My Light

Time is the only thing that brings light into the darkness.  Like everything else it cycles.  It can’t always be light.  It can’t always be dark.  I’m learning that now.  There is no such as a life always spent in the light just as there is no such thing as a life continunally spent in the dark, even if it feels like it is always going to be one particular way.

There have been times in my life when I felt completely hopeless.  Like really completely truly hopeless.  A real kind of darkness.  Not a passing depression or funk.  A deep dark abyss filled with nothing.  Emptiness.  Complete black despairing emptiness.  Been there.  And not just once or twice.  The joys of being hardwired for depression.

But the light, it always comes.  How?  When?  Never the same, but it comes.

Writing… has primarily been the window that I opened to let the smallest ray shine in.  Exploring every single emotion, even if it felt trivial.  Writing was my way to be self indulgent.  Exploring fears, hopes, dreams, fantasies, reality… everything.  Everything was about words.

When I was around 12 or 13… I discovered hip hop and starting writing bars… that became songs.  Conceptual.  Always conceptual.  About telling stories.  I’m old enough know to be high and mighty about the genre and yeah… it saddens me now but I digress.  I had been writing poetry since I was 8… 9.  It was weird being an 8 year old writing poetry, but again I digress.

For 6 years solid, I thrived on lyrics, on poetry.  Anger, sadness, love… they became lyrics and poetry.  My journals, I filled and filled with everything I ever needed to say.  I wasn’t a point to writ every night, I just did.  I just was.  I didn’t judge my life or experiences like I do now.  Now I seem to try to decide what is worthy to talk about, to give meaning to.  But once upon a time, everything had meaning simply because it was my experience.

There is no explanation of how that gets stolen.  Maybe it is the simple progression of fear.  I never questioned the ability of the written word to transform my life until suddenly… I did.

The effort to express myself at all felt so daunting, so overwhelming.  How do you describe what no longer makes sense?  How do you face your unhappiness after ignoring it for so long?  How do you acknowledge that in which you don’t want to acknowledge at all?

Hello avoidance.

When my expression ceased it should have been my first clue that I was heading down a dangerous path.  I am having to totally relearn how to express myself.  I am having to exhume things that shold have been laid to rest long ago.  I am having to take baby steps again.  There are childish “I can’ts”.

I keep thinking the day I’ll be truly healed is the day I write a piece of poetry from my heart again.  Without stopping to think about it.

Maybe it will be one about my struggle and will come with a ray of sunshine at the end.

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