Forgive me if this note doesn’t smack of the usually jovial, positively proverbial, occasionally comical person you have come to know as Tamara. I’m wearing her face today…
My inner little person just can’t keep up. This must be what it feels like to be a kid forever trying to keep up to the hands that have yours in their grip and are dragging you along in spite of your pleas for relief.
When I get like this I get the urge to make spontaneous utterances, often to my detriment. So be it. Some of my spontaneous utterances have been the most inspired of my life. To quote the chains that recently bind me, “In the darkest parts of the soul, exist the elements to create, what we are”. Seems the more I know myself the less I know what I am.
I have lived with the aspect of the human condition we call depression for most of my life… I remember the moment I realized it, I suddenly knew that I would always live with tremendous bouts of intense mental anguish and tears. Some of this I realized I was creating, and altered my modus to accomodate my favored outcome. I have managed to learn to behave ‘normally’ to mask my affliction… I have managed my compulsion to behave ‘abnormally’ into creative outlets… I have managed to channel my emotions into creative, productive endeavors. i have managed to organize my compulsions to motivate self improvement… I have managed to recognize triggers, and I have managed to remain unreactive while every single one of them is triggered at once…
I am tired of managing. I don’t want to manage anymore, I want to be able to spend as much time crying as I need to and not feel guilty for it, I want to be able to feel free to cry at my whimsy, and I want to be free from having to explain why…. what if I don’t know why?
I haven’t had a bout like this one in a long time, and maybe that’s because I was busy, and maybe I was ignoring things while I was and they caught up with me. Maybe it costs me to keep myself stable without indulging my need for release, and this is how I pay.
I recently felt elation of a sort… the kind that reminds you you’re alive, and what your body is capable of feeling… what your mind is capable of thinking…. what your heart is capable of sustaining.
Like when you approach a blank canvass… and dare to ruin its pristineness with a pencilmark.
or when you’ve overcome all that to help a new creation emerge from nothing…
and you have to let it go.