I lived in this house with my mother and father during my junior and senior years of high school. My brothers had already left for college and it was an extraordinarily difficult time for me. The beginning of what would become a two-decade narrative arc of trying to make sense of the dark places my mind took me. This house in the same neighborhood we had lived in when I was in 3rd, 4th and 5th grades — we moved away then moved back — and I think my parents were hoping that the familiarity and the previous connections would make the move less painful for me. It didn’t…but as a parent now I can appreciate that sort of decision-making.
Most of my stories from this house are too personal to share in a public space like this, but I’m not surprised that the final painting of this house ended up being set in the dark. This is house where I learned about insomnia and running in the dark at 2am. I lived over the garage so sneaking in and out was pretty straight-forward. While most teenagers might be tempted to sneak out to socialize or drink, all I did was run and find reasonably private places to cry with abandon.
