Being trapped within a situation that you thought you escaped is beyond uncomfortable. How does someone escape from a situation that has already been removed from the periphery? I wanted to just walk away. It seems so simple, but there it is, the mortgage, the need to clean the house, to walk the dog, to continue maintaining a space that I never wanted to inhabit alone.
At the end of a relationship, both individuals involved should be able to move on, move out, but not me. I stayed in the house, not by choice, that we both owned, full of projects started, yet never completed. Some people are great at demolition. Some people have no interest in fixing something that is broken. A band-aid here or there, but never a resolution.
I became a project, a band-aid here or there. I had no idea how long it would take or how to even begin the process to complete the project that was me. Was I someone’s science or psychological experiment? How long could I live in this real-life doghouse, living in my own personal hell, living in a house that was so far removed from the meaning of home? This house was supposed to represent a new wonderful life, a future, and instead became the symbol of how difficult life can truly be. This body of work represents the anger, confusion, and fragility of my masculinity. A masculinity I am proud of but had to work hard to maintain.