Output 29—Back from Camp

Me with my very good friends John Waters and Mink Stole. They’re saving me a seat. Really.

And campy it was. And so much more.

I need a while to process. I was so nervous to go… terrible memories of my Freshman first day at Bennington College, so looking forward to finding “my people” but so full of trauma and self-hatred and timidity that I was crushed by the weight of it all. I have no idea whether my lasting impressions of my dormmates were real or paranoid projections, but every day at Bennington was a mental struggle of epic proportions (mediated by epic alcohol consumption) and I still don’t understand why I didn’t just drop or transfer. I guess mama’s perfect girl would never do such a thing.

In any case, this wasn’t that. This was what I wanted that to be. All strangers, all fantastic and kind and caring and creative and fucked up and vulnerable about it. So many new friends I can’t delete Facebook (but I did do another major cull that I’m satisfied with), so many memories, so much fun. I know I had some fun times at Bennington as well but they are just tiny eyes in a shitty potato. This was real joy, encouragement, and, dare I say it, acceptance. I’m still ashamed to admit how badly I want it and how many times I’ve turned from people and places and projects when I didn’t feel it. Shame has followed me all my life. The first night at Camp I mentioned to a cabin-mate that I was an idiot because I forgot my comb. Her response? “Don’t ever say that about yourself again. Just borrow my fucking comb!"

And it all just evaporated.

These goddesses from Coney Island burlesque were already big icons for me and here they were, just “normal” Campers. So happy and free, these ladies. You can feel it, cantcha?

Me and my very good friend Stephen Dorff (and my ACTUAL new amazing friend Alexis).

I hope I can hold on to this feeling, I hope that at least part of it has to do with my new medications and efforts to finally heal myself so that it doesn’t just fizzle as I get further away from this weekend.

Camp John Waters Jazz Hands (with new Glaswegian friend David. THIS IS FASCISM).

I still have a fuckload of work to do and I am so scared over my finances and the crash that is coming VERY SOON. But I came away from Camp John Waters feeling different. Not sure exactly how yet. Definitely more confident. Definitely more powerful. Definitely more hopeful.

I’m not letting this guy get away. So many wonderful people. Mark is gonna stay in my heart (and I will stay on his couch). Turns out people from Minneapolis are pretty amazing.

I’m not sharing much from Camp here. We don’t have to share all of our experiences to feel seen, I’m learning that. And also, what happens at CJW stays at CJW. If you wanna know, you have to go next year. It’s going to be the last one. Already devastated.