Winter 2003/04:
We lost Grampa, and also Mom’s best friend, Kay, who was my writing mentor, in the weeks before Christmas. I was almost completely broke, and becoming more depressed with every passing day.
I had been sending out resumes for 3 months, without even a courtesy response from anyone.

It was a kick in the teeth, because my resume is GREAT – tons of admin experience and computer skills. Employee awards. Also marketing, support, and creative. It’ll knock you down notches in a hurry when you think that your skills maybe aren’t what you thought they were. When you’re already treading on shaky emotional ground…it’s even worse. I started to pare down my resume because I was overqualified for the jobs. Too much fear to take a job that I was qualified for, and overqualified for the jobs I was attempting to get.

I had to scrape to get something to eat or to put a couple dollars of gas in my car. Michelle let me off without paying rent until I got back on my feet, but her finances were very tight, too. So that caused major tension between two wonderful friends who had moved across a country together to this beautiful Florida. She started yelling things at me in her frustration which hurt so much and totally kicked me when I was down. (update…years later, we are blessed to have mended our friendship)

By the end of the year, even though I had some nice new people in my life, and a few positive things were starting to happen with my art, I had to force myself out of bed daily to accomplish a couple of tasks, and I fell into the well of my depression. Just to do any task took an enormous amount of physical and emotional energy. I was sapped, tapped, and sluggish.

Although struggling daily, I still continued to paint. My Buddhas became larger, darker. Blues. Dark reds. Guilt and anger. So much anger at the man who changed the way I look at life. So much guilt, because if I wouldn’t have been so afraid to work alone…if, if, if!!

My mind was working overtime to blame today’s situations on something/someone, and I was mostly blaming it on my own reactions to the robbery, and also the robber. I slipped back into being hyper-alert and very jumpy.

Did my friends or family know what I was going through? Of course not, because Dawn is always the smiley one who helps someone else out of their funky mood, and besides, I truly felt that they had all seen more than enough of my tears and fears in spring when everything happened. So I hid from my friends, and isolated myself at home. Not calling them, not reaching out when I needed it the most. How dense is THAT line of thinking?

My roommate, Michelle, got so worried about me that she finally called my mother and told her how I was acting. Even in Michelle’s anger, she did still care for my well-being. Mom made me promise to call my counselor immediately, and start seeing her again.

I had already planned to do that because I was sooo tired. Tired of crying, hurting, fearing, and being angry. But I still painted, and forced myself to accomplish small tasks, even if I spent the entire day in my pajamas. One task a day and find something to smile about each day. Gratitude for what IS, not anger over what ISN’T.

The music I listened to while painting took on a different tone. Instead of all chakra music, new age, classical…I was also listening to White Zombie, the soundtrack from The Crow, and Evanescence. I guess I was letting myself be angry through the intense angst of that music, and I had get it out somehow, if I couldn’t yell at the one who “did this” to me. That’s the problem, he didn’t do “this” to me…I did. Good for me to get some of this anger out in the open.

And I still painted. Turtles, dolphins, birds, Buddhas. Even when I hated painting so much I didn’t want to open the studio door. I took everything out of the studio, and started from scratch. Rebuilt my peaceful place. Mentally and physically, bit by bit.

Rung by rung, I was starting to climb out of the dark hole I had slid into.