March 5th 2017
Week 4 sans meds
Day of rest.
Day of as much silence as I can possibly stand.
Not silence, but less chatter. Less talking.
Talk less. Do more.
I'm in my head again already. And that's ok. I'm going to slip. I'm going to feel sad. I'm going to cry. I almost gave over to it a few minutes ago.
Einaudi plays out from my mini-speaker. Sadness and loss fill the room. Leia mourns the loss of her ball, trapped under the bed.
I fought the sadness for so long- that I thought seemingly came from nowhere. Does it have an origin? Is something deep inside of me bubbling up to the surface, now that I'm giving it the clearance to rise?
Or am I just sad, sometimes, because I'm an emotional being.
I ride the wave. I haven't in such a long time. It feels foreign. I would medicate, medicate, medicate- to block whatever this is... instead of greeting it like an old friend, that's been with me through everything. Reminding me what it means to be happy- how to appreciate what I've been given, and more importantly, what I've earned.
The music picks up- a light somewhere off, out there. The sounds are searching- or inspiring me to search. No words, just... feeling. This is what art is.
And I am an artist. Without this, I am nothing. This search... no scratch that, this engagement with the question of why I'm here, why I matter.
My nostrils flare, tears start to well up. Is it so hard to believe that I have been put here for a reason?....
Ride the wave, ride the wave, ride the wave. Sometimes gracefully, sometimes getting shredded on the jetty.
I've got some good scars. I don't regret a single one... not the physical ones. The emotional scars, thats what this is, opening them up and letting the blood run free, with tints of fear and shades of shame.
This is color. This is inspiration. This is the work.
Movement is here. Money will come.
Happiness will always come, and always go. This is the work.