On a more less-Personal Note

I am not sure I can describe what I mean in words.  I’ve never tried to share this all with others before… no.  That’s a lie.  I have tried.  But I fail miserably at reaching out to people in all parts of my life… why would this be any different?


I used to write and I used to paint.  That was a time when I had something worth saying (at least emotionally unstable teenage me thought so).

Now when I sit down I struggle to make my pen or brush move.  Maybe it’s an artist’s block…


A friend told me once “You’re an artist, you will always be in pain.”

Is this true?  Without the pain I used to feel, I cannot create as eloquently as I did?  This saddens me.  It also bothers me.  Half my dreams are gone because I no longer allow myself to be angry.  I no longer allow myself to cry.  I no longer allow emotions to control who I am (except on those rare occasions women have no control of the hormone-Hulk that lies within).





But could this control have also diminished the passion I used to feel? … the make-dreams-happen kind of girl I was?  Because passion would have driven me to find another muse outside of pain, right?

Or maybe I’m not living a life worth sharing.  I do admit my life is kind of lame at this point in time.


Some people think I’m really cool.  Others think I am apathetic.  At times, I think I’m quite numb.  I’m not sure what label to put on this state of being.  I take it for what it is.  Most of the time I really enjoy the contentment and the calm.  But it really bothers me that I can’t create art like I did… that I’m not interested in picking up my guitar… that I have nothing to write about in words…  these were things about myself that, although I shared them with no one, I was really proud of them.

Maybe one day I can mix those parts of me with these parts of me… or maybe they are no longer parts of me.  Until that day, I guess I shouldn’t worry.  I should push that out of the way and into the box containing all the emotions that I cannot handle.



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