Wednesday, May 18, 2016

Taking it back

My little story is back in my arms. I hold it close, like a child. Nudging and pulling at words until something new comes up and surprises me. I want to share or not share as much as my heart desires, finished or unhemmed. (I've removed the first chapter as it has been mended, as it were, and needs to be part of the whole, which will be available soon.)

Monday, May 02, 2016

my two monsters

I'm 40 this year, and still waiting to understand these two things:

Number one: Is it wrong to feel everything so deeply?

And, number two: Is it wrong to ask, "Is it wrong to feel everything so deeply?"?

See this lilac bush?

It is me.

I struggle with depression and anxiety every day of my life. I am learning to enfold it and carry it with me. The medicine I was taking dulled too many of my other senses to be of use for me for the rest of my life.

But having too large and monstrous of feelings, isn't acceptable, so, I pretend to be solid and moving from age to age like a wise woman, but my heart is this unruly lilac, fresh and twisted, poly-directional.
My heart has radial symmetry, reflecting this circular scene round and round, like the Rose Window of Notre Dame .
 Blossoms rich and drooping with a scent too insistent. They seem precocious and cause me to raise my eyebrows at them saying, "Is that so...well...oh my..." and things like that. Their spontaneity and mismanagement of space make me feel embarrassed, like I've gone too far or tried too hard and now everyone is coughing and turning away.

Depression and anxiety are tangible monsters that I have to rule every day of my life, and so I write to let them out to play. If you do not have your own monsters, you do NOT understand this.

I need to give them voice. They need to be seen and understood. They pester and peck until you must look at them and say, "Okay!!!" It isn't kind to say, "Stop that now. How stupid to be upset about that." They do not live in this world. My two monsters cry and worry about what, and at a time when, they want, so I let them. Mostly when I write, and mostly when I write here.

This is the only acceptable place they can come in public to be heard and understood. Poor, gentle monsters with hearts made of lilac petals, persistent and sincere.

Do you have monsters? How do you live with them?