I feel a ramble full of mental emotion coming on, but it's difficult to let creative thoughts come out while I sit at my desk in the office, no wine to sip and no view to speak of. I remember when I first moved to my current apartment, over 2 years ago (amazing how fast time flies) I used to take such comfort in writing at my little table, with the night view at my eyes. A long dark street with bare branches intertwined with little christmas lights. Those were the last days of writing for me, the last days of emotional, tears bursting forth, insane emotions...the very emotions I wished for for so many years prior. I got my wish, and then as fast as they came, they went away.
Photo: Freeze The Sun by burcindrummer
I am the type who needs emotion. It fuels me more than any delicious food and drink. I crave the emotions of intense sadness, despair and desire so badly because they bring forth astounding creativity. They remind me that I do feel something, and I write it out like mad in a journal, on my laptop, as poetry, as prose. I play my cello until my fingers hurt and burn so badly, it's hard to even wash my face. With a head full of passion and hands full of pain, I feel full, with a purpose.
But when I get this, which I beg for, when these emotions finally surface, I dread them. These emotions which bring me such passion, bring with them intense confusion, depression, upset and then I want nothing more but for them to go away. Its a constant push and pull of creative energies. But where is the balance? When I am not feeling these intense emotions, which is most of the time, my mind is as empty and blank as an unpainted wall. I have no interest in writing or music, no fire in my eyes, I become an empty shell, and I hate this so, so much. I feel so bored with myself that I wish for despair to return, just to feel something. I welcome despair into my room, pull up it's favourite chair, pour it a glass of wine and treat it like a most welcomed guest. Without despair (and all the crazy passion which comes along for the ride) I am lost. I do not know how to just be happy, and beyond that, I do not know how to just be.
So there I am left, caught in the middle of the two extremes; floating in the abyss of blank, encircled by a constant hum of watery depression. I am too tired to feed this despair more then weak wine, so it lingers around in the doorway, not letting me out of this desperate room, but far enough away that I can go on, as normal, here and there, making dinner and picking up the milk, but my pencils and my cello are on the other side of this proverbial door, lodged in there with despair itself.
I know I could choose to be happy, and indeed change the things which can be changed, but memory stands in the way. I do not know how to live without this most disruptive house-guest, and I fear I do not know who I am without it. So instead I dwell. Instead of making these changes and moving forward, I stay where I am and dwell in flashes and moments of who I was when I was feeling.
The time needs to come for change, when I can finally choose to leave behind all three ways of being (emotionless, emotionfull, blank) and find a healthy balance of creativity which can also come from happiness. It's in there...somewhere...