*some people's names have been changed for personal reasons.
I always considered myself a creative person. Ever since I can remember I had been making up stories, then writing them, drawing, painting, singing, playing instruments, and eventually I expressed my art through cooking. Mostly the latter developed because of a terrible case of writer's block and being completely too harsh a critic on myself with my writing. It's not good enough. Everything was too immature, I couldn't find the right words, it was never eloquent to the level I wanted it to be. There's always room for improvement but I felt I just couldn't grow anymore. I was out of ideas. My creativity had shut down due to depression and anxiety from other factors in my life ranging from when I was a child to present day. But this is me trying to push myself back into writing something, if not properly, then of meaning and worth. I want to write something with substance.
I always considered myself a creative person. Ever since I can remember I had been making up stories, then writing them, drawing, painting, singing, playing instruments, and eventually I expressed my art through cooking. Mostly the latter developed because of a terrible case of writer's block and being completely too harsh a critic on myself with my writing. It's not good enough. Everything was too immature, I couldn't find the right words, it was never eloquent to the level I wanted it to be. There's always room for improvement but I felt I just couldn't grow anymore. I was out of ideas. My creativity had shut down due to depression and anxiety from other factors in my life ranging from when I was a child to present day. But this is me trying to push myself back into writing something, if not properly, then of meaning and worth. I want to write something with substance.
Perhaps some memories should have remained blocked, and yet I can't help but think I'd be a much more naive person if they had stayed under lock and key. They helped shape who I am and how I see the world.
For some unknown reason, despite how depressed I would get and the depth of morbid poetry and artwork I would throw out to the world in a desperate cry for help and attention (yeah, I admit to that), I still managed to strive for positivity instead of giving into the black hole of depression. I still found a way to smile, laugh, and be genuinely happy. I overcame so much within myself to the point where I wasn't broken anymore. I was self-sustaining in my happiness, I depended on no particular person to help me remain optimistic; I was whole. Being content with life seemed enough.
Then love happened out of nowhere with a man named Max, and I became dependent upon another person for my happiness because that's what you do when you're in love-- you're no longer a whole without them, they become a part of you and your happiness is mutual. I personally believe one can't really be in love with someone unless you're willing to give your whole self to your partner. You give them everything you possibly can-- you overcome your reservations and fears for them just to see them smile. I was the happiest I'd ever been at that point.
Then his father died (RIP Jack), and it all fell apart without me even realizing it until it was too late. He kept me around for three months before telling me he didn't love me anymore. Three months of me taking care of our home together, his family, especially his mother who I came to absolutely adore, and his dog. Three months of running errands for him, never seeing my family so I could spend time with his (literally, I would go home once a week for a few hours to do both his laundry and mine, and if my parents happened to be at home during that time, I would catch up with them and then leave), and even getting my shifts covered at work so I could be there for him. I never knew during that whole time that he felt nothing.
Nothing.
Nothing.
He came home one night and simply told me it just wasn't working anymore. That he couldn't pretend anymore. Suddenly I wasn't whole, I'd lost myself almost completely and everything shut down. I didn't know what to do. I felt like an empty shell wandering the earth; a drone doing the same things over and over again every day, struggling to hold on to any bit of my life before this darkness. There was no slack for me. I was completely cut off, even unnecessarily pained after the fact for seemingly no particular reason other than putting salt in the wound. He refused to talk to me, told lies about me, let his friends listen to me crying over the phone when it would once again go to voice mail because he absolutely would NOT respond. He told people I was crazy, that I made up all the promises he made me, that I was suicidal. I felt worthless, helpless, wronged, and alone.
A glimmer of hope, then-- amidst the tears and sense of overwhelming loss, there was an email. I had been awarded a ticket. A low-income ticket to a week-long art festival in the middle of the desert, Burning Man. First there came an ecstatic joy so powerful, I literally jumped up and down laughing and smiling, almost yelling my good news to my friend Norah, who was with me at the time. Second came a wave of dread-- everyone else I knew going to this event were friends with Max, that person who had taken everything I cherished away from me, and they had already dedicated themselves to being a part of his camp. Did I mention that two of these people, Norah and Maggie, were my best friends?? Maggie was on the fence about camping with Max. She knew about all the shit he was putting me through and wasn't sure if she wanted to be around someone like that for a week in the desert, but she wouldn't camp with me either.
