There are so many things that can be described into words, yet the tidal waves of emotions act as blockades to your creative process. The struggle of communication has truly kept people’s attention at bay, only forcing an even wider wedge in between. Yet what can one do, when he or she is the source of the problem? Further self-loathing, quicken the dampness of your self-esteem? Or distancing, only to further your solitude?
There are so many things one can express, yet once put forth, presented into tangible, distinct sounds that one could be held accountable for, he or she feels guilty for expressing too much, for weighing down another with their burden.
I’ve always had a lot of what ifs on my mind, particularly thoughts of harm, distress, regret, self-pity and existence. What if I hadn’t expressed at all? What if I couldn’t speak, and could only break down internally without anyone knowing, so no one would be harmed? What if I never went to the therapist? What if I did not have the capacity to feel self-pity? …What if there was a parallel world where one could travel to, create an identity that holds no connection to anyone, and live a life that is not even remotely related to the life he or she were living at present?
For a moment, I thought I was on the road to recovery (and I’m sure I still am) but sometimes it is hard to believe when something as long as a phrase or as short as a word can call forth the gods of the bitter tidal waves, or the spirits full of hostility and menace. Perhaps this vulnerability is part of this journey towards a better mental health. Or maybe the anxiety caused by the encounters of these raging waters is a crucial experience in seeing the painted horizon stretched before one. Possibilities that may have been there all along, but were never ventured until now.
But not this evening, for I am still drowning within this wave, infuriated by an abundance of emotions.