The past three weeks it’s been hit after hit, getting revelation after revelation in regards to my past and healing. Some of the stuff had me flying instantly and other times.. I was told I had to access my anger and really let myself feel things I wouldn’t bother before – and for two nights I cried myself asleep. But what awoke in me this few weeks was like a wonka ticket of the self. I, one, felt a huge craving, desire, nay – yearning to paint again (I grew up as an artist and in my teens it slipped away from my grasp due to depression despite temporary sparks to see if I still had talent.) and two, .. I realized I didn’t actually want to write at all. Despite winning contests and being told I was “hella good” at creating visuals…. I would always seize and lock up when I tried to write. For years. The revelation came to me that it was my mother’s dream and I subconsciously made it mine for validation. WHOOPS.
Anyways.. I’m painting again. I go to bed at night and wish I was still painting. I dream of it, I nibble the canvas and drink the paintbrush water. I’m ecstatic because I have reunited with myself as a perso just a little bit more.
Stay tuned and soon I will discuss how anxiety was a highway of hell as of late, and how I broke free of it.