Let's back track a little here... when Max and I were together, he tried to get me to go to Burning Man in 2011. He was even willing to sneak me in somehow, but I decided not to go because the week before the festival, my dad lost his job so I stayed home and job hunted like crazy to help my family out. When he came back, he told me all about his week in the desert, which was his third year there, and we promised each other I would go the next year. Maggie and Norah have always talked about going together ever since they heard about it back in high school. When they discovered that my boyfriend was a Burner, we all decided to go together, Maggie and Norah deciding that the only way they would go is if they had a senior Burner to camp with so they felt safe. Max became that senior Burner for them. After Max broke up with me, he still told me that if he got tickets, one of them would be mine. When he wasn't awarded tickets through the lame raffle system BMORG had tried for the year of 2012, I was shit out of luck on getting a ticket until I found the Low Income Award program. At this point was when he had stopped talking to me, and when he heard I was still trying to get a ticket, he started telling everyone that I was only going so I could try to get back together with him. When Norah was with me and I got the news I had been awarded a ticket, she wasn't happy for me at all. She thought I just wanted to get back with Max too. I fought so hard to try and prove to everyone that wasn't what I wanted.. he had hurt me too badly, said so many horrible things about me... why would I ever want to be with someone like that again?? The only thing I was looking for was a place to camp, hopefully with people I knew. So Maggie and (begrudgingly) Norah said they'd see if I could still camp with all of them as long as I kept my distance. He was immovable in the determination that I would not be allowed to go with them. After this news, I tried convincing Maggie and Norah to camp with me instead, but they refused. My two best friends... one whom I had known since first grade, and the other since seventh. They weren't even friends with Max until I had started dating him only a year prior to this, but they would not camp without a senior Burner for their first year. Another sense of loss overcame me at the realization that some of my closest friends left me feeling stranded and completely alone in finding my way to the playa for the first time. I felt betrayed, ditched, and like I meant so much less to them than what they meant to me.
I started gathering gear to go anyway, even though at this point I wasn't even sure if I would go. I focused on the small chance that I would. It wasn't just Max's influence that held me back from going, but my own mindset. I never did anything on my own. I couldn't even go to the bathroom in a new place unaccompanied without being terrified something bad or embarrassing would happen along the way. In that sense, I have always been dependent upon others.
So I mentally kicked myself and pushed through all these old barriers just to get myself to Black Rock City. I started reading all the newsletters, the entire First Timer's Guide, every single link posted on any website having to do with Burning Man that would lead me to more information, I clicked and read. I posted offering a ride share because there was absolutely no way I could afford the gas there and back on my own. I originally planned on camping by myself at this point or with the random people I would meet for the ride share, if they'd have me. Suddenly I had something to work towards: going home.
Yes, home. Even though I'd never been there before, I felt it was right-- I felt like I belonged there. More specifically I longed for The Temple.
The Temple. A place of happiness, sadness, solidarity, and contemplation; some consider it sacred. The Temple, a place to let go and make peace with yourself and the world.
I needed to be there. I needed it like it was a drug I'd been addicted to and suddenly cut off from. I. NEEDED. The Temple. I needed the release of a personal retreat for my spirit which felt like it had become so heavy from the myriad of burdens of my life; from all the forms of abuse to lying, stealing, doing bad things, all the regrets and all the things I hadn't been able to forgive just yet of myself and of others. For the people I'd lost, loved, and hated.
Several people responded to my ride share and at one point I'd been overbooked. Then they would drop out and more would say they'd take the spots, then drop out again... and then I found a theme camp.
My theme camp. I had been asked to join a few and browsed around, but all of them seemed so exclusive to the type of people they wanted, very clique-ish. I was on ePlaya and found the most hilarious looking blueprint for a building (an 11-story tall penis) according to the 2012 theme of Fertility 2.0 and was so amused by it that I contacted the camp coordinator directly to see if they had more room for members. Instantly I was welcomed with open arms. I went to the first camp meeting and everyone treated me as if I was family and let me into their lives with no hesitation. I was excited to put forth as much effort as I could, even with the hour-long distance to LA, where my camp was based. Talking to this new family of mine helped me prepare myself emotionally for this trip. It wasn't just a trip to the desert for a week anymore, it was now a defining experience of self-reliance and independence on my part. My camp helped me find ride shares that stuck through with the commitment (thank god, because I was so broke by the end of the trip I only had about $3 to my name).
It all became more and more real and suddenly, it was time to go.
