Somewhere along the way, I think I can trace back each little thread leading to the unraveling, I succumbed to bitterness. I allowed myself to let go of hope; I misplaced the faith that another great thing would (WILL) come; I let the losses of my personal life overwhelm me; I allowed the depression that weaves itself through my timeline, popping up every few years like a familiar enemy, to take hold. I lost myself. I stopped being an artist. I stopped creating. I was miserable.
I am waking up.
This shadowy place has been full of so much beauty – and that is what has lifted me up and carried me along. A new partner, new friends, reconnecting with old friends, time with my family, NEW family – I became an aunt! My boyfriend has two wonderful children! – beautiful and rich new life experiences. I have been okay, just okay, absolutely okay. But I haven’t been my full self.
I am an artist, a creator, a thinker, a feeler, incontrovertibly. I cannot put those things away. When I do put them away, I turn gray and wither, or balloon, into a sad and angry shadow of myself: bigger, flatter, darker, duller.
I struggle to be open, to connect, to allow myself to be vulnerable, to allow myself to be myself. I struggle with fear. I struggle with self-acceptance. I fear that I will fail, and the person I am most afraid of disappointing is myself.
I share with you this cracking open feeling in my chest, these tears hitting my keypad, because I am afraid to share it, because I want to share it, because I need to share it.
My apologies to you – I haven’t been my best. I haven’t been participating. I probably haven’t called you back. I let my little flame grow very small. I forgot how much I like to use metaphors. But I am here. I am back. I am still here. I never left. And I stay.