Is it paralysis magic keeping my bones from moving the frame I inhabit around? Or is it something else?
There haven’t been many waves of “heavy blanket clouds” in my life lately. Not since things took an interesting turn relationship wise right prior to the new year. But it hasn’t been smooth either. Lately, there have been entire days burned to ash.
While I’m “on” I’m continually productive. Heavenly so. I’ve been able to cultivate my inspiration in entire new ways, and keep on that train for as long as my body will allow it.
Perhaps there’s a problem with being THAT productive when the lights are on, because it has felt so easy to be numb and motionless when they go off. If I had more to do, maybe I’d have difficulty allowing myself to get dizzy with dark and velvet thoughts.
Then again, that’s me thinking I have much power against my emotions. Luckily, I’m not messing up my work, currently. Though, I could be writing for me more.
Or for you.
Something is here.
But here we are again. Me, sitting in front of my keyboard wondering when I’ll get over my inability to be consistent. Which I haven’t ever been. Unless you consider my cynicism to be a constant. It seems though, that I turn to you rather quickly when I’m missing something. Conjuring sincerity in my blocks? Forging a relationship where there isn’t on.
Cynicism, now there’s a trait that has lost me more than I have gained—externally that is. I think that particular part of my personality is very self-serving. It’s my shield. And while most people have one, mine seems to be one of the kinds that rub others the wrong way.
Parts of the world are easier to digest if you enter those meals with a cynical set of cutlery. In most instances where trust is involved, pain or recovery can be avoided if one just assumes the worst. True, such a mindset is not necessarily cynical, but it is tinted. I understand that I haven’t been through as much as some folks, and I’ve been through far worse than others. But for all of it, I’ve brought in what I’ve been given. Entering an arena with the memories of hardships might do some work in keeping you (me) from feeling harmed, but it doesn’t exactly serve up the opportunity for anything but harm to exist within it.
You (I) will never be able to cultivate flowers, if we’re not willing to live through the turbulence of a few dead bulbs. And when the scene is set against an inherently negative skyline, we don’t even buy the pots to plant greenery in.
I struggle to begin anew with circumstances that feel similar to past events. With jobs, or relationships. It’s troubling, how hard it has become to arrive at a fresh place, only to be assaulted by the shadows I forgot were following me.
Sometimes I feel like there should be a warning. An introductory legend that spells out my greatest faults.
Perhaps that’s on me to expose.
Perhaps that’s on me to dissolve.
I should be growing further away from insecurity, shouldn’t I?
But there are doors I cannot help but freeze in front of. Keys I just can’t find in my pocket easily. There’s a fumbling I’m doing in the dark. And it’s not always dark.
There’s something here, right now, in this room that is the furthest thing from the dark, and I want to pursue it with all of my breath. Humans, however, find it hard to lock our targets onto the brightest possible outcome, and this is where my cynicism is choking me.
I drown myself in the overtly negative, because that single step has kept me safe on occasion.
Picture this. You can do all you want to your abode, right? And we do. We buy all of the knick-knacks, or artwork, or furniture that makes it feel like a haven of self. A place for you. You’re happy there. Waking and sleeping, day-in and day-out, without too much of a care as to the place itself. You’ve built this perfect space for your life, and you’re happy in it. But if you see something move in the shadows, or feel a presence in a dark room, not a single part of your brain is comprehending that you’re currently in this personally curated “you-zone”. The place that you felt so content in moments ago. We just can’t focus on the light when there’s an unlit corner.
I’ve been trying to come up with something that I wanted to say. Something important enough that I would take the time to sit my ass in this chair and type away. But I’m suffering from a large bout of self-doubt. Not necessarily in my ability to string words together. Rather, that my feelings or opinions are things that should be shared. There’s something to be said for just doing the task, and I get that, but some tasks are easier than others. Writing from within me is never one I seem to be able to just perform naturally. Until I can, all at once, but it never stays.
Maybe this is it. Perhaps I just needