By freshmints on April 04, 2012
I haven't felt like myself lately. I’ve been sort of numb. maybe that explains the eating. It’s not that I’ve been pigging out - just being mindless...candy and popcorn at night and a little extra of things. But it adds up to stagnancy and leaves a film on my mind of self-hatred. And that builds up - soap scum of existence.
I have a ton of stuff to do today and know I need to work and put in hours and learn the digital filing and make money. But I’m feeling so dark and just want to paint or draw or masterbate or cut my skin. Maybe the Zyrtec is making me feel so disconnected. Maybe because we haven’t had sex as much lately. Maybe because I’ve been so focused on BEING and confused that with BEING GOOD that the fun little deviant within just wants to get out and wreak some havoc. I’m certainly craving some release. Everything is so neat. Everything is so structured. There is certainly disorder - the playroom is a mess, the fridge needs cleaning, I have never dusted the window with all the glass. But I’m always working. I’m always taking care of every little thing. I know it’s necessary. I know it’s part of being a grown up. I know that’s the deal. But it numbs me out. I want to color my hair or get a tattoo or do something foolish. Is it self-sabotage? Is it recklessness? Or do I just need to feel like I’m not trapped? I spent so many years in a prison - I have to spread my wings sometimes, just to remind myself that the current constraints are my own life not one that has been forced upon me. I made it. I like it. I want to be here, being the mom, the wife, the worker. But I also want to be the vibrant artist, naked painter. I look at Pinterest and realize that so many people are still looking for satisfaction from surface things. Am I? - just different surface things? Is art surface? Or is art necessary for my existence? Yes, the latter. I’m not trying to create an identity. I know myself. I just want to create, to pull that darkness out and air it out, to be at peace with the other part of me, the part that is always looking for exits.
Food is not going to satisfy this yearning.
A clean house is not going to satisfy this yearning.
Exercise is not going to satisfy this yearning.
Am I clinging? Am I craving? Or do I actually need this - is that part of me good? Have I been denying myself to the point of strangulation?
But isn’t sitting with it - feeling the yearning, building up the longing - won’t that make the expression that much sweeter? My emotional waves have become more level, but I miss the highs, I miss going to the depths. Don’t we need the darkness to appreciate the light? Don’t we need the pain to appreciate the relief? Don’t we need to feel the exquisite pain of failing, hurting someone, being completely wrong in order to love someone and extend grace when they fail, hurt and miss?
I want to smash something. It felt so good to beat that pinata last week. But instead I volunteer at the bake sale and have people over and do my little list of necessary things. I make opportunities for Maya to paint and draw and glue. But I just observe. I rarely pick up a pencil. And I feel like such a cliche. I feel like Virginia Woolf turned into a pop song on repeat. I need a room of my own, room of my own, room of my own. Somebody slap me in the face. Maybe that’s it. Maybe I need some rough sex. Maybe I need to fall down a flight of stairs. Maybe I need to climb a mountain. Am I seriously craving pain?
Doing physical therapy I was getting dry needling. The pain was amazing. It sharpened everything. It brought everything into focus. Plus, at the end, there was muscle relief and a weightiness, a melting. Maybe that’s it. Maybe it’s the sunshine. Sunshine in my eyes does actually make me cry. The warmth of Spring, the relief that winter is over, that the light is back, it makes me just feel like sobbing.
Maybe I’ve been watching too much TV. Maybe I haven’t been cooking great meals enough. Maybe I just need to shut the fuck up, get my work done and do some goddam painting and stop moaning about my first-world problem of feeling mildly bored of myself. Or maybe I ought to shave my head or just do something. But please, stop the whining, Minter. Just stop whining.
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