and rarely left the house.

What No One Wants to Talk About

Sometimes in marriage you can be together and still be alone. My husband and I were home all the time and yet we weren’t really close. There were times we felt alone – even though we were in the same room. We both had such deep emotional hurts that we weren’t dealing with that we couldn’t really be there for each other. So it’s not that we didn’t get along or spend time together. It’s that even with the time spent, there was a lack of true intimacy. Our buried emotions were in the way.

I’m Keeping This One to Myself

I also used my creative outlet during this difficult time and created a few paintings. One of those paintings I realized I don’t want to talk about. I mention it to give an example of keeping part of my story to myself. We don’t always have to tell every part of our story, or tell it to every person. This is a painting I have shared and put on social media, but never explained. And I’m not going to explain it now, either. I’ve learned that some things are best kept to very specific people, or to ourselves. There’s a time and a place for all of it. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

A Painting Left Incomplete

Another painting I made during this time I will talk about. It’s a landscape of cliffs with a valley in between. Starting from the left, there are tall cliffs that are black, white, and blue. They are very jagged and icy, made from thick black strokes and sharp edges. Then there’s a gap. Next to that is another set of cliffs. These are green and made from soft, rounded brushstrokes. Connected to the green section is another piece of this cliff in earth tones. They are a rusty color, like clay or rocks. Next to that, still connected to the same land mass, is the jagged white, black, and blue cliffs just like the first ones on the very left. 

This painting is unfinished. I wanted to put a figure in the painting, and asked myself, “Where am I in this painting?” I usually felt like I was on the icy cliff on the far left, looking toward the green cliffs. The green cliffs was where I really wanted to be. So I would think, ‘maybe I should put the person on those cliffs looking to the green ones, because thats where I am. Or maybe I’ll put them leaping toward the green cliffs. Perhaps I’ll put them at the green cliffs!’

I battled with this decision. It was the conflict of where I was in life versus where I wanted to be. It didn’t feel right to put myself at the green cliffs. And since I make art based on what I’m feeling, I couldn’t fake that. In the end, I never placed a figure on the painting.

Finding My Place in the Painting

So now I will explain the middle part of the painting, the valley. When I showed this painting to my art therapist, she pointed at the valley and said, “ I think that’s where you want to be” I reacted by saying, “Oh, ok. I don’t know.” with a shrug. Was she right? I hadn’t considered it before!

Starting from the left, there are dark clouds that hang over the icy cliffs. As they get to the valley, the lighten. This is also an unfinished section. I’m not going to get into a lot of detail, but I’ll explain the colors. They are soft pastels of pink, purple, blue, yellow, and orange. It is very pretty and serene. Toward the bottom of the valley is the start of a sunrise and some land.

My art therapist pointed directly to the pastel part of the sky. What I consider the prettiest part of the painting. I had an insight about all this as I was recording this episode. The pattern of the cliffs had always been obvious to me. What I hadn’t seen before, was how that pattern was like the cycle of addiction I was stuck in. It explained why I couldn’t figure out where to put myself in the painting. I wanted to be off the cliffs completely!

Cycle of Addiction

At this point, my husband and I had been smoking marijuana consistently for several years. We always had weed in the house and never questioned it. It was like having milk or toilet paper in the house. We re-upped before we ran out. Eventually we got to a point where we realized it was too much. We decided to take a break and stop for a while. But we didn’t completely close the door to smoking again. We would leave the door open and say, “Well, if there’s a concert… ”

This was the start of a long cycle of smoking and quitting. We had fooled ourselves that we could just smoke for the concert, or that one time. But it never worked out that way. It always became months-long binges. We knew that when we quit, we would go through withdrawal. So we smoked longer than we wanted to avoid the irritability, sleeplessness, loss of appetite, arguments, anxiety, constant sweating, etc…that came with quitting. Eventually we would plan a quit date for a time when we thought we could handle the withdrawal symptoms.

Now my painting of the cliffs has a new meaning to me. I was always trying to place myself in that cycle. Honestly, I probably was on every one of those cliffs at some point. One day I’m on the green cliffs because things are going ok. But before long I’d be back on the icy, jagged cliffs because I was still stuck in the cycle of addiction. I didn’t want to be on any of the cliffs anymore, but I couldn’t see a way to get off of them, either. At least, not yet.

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