Sunday, July 28, 2013

Poise and Rationality

Yesterday, when I was coming home, I felt light, hopeful, brightly happy in a way I haven't been in a long, long time. It wasn't just that particular morning, or the particular salvage work performed during. It was the whole week, rest and recovery, enjoyment, fear as fear and not reality. I've been tired for so long now. I've been trying just to get by for so long. I've been trying to achieve dreams and to let go of doubt.

Today I'm so angry. Angry in my own brand of anger which usually includes despair and discontent and a deep desire that the world will go away and leave me to the peace I feel I've earned so much. My anger has tears in it and begging. It's got the arrogance of someone who feels like she's done her duty. My anger has the frustration of someone who is not used to dealing with anger at all. It's so strange to come from a repressed household because you learn to be polite even in the face of your own gut-wrenching rage. And it always surprises you when other people aren't.

This last year it's been so hard to write about how I'm feeling, because so much of what I'm feeling makes me afraid. So much of it makes me overthink the good things in my life. It's hard to examine something that you want to NOT exist, so, so much. I guess it isn't all that hard to look at anger that is a long time coming.

Part of all this makes me want to draw real badly, for some strange reason. I suppose, if one were to judge by this entry, it also makes me want to write. (It also makes me want to listen to Panic! At the Disco and Fall Out Boy...). It makes me want to grab it, dissect it and make use of it in fiction. Writing has been so heartfelt for me for such a long time. Drawing has been lighter, a lot more experimental, a lot more like fun, less like trying to see my own viscera under a microscope.

Lately I've been trying to change that, to proceed at a more methodical and deliberate pace. It helps. It makes it easier to plod on when I'm feeling unsure and to arrive at the moment of inspiration on which so many depend. I mean it makes sense, and someone once described it to me in terms of photography: take enough pictures/ write enough/ draw enough and some of it is bound to be good, pure statistics. In addition, practice makes perfect.

But feeling this anger has made want to recall the other method of my youth, just vomiting my feelings on the keyboard and trying to make sense of them. I don't really have the time for it, or even for this blog right now, but I wanted to give it a go. I wanted to create space, personal, private space, when space has been denied me. I can build it with anger, with words, with music, with pictures.