That moves me to draw. I draw because I am often compelled to create. I draw to relieve stress, to distract from the agonizing pain in my brain, to bring small joy to myself in moments of need. Drawing often does for me that which few things can, it refocuses me from my inner maelstrom.
I do not draw out of boredom. I draw for sanity preservation. Only you didn’t ask and even if you had I couldn’t have risked the judgment, the bias of telling you the truth.
The words from Fight Club ring in my head. I know this to be true…
But sometimes my job makes me feel like I want to die.
I stumble over the blank screen. Just as I once stared down the naked lines of notebook paper. Mocked by the whiteness of those empty spaces. I want to unleash that which coils cold and dank within the recesses of my mind. Only the words defy me.
They sneak, slink and speed away.
Is sweeping my brain.
Maybe I should have stayed at the other job with the long commute and chance at permanent placement.
Every day there is something I’ve done wrong, or missed, or was told wrong and so did wrong. Every day something I’ve failed at.
I fear this was a bad risk, poor choice.
Or perhaps its all just my muddled head.
Life has been good. Limited emo bs and I’ve been a busy bee well busy teebean actually.
Some highlights: Birthday party game night for my best friend. I saw ‘Now you see me’ with my other best friend and his daughter. Then saw ‘Despicable me 2’ with him Tuesday. Caught a teeny tiny gecko in my bathtub with my bare hands and freed him outside. Been loving my toads, frogs and Torty! Friday I’m heading to the coast with my best friend, she and I are making a break for it, at least for a night.
Mood has been fairly stable for a WHOLE WEEK! Fuck YaH! Hey after the past three months that’s a bloody accomplishment.
Also been playing more and more League of Legends. Been improving my game play too.
In think happiness looks good on me.
“I am trapped here at the boundary of day and night. Like a mosquito in amber I am suspended in this endless twilight. It is only in these brief moments of transition that I am corporeal. Just these few minutes may I touch and be touched.” His hand reaches up to touch her face, as if her last few words compel him. She pulls back sharply as if his touch could burn, her eyes go wide. “No, please, just listen.” her voice growing faint with the onset of true night, ” I do not have much time left.”
His voice is thick with the burr of sleep, “Pretty little phantom, don’t flee.” The exasperation is clear on her face as she realizes once again she has chosen unwisely. He thinks me a dream, a figment of his lonely slumber. Even though some time remains she withdraws from view, her heart lay heavy as lead within her breast.
“Wait, wait,” he calls after her. But she is gone as he whispers to the confines of his empty tent. “I was listening.”
I do want to say I am thankful that I had an actual friend on the other end of my phone line via text. She knows how it is to be bipolar flavored and it was good to have her there.
It did help. And so did writing about this to all of you. My head may not explode after all.