Thursday, June 4, 2015

500 Words. Day 13. Story time.

I didin’t want to write today. My resistance is strong. I am feeling an aversion to painting, taking a walk, listening to music, doing anything. I simply want to sit on my bed and stare out the window.

I’m not depressed. This is NOT what my depression looks like. I have a very intimate relationship with my depression, and sometimes it sneaks up on me out of no where, wrapping it’s dark tendrils around my waist and shoulders trying to hold on to my tight. Whispering words of suggested warmth, that actually leave me cold. Sometimes I can see my depression slinking up next to me, like some random old guy at the bar wanting to buy me a drink. “Hey, how are you?” No thank you.

This is not my depression. This is me reeling from the feeling that my world may implode. I’m currently viewing my environment as a field of land mines. I have such a vivid picture in my mind as I type this. The sky is blue with light fluffy clouds lazily moving along. I’m standing in the middle of this field or maybe even on the periphery since I am not looking behind me, simply looking straight ahead. The farthest edge of this field is marked by a simple fence. It may be barbed wire, or a simple pasture fence used to keep in livestock, but I’m too far away to see the detail. There are mountains in the distance, along with green sloping hills. The grass is different shades of green, patterns of scrub grass dotting the ground. 

If you weren't me, you wouldn’t know this is a gentle landscape is littered with land mines. Somehow, I know they are there. I just wish I knew where exactly. How am I supposed to cross this landscape, if I don’t know where to step? How do I trust that this my path takes me through this land unscathed? I don’t. Even though my path is not marked, I have an innate understanding that I must cross this field, and make it to the other side. What I’m looking for is across the fence.

My thoughts and inner critic are wildly varied today. I’m consistently switching between this scene and one of a wild cat caught in a cage. She’s pacing, always pacing. Back and forth, looking out of the bars, trying to see more than what is in front of her. Am I looking for a way out? Am I fantasizing about what is beyond the bars? Or am I comparing the constant comfort of this cage to the wild unknown outside? Sometimes as this cat, I simply curl up and lay down, content to be in this space. Other times, I’m trying to lash out against what is confining me, trying to swipe at the air, looking for a way out. 

These two scenes playing out in my mind are on opposite sides of the spectrum. The cat has so much emotion surrounding her. Strong emotions. Raw power. The girl in the field is timid, unsure, and nervous. I feel so very human in that scene, and yet so powerful as the cat. As the cat, I perceive that the bars of the cage holding me in are my own. They can be easily broken and torn apart, but I find comfort in them. The field is the unknown, the world outside the cage, beyond the bars. 

If I know this about these two scenes, is there a way that I can remain as powerful as the wild cat once I step out of the confinement I have created for myself?

As I’m writing this I realize that I AM creative. I view my world in scenes that I wish to describe for others. That is how I want to write. Rich descriptions, vivid details. I so desperately want these scenes to convey the feelings that I somehow can not describe succinctly. I want to weave landscapes of emotion for those around me, inviting them into my world, so they can experience my world the way I do on a daily basis. 

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