The entire trip up was a 12-hour blur of anticipation and excitement, I was so ready to be there that I drove the entire way without any rest. The people traveling with me offered to take the wheel, but I was so awake from the adrenaline, I just kept going. The worst part was Genesis. Getting in through the gate, stopping at will-call (dear lord that took FOREVER), and then dropping off people at their respective camps. (Silver lining for Genesis: rolling in the dust at the Greeter's station, smacking the shit out of that bell with a metal pipe and screaming at the top of my lungs, "I AM NO LONGER A VIRGIN!!" Exhilarating doesn't seem like a good enough word.) We arrived at Mal-Mart presents: Baal-Mart (my theme camp), at long last. I stepped out, asked where I should put my things, threw my tent up, and stopped to take a look around me. And I cried. I cried out of tiredness from no sleep over the last 28 hours, I cried over my aching back, but mostly... mostly I cried out of happiness that I made it. I made it. On my own. I made it happen. I applied for my ticket, I pushed myself to go despite the lack of support from my friends, I found a theme camp that treated me spectacularly and valued my help and input, I got people to come with me and share the cost of gas, and I. Got. There. I had never felt so successful before. Mama G (one of my camp members) found me and saw me crying. She told me to take a nap and if anyone asked why I wasn't helping, I was to tell them it was Mama G's orders. After an hour nap, I helped my theme camp with more set up, Maggie and Norah found me and showed me where their camp was, Max and I had a friendly truce and a rather pleasant talk (totally took me by surprise, since he tried everything he could to prevent me from getting to the playa), we adventured a little, I came back to my own camp in the evening and was so energized with just being there that I kept going. I made new friends from Norway that night, Espen and Harry, and we were out until 2am wandering the open playa looking at the effigies and other art installations.
The second day was spent relaxing, finishing set up, and adventuring with Maggie and Norah. That night I slept wonderfully for a well-deserved 12 hours. The third and fourth days were spent much the same when the sun was up: relaxing on hammocks under my theme camp's scaffolding dozing here and there nestled in the heavy bass coming from the speakers right next to us, getting to know my fellow theme camp members from around the world. I believe it was the third day that I officially met Simon.
When I had joined Mal-Mart and was looking for ride shares a guy from Australia, Simon, tried to see if I could give his friends a ride to the playa from Reno. Interested in getting to know my camp members more thoroughly, I added him on Facebook (okay, mostly because I thought he was cute and he was one of the few men in my camp who was straight AND single), where I found that one of his favourite hobbies was geocaching, which happened to be one of mine as well. So I flirted, using geocaching as an excuse, and it worked. There's a geocache on the playa each year, which is only exclusively available to people who go to Burning Man, and we both wanted to find it. We kept in touch up until the week of Burning Man, and then we finally met. I was in the camp kitchen cooking spicy Thai green curry and rice for everyone, when he came and asked when I'd like to try and find the geocache. It took me about 5 minutes to understand everything he was saying because of his accent-- it was way too adorably Australian, and I was distracted by both his tutu and the cooking I was doing. After the super awesome spicy curry lunch I made, we ended up in a hammock just talking. We talked about everything: work, friends, our educations, family, what we had seen on the playa so far, and music. I was kind of dozing off a little bit here and there, he rested his arm across my legs, and I felt completely comfortable with everything that was going on in my life at that moment. I didn't have a care in the world, and it was the first time I had felt like that in almost a year. For the next day or so after that, he kept finding me around camp and seeing if I was ready for the geocaching adventure, flirting with me, putting his arm around my waist, and just being completely and totally pleasant to be around. I developed a little bit of a playa crush.
The morning of the fourth day there was a wedding for 2 of my camp members, Maddy and Tom. The wedding led me to my first visit at The Temple, where their ceremony would take place. Again, I cried. This was the reason I came. But I wiped those tears away and looked on at the wedding which just made me cry more at how happy they both were and how simple yet indescribably beautiful the ceremony was... I tried to focus on them instead of my own reasons for being at the Temple. I attached myself to all these wonderful new friends, these beautiful people. Shared thoughts and bits of my life with so many of them, and they returned the favour. They became my best friends. At night groups of us would go out all covered in our glow-tastic things so we could be seen in the dark. We bar-hopped, met so many amazing random people, played with art, quested and got distracted from our quests with other quests...
