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January 7, 2007
Keening
It's been a while since I wrote anything. I've spent much of that time pulled into a ball, softly keening my dearly departed inspiration.
While some would say that it is a positive thing that I don't feel the overwhelming urge to pour my angry, anguished thoughts and feelings out, I've felt a distinct sense of panic. Was my writing 'talent' in direct correlation to emotional pain and, if so, do I have to be tortured to be an artist?
My real fear is that maybe I can't write because I let too much or myself out. I talk a lot now, much more than I ever have, why write? Most days, I start talking at 7:30 and don't stop until 4 and much of that is banter and placation. Once I get home, it's reminders, arguments and endless repetition. The only place I get to be my SELF is when chatting with T, where we are generally taciturn. Still, if something bubbles to the surface, I know I can blurt it out and he will listen ... no more festering.
Before (read: when I did the bulk of my writing) I was cramped into a tiny room with nothing but my thoughts and a bed and I would write to relieve the pressure. I just do not have the same kind of pressure now. Though I do still have many issues with anger and sadness, and plenty of everyday stress, I am no longer a wellspring of anger, ready to explode with the slightest touch. I am also not nearly as backed up anymore.
In contrast, now at times I feel positively hollow. Where before I was a cistern, now I am afraid I have become an empty jug, useless unless there is something for me to hold. I am happier (in love) than I have ever been and more settled (in life) than I have been in a long time but that leaves me with an uneasy feeling. I'm unused to contentment, adjusting to a different sort of surface tension. I hope to never go back but I will have to pray for patience.
Writing will come back but it will be different. I'm adjusting with a lot of projects in the works. I just have to be patient, I suppose, realize I am in a better place and finish mourning for my old self.