stuff we're not supposed to talk about


“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.”

― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar


I've never read this book.  I understand enough about it that I'm pretty sure that the slowly sinking, sad tale could grab hold of me, but not in a good way.  Sitting with Sylvia's depression might be like holding my own raw and bleeding heart, too real, too gruesome.  I have been there, maybe a half dozen times since my teens, episodes which have erased countless days of my life into nothingness and left ugly scars on my soul.  But I admire her writing, her plight as an artist, and it makes me wonder why so many creatives walk this path where suffering burns bright like an unavoidable sun only to end in tragedy.  Is there really a connection in the depths of a creative soul where the wires of artistic vision and the shadowy wells of pain are inextricably crossed, or is that just an old stereotype?

I have darkness and moments in my life that seem unspeakable.  I'm guessing we all do, but after forty years of living I understand that my own pendulum swings a bit more widely than most.  I'm trying to make my peace with that, accept that the depth and range of my emotions make me the person I am both in beautiful ways as well as the less tolerable.  I do often wonder if I would be the same person if I was more even keel.  Sometimes it makes living an authentic and unapologetic life impossible when I feel so horrible and guilt ridden for being this way, and why I often disappear from this space silenced by my own shame.   Which is maybe why I am sharing this with you now, so as not to disappear. 

Today I am better than I was a couple of days ago.  I am more able now to not linger here too long, to grab hold of whatever might help pull me out of the sink hole.  This time it was a text from Alex, "I love you - I miss you."

And so this is often how my life is.  Days of bliss and folly, and then days of just trying to merely survive.  I haven't had a real depressive episode since maybe 6 years ago when my oldest was three or four.  That's a record for me by several years, and it comes as no surprise that it also coincides with the time I began searching for my own light and started blogging.  My creative voice saves me because my creative voice is  me.  It is my pulse.  My life force.  My way of existing and showing up in this world.  I know that now.  It's my most powerful weapon.  Even when I might not be able to set foot outside my door I can hold tight to the beauty my mind's eye thankfully thirsts for, then simply let the urge to write and paint and capture that sweetness help drag me back onto solid ground.

I am,  I am,  I am.
  

6 comments:

  1. Thank you for sharing the bits of dark along with the light. My "pendulum" swings low and wide as well and I struggle to accept the dark and light sides of myself, accepting that they do make a whole and perfectly imperfect soul. I'm slowly finding that joy, love and truth seeking helps bring me back to center more quickly and gently than when I was younger.

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    1. thank you for sharing your voice here. i think many of us feel similarly, and having these conversations are so important and affirming. *love*

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  2. oh my dear sweet friend... we have more in common that I wish we didn't have. There was a frightening sinking time in my life about 5 years ago that looking back, I'm not sure I would have been able to pull myself to the surface on my own. It was the actions that a friend of mine took after realizing what was happening that saved my life. I still float, bob, weave in those waters sometimes but I have a life preserver that never fails now.
    Thank the heavens for that friend
    xoxo

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    1. i am so so glad you have that friend as well. the world (especially mine) would not be the same without you. xoxo

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  3. mindy, sending you sweet love and comfort. sorry to hear you were wading in a bit of darkness. a new necklace that has become my daily anchor reminds me "no mud, no lotus." and to remember that the lotus does not just rise from the mud, but rather needs the mud to sustain its life and the interconnectedness of both allows the beauty to thrive. a lifelong lesson for me, for sure. on a side note, is that your art quilt for your show? it's amazing! can't wait to see more of your heart-stirring work....

    xoxo!

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    1. you always bring such wisdom and love. having a yogi in your life is a beautiful thing ;) thank you for this lovely reminder and for your sweet and dear friendship! hugs.

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