That night I went to Maggie's camp where she, Tony, and Sara accompanied me on a trip back to The Temple, where I found a marker, a block of wood, and I wrote my heart out on it. I wrote the names of friends and family who died, I wrote a letter to my mother and oldest brother, both of whom I had issues with that I really needed to let go of after so so many years... I forgave past loves for mistreating me and family who had disowned me. I wrote my brother's name on a step and watched as people stepped on him for once, something I felt he had deserved since I was just a child.. I hadn't cried so hard in so long, and it felt wondrous.
The fifth day started around 2am for me, some time shortly after the rain from a passing thunderstorm had stopped. Simon and I spent our entire time until 5:30am adventuring with Espen and two New Zealanders, Mandy and Ali. We found a ball pit to play in, ribbons and plastic-y dangly things to walk through, a music room that was motion-activated. We visited the Man, found a Rhino art-car that played amazing music to dance to... and then at 6:00am on 6:00 at the hanging rock, I watched the most beautiful sunrise I had ever seen with Simon, the only person at that point in my life that I wanted to see it with. We went back to my tent to sleep (and slept through the satellite photo ;/ boo. *sigh*), and when we woke up, he kissed me. At first, a million thoughts were going through my head, "This is the first guy I've kissed since Max. He doesn't kiss like Max. Should I feel bad about this?? No. No, I don't feel bad about this at all. He's nice, hes cute, I like him, and he kisses well. This is good. I have a playa boyfriend. Stop thinking so much." And then I gave into it all, and stopped caring about my own over-analytic thoughts and just enjoyed his kisses and the laughing we shared.
A little after Noon, we got up and adventured some more, then he accompanied me on yet another trip to The Temple. This one was just as intense as the night before, because I not only wrote on the Temple... I left physical memories there. Every letter and gift given to me from past boyfriends, every picture I cherished of our times together, pictures of the people I knew who had died, pictures of my brother, my mother, my family members who disowned me... and a sheet. A bed sheet from my childhood. I ripped it and wrote a final goodbye to it and I stuffed it on top of everything else under a spire so nothing would blow away in the wind, and I left it there to fucking burn. Simon held me as this time I cried angry tears, tears of regret, sadness, and lost hope... and as he kept holding me a girl walked by singing, "You are loved, you are loved, you are loved. You are so loved. Believe me when I say you are loved."
My tears became happy ones and I smiled, knowing that all the evil... all the negative, horrible, dark, sad things from my past are set and ready to burn and be gone forever.
After the Temple, Simon and I continued to wander around the city and delivered some letters we had picked up from the Black Rock City Post Office. After finally finding where the last letter was meant to go, it was getting dark and we didn't have any lights on. We started walking back to camp, and we were alone on a dark empty street. I was looking up at the moon, it was huge and so bright it was flooding the street enough that I could see almost everything around me, talking to Simon about the differences and preferences for Lefties and Righties when it came to hand-holding and demonstrating the preferences, when he stopped me. We were dead center of the road, he put his arms around my waist, and just stood there holding me. He rested his chin on my shoulder, and we looked at the moon in silence. A minute went by, two minutes, three.. he kissed me, really started getting into it, and I started to feel uncomfortable. Not in a, "I want this guy to get off of me" kind of way, but it felt like too much. It felt almost real because of the romance surrounding the situation, and I didn't want romance... not exactly, anyway. I wanted playa romance, not default world romance, and for a moment it just felt too close to it. I knew it wasn't what he intended, but I pulled away and made some lame excuse that we should get back to camp and put our lights on so we weren't darkwads. We met up with a few camp members, Stine, Tarmo, Espen, Harry, and were invited to go on a deep playa excursion on Baals-Deep (the camp art car) with it's creator, Brian. A whiteout came in when we were out in deep playa while Simon was driving it around. It was freezing Stine, Tarmo, and I, and forced us to wear our masks and goggles. When we finally made it back to camp, Simon and I went to sleep intending on a short nap before going out after the whiteout had died down, but ended up sleeping through until morning instead. Then, it was Burn Day.
