would i get things done? would my words and art come back to me? are those three haunting things even what keeps me silent creatively? something is.
i'm on my meds and i take them daily and they make me feel better but not best. i'm happier, but i'm not producing any art or poetry. and i miss that rush i get when i finish something that says all i want to say. or all i need to say at that time. i look at my materials and draw a blank. there are things that need to be done before i can even think of art. there are messes to clean up and things to be done.
but should i look at my art as a reward for doing something constructive, or is it a gift in itself? something that needs to be done to get the feelings out of me.
i've been holding in my feelings. trying to behave and be stable. and so much of my time is wrapped up in that . . . effort expended so i don't sit and rock back and forth, so i keep my voice even, so i appear normal.
what is in the halls of the psych hospital that i keep dreaming of it? what is my brain trying to tell me? why must it be so cryptic?
and why do fear, shame and guilt follow me around and haunt my every thought? surely these things are better left by the side of the road. they aren't things that i need and i wish i could take them out to the desert and dig a hole for them.
