At this moment I have the impossible task of moving in my creative projects while my heart and my mind are crippled in grief. I sit down in my safe space ready to create and am flooded with pain. Words. Words that were spoken have echoed into the deepest caverns of my soul and resonated into truth. There are no words to describe the sorrow, the pain, the broken faith, the shattered self-image, and the looming fear of mediocrity that hover over me. Yet here I sit, and I must move forward. Alone. Without my biggest supporter. I sit down to write about a fantasy world because this world is too much to cope with at the moment, and I need a vacation into somewhere safe.
I have been meaning to write songs for a rock album I was planning to work on this year, but all the words are of anger and pain and hurt. It almost feels like a kid again, putting down the most angst driven prose with the sole objective of hurting and destroying the one who manifested them onto the page. So to try to escape this dark place, I turn to the musicals. And I am struggling to find the happy. I used to know happy. I used to know safe. I used to know comfortable. I used to know 'til death do us part and happily ever after and every cliché that was jammed down our throats. And now, I know silence. I know lonely, I know sad, I know despair. And I know how to pull myself back up, I know how to survive. I don't cope by drinking or drugs, I cope with time and understanding. I don't run from my feelings, but I do bury my tears. I told myself long ago that if anyone hurt me, they were no longer allowed the privilege of watching me cry. So I stay stoic, and cry down the inside of my cheeks. I am not silent, I am thinking, I am analyzing, I am shouting. Just they are not words for you to hear. Not until I am ready.
This blog has become a form of therapy so while I know those few who do take the time to read this will reach out to me, just know I am not ok, but I am ok. I hope that makes sense. I thank you for wanting to help, but these demons are in my closet of a brain, and in my bed. It has become so daunting to try to write joy while immersed in pain. I know I will be okay, because I have been in the past.
I have always wondered how many millions of times a heart can break. The pieces get smaller and smaller, fragmented into infinity. And I find myself a stained glass human with missing panes and cracks blocking the light within. I choose to write about my pain, because if I write my rage, there would be only ash on the page. The scorn of the words would burn into oblivion and the animosity could never be reconciled.
I am an enigma. I have realized this from a very early age. I am comparable to no one. While I do not love my face, I know I have a desirable body. And the sad part is, thats the most desired part of me, because Men. The fact that I have high expectations of myself, talent, drive, ambition, and don't prefer to spend my nights getting groped up by drunks who are out to have fun with 'friends' speaks highly of who I am. As a human I realize I am capable of being a paradigm and full of contradictions, but the one thing I refuse to be is a statistic. There is no one else like me, and there will never be a replacement. Not even a close second. Sorry, I am getting off topic. I will vent about the "culture" and its severe deficiencies and problems another time.
I will leave you with a song I wrote a long time ago, that helped me through a dark time. Its called "Permafrost." I over processed the vocals on purpose to sound cold and icy. The tone is biting, pointed, and sarcastic. I wrote the lyrics in a way that a Ani DiFranco type may choose to lash out with razor wit and precision. Eventually things will get better, I'll stop hurting so much and so constantly. I've been losing everything since September, and I am just hoping that its done. Searching for hope in creation.
"I envy you. Most people, ya know, tend to let their feelings show but not you. You're better than that."
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