There was electricity in the air, everyone was buzzing about getting ready for the Man to burn that night. Anticipation was reaching a breaking point. I helped Simon on a quest to find something of his friend's that he had lost, but we had no luck. Fortunately we found replacements and headed out for more adventuring. Specifically, to finally find that damn geocache. We tried everything and kept running into brick walls with it. No matter what we tried, we simply couldn't find the coordinates for the camp that would give us the coordinates for the geocache. After what seemed like an hour but was probably less than that, we gave up and adventured more, finding a random dancing circle that stopped the music and shouted out activities for you to do until the music started again (be a ninja, kiss someone you think is attractive, make out with someone's bellybutton, switch an article of clothing, find someone with a naughty tattoo or a tattoo in a naughty place, etc..), a guy named Barnaby playing guitar and singing to some girls inside a tent which we decided to stop and listen to for a bit, and the most entertaining girls sitting on cushions alongside the street bumming cigarettes from passerby to chain smoke
Burn night was magical. We headed out with our camp on Baals-Deep, surrounded by the people we loved most after forming such wonderful new friendships with them. Brian found a fantastic spot to view the Man, and we all waited. We partied while we waited. Stine kept giggling every time she saw Simon holding my hand or leaning over to kiss me on the cheek. Everything seemed in the right place at the right time, and suddenly, after feeling like we had been waiting forever-- our entire lives -- just to see the Man burn... explosions from one of the greatest firework shows I had ever seen started bursting in the sky, the Man's arms were raised awaiting his fate and then.. he was burning. Cheers gushed from the crowd, goosebumps covered my entire body, my hair standing on end as we raised our arms in celebration and triumph over everything and I screamed, yelled, cheered, "BURN HIM TO THE GOD DAMN GROUND!!"
What did the Man represent to me?? The Man represented everything I had overcome in my life. Depression, anxiety, physical, sexual, and mental abuse, friends who had betrayed me, people who had put me down, family who abandoned me, defeat, selfishness-- myself. The Man represented me. My negativity. My criticism of my self. It all burned away, and now... now, I was new. As a person, I had changed. I felt no hate, no sadness, only this unyielding sense of love and affection for everyone around me and anyone who had been in my life because no matter their role, whether I knew them for a second or for years, whether they were horrible or wonderful, they helped shape ME. And I overcame it ALL. Every obstacle, every injury, I scrambled over it and kicked it into the fucking dust and burned it and I WON.
This overwhelming feeling of accomplishment....It was exhausting. After Simon and I had walked around the Man taking pictures of interesting people and all the art cars we could find, we went back to camp and I fell asleep as soon as we were in my tent. He got up an hour later for the burning of "Burn Wall Street", an art installation on the playa, but I told him to go without me. I was way too tired. When he came back, he woke me up with a back massage, and some.. other... activities. That... was a very good night.
Waking up the next day, the entire atmosphere of the playa had changed. People were grumpy, packing things up everywhere, and our camp had started tearing down our massive structure. Everyone kept busy the entire day. I helped make a feast for everyone in our camp supplied by Mama G and her awesome wife, Judy. I helped pass out water and electrolyte drinks, stacked scaffolding that was being taken down, and throwing wood and other burnables into the burn pile. We wanted to stay busy. If you didn't keep busy, you stopped for a second and had time to think. Time to think that this was the last day, everyone was going home either tonight or tomorrow and everything is going to be gone... All my closest friends from my camp lived in different countries, I wouldn't see them for a year... an entire year, unless trips to visit could be made... the thought was dreadful. I didn't want to go, I wasn't ready to leave this place I had learned to call home before I had even stepped foot on it.
Going to the The Temple Burn, I felt defeated and anxious again... only accompanied by Simon, we found a spot near the front of The Temple and settled in for the burn. It was so different from the Man burn-- everyone was quiet, waiting for it to start. The BRC choir sang a song to the tune of Schubert's Ave Maria and goosebumps were all over me yet again and a few tears escaped. I'd grown up listening to my mom sing that song at weddings and funerals and found it a little ironic that this song, of all songs, was playing before I watched pictures, a letter, and so many distasteful memories of my mother burn. I kept my eyes focused on the Temple, waiting for it to start...this was the last step. I didn't even lose focus when everyone started howling at the moon.
And then it started. The Temple caught fire, the flames creeping their way up, the intensity of the heat almost unbearable yet I welcomed it. Simon held me again. I think he thought I was going to cry, but I didn't. I watched it burn almost hungrily, egging the flames to burn it down quickly so it was all gone. It collapsed and everything had burned away at this point except the base frame, and we walked back to camp...and I felt like an entirely new person-- a complete one.
That life I had before this, it belonged to someone else. It wasn't a part of me anymore, and yet it still was. I knew all those things had happened to me, but I felt disconnected now, like it was an old book I had finished ages ago and never wanted to pick up and read again. I'm onto the next book now, a better one.
One that is just starting to be written.
