Damaged Goods (Shoppe)

Hey friends

I know I’ve been M.I.A around here and have completely been up my own ass

But it hasn’t been for nothing

You know that quote by Albert Camus: In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

Well it’s actually true in my case

During what has undoubtedly been the worst time of my life…hospital visits and crisis centres and panic attacks and crying. Oh man the crying…

Well somehow during that, I started fooling around with decoupaging and that led me to painting. Now I must warn you that despite how often I’ve been asked or told that I ‘must be an artist’. I’ve never thought of myself as creative nor did I have any interest in pursuing art of any kind other than just to please my own eye.

But I found that I can literally turn my brain off while creating or painting or decoupaging or whatever else I come up with. Hours go by, my hands and arms are covered with Mod Podge and paint…and I have created something. That feeling of accomplishment is so rewarding. It’s intoxicating actually. And it feels really fucking good.

And so began Damaged Goods Shoppe. I don’t know where this will lead me or how it will turn out. I can, however say that nothing, not even writing this blog has made me feel as vulnerable showcasing my art. I’m not used to that. I’m such an open book and sometimes even a little cocky but this is different somehow.

Anyway, for now you can find my creations on Instagram at

www.instagram.com/damagedgoodsshoppe

On Facebook at

https://www.facebook.com/damagedgoodsshoppe/

On Etsy at

https://damagedgoodsshoppe.etsy.com. 

and you can reach me through any of those sources or via email at damagedgoodsshoppe@gmail.com

I hope you’ll take a peak and I’d love and appreciate any feedback

-Angela

Shopkeeper of Damaged Goods

I’ve been working hard on creating

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‘And if you look at your reflection…is that all you want it to be? What if you could look right through the cracks? Would you find yourself afraid to see?’ nine inch nails

My greatest fear is similar to that of being forgotten

But it’s more about living with the knowledge that when I’m gone, I’ll be forgotten

Maybe that’s why, when I was younger, carving things like ‘Angela was here’ on desks, felt like such a necessity

This great fear of mine

It’s not that I won’t exist

It’s the that I will have left no discernible mark on this world

Other than my carbon footprints

I wonder if that’s the reason people have children…

To ensure a piece of them lives on

It’s like a taste of immortality

I’ve got no delusions of grandeur

I won’t have discovered some new disease or uncovered some brilliant theory that will propel my name forward

There’s no legacy to leave behind

One day…

Who knows when?

My life will end

And that will just sorta be the gist of it…

Seems anticlimactic after everything, doesn’t it?

It’s the thought of having endured so much and then one day, it’s just *poof* over

And there’s nothing to show for it

It seems like such a waste of time

Time wasted throughout a lifetime

Time eaten up by anxiety and panic attacks and Optic Neuritis and depression

Time that I can never get back

There’s nothing more fear inducing than running out of time

On a test, in a race

Needing more time

But looking up at that damn clock

And seeing the seconds tick tick tick

It’s like Tyler Durden says in Fight Club:

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time’

That realization is supposed to motivate you

To change

To live fully

But what if all it does, is leave you paralyzed in fear?

What if it just haunts you?

Always reminding you

That time is slipping away

And you haven’t done what you were supposed to?

What you were meant to do?

What if it just reminds you that what you had, you simply wasted?

I hate the idea of leaving behind a gravestone with my name

And yet I am even more terrified of the possibility, in which that might be the only mark I’ve left on this earth

‘Feel the hollowness inside of your heart And it’s all, right where it belongs.’ Nine Inch Nails

I wrote this :

http://FUCKMS.CA/2018/03/21/A-TYPICAL-SICK-DAY-IN-THE-LIFE-OF-A-YOUTH-WORKER/

A year ago today.

My heart hurts

Looking around at my life

I still can’t quite accept that this is actually mine

Then I get mad at myself

Because that’s probably why I can’t move forward

I miss who I could have been

I miss who I should have been

I miss who I almost was…

‘Everybody Is A Book Of Blood; Wherever We’re Opened, We’re Red.’ Clive Barker

Today sucked

Hard

I arranged to have one of the Bayshore nurses come to my parents house to do my monthly bloodwork

Since I skipped last month

I was nervous before the day started

But I went with it

The nurse got here

I did the same old pee in the plastic cup song and dance

And then sat in a recliner to get it over with

I told her I usually have it taken from my hand

And that I have anxiety related to it

She was kind and all that

I didn’t have my rubber ball to pump to get the vein ready and blood flowing

But I tried other methods

She got the vein on the first try

I breathed a sigh of a relief

After the initial painful puncture

And then…

No blood

No blood came out

She tried a few times to get it flowing

Nada

She tried a different vein on the same hand

I pumped my hand manically

She got the vein

And still

No blood

I asked her to try my other hand

I was pretty shaky, sweaty and anxious at this point

She inserted the needle

And

No fucking blood

She said

I literally have the needle in your vein and nothing is coming out

We gave up

She recommended I try to go to my regular lab and see my usual homegirl

But of course

Because of my panic and near agoraphobia

I had been trying to avoid that

She left

With her empty vials

Apologies

Used needles

And unfulfilled lab requisition

I was left with my urine sample sitting on my mother’s coffee table in her living room

There wasn’t any point in sending it in without the blood

Three track marks and I’m sure ugly bruises to follow

I pulled my knees up and just started sobbing

I broke my no-crying-for-three-days record

Feeling sorry for myself

Everything is always so damn hard

Nothing seems to come easy

And yet

After all of that

I didn’t have a panic attack

Even pre crisis

A day like today would have likely made me have a panic attack

But today

Through the punctures, the pain, the discomfort, the crumbled hope and the anxiety

I didn’t have a panic attack

That’s my silver lining on this shit-tastic day

‘Oh Angela It’s A Long Time Coming.’ The Lumineers

It is both heartwarming and difficult to look at these pictures of me.

I can see innocence and hope and so much zest for life in her expressive eyes. When I look in my eyes now, 35 plus years later, I see sadness that changed who I was to become.

I don’t know if that funny little girl with the big doe eyes is still around…but to her..I’m sorry…I wish I had done better

‘That Which Does Not Kill Us, Makes Us Stronger.’ Nietzsche

Mornings and late late nights are my worst

So far, I’ve made it through 7 mornings and 6 late late nights

Though it felt more like months of both

My body is tired

From ingesting little more than diabetic meal replacement drinks

And the occasional PB and J sandwich

I never thought it could get so bad

Correction

I never thought it would get this bad, again

Although it feels new to me

In many ways I’ve done this before

From calling crisis centres to emerge visits and drinking meal replacers and med changes

I guess I should say

I hoped it would never get this bad again

I know the old adage of ‘that which does not kill us, makes us stronger’

But I think I’d be fine not being tested for the millionth time on my strength

I think I’d prefer something like

‘You’ve been through the worst, it’s all sunshine and meadows ahead’

Shit

I’d even settle for something like

‘Way to go Angela!

It’s all overcast and fields of manure with the occasional sun shower ahead.

Yeah

I could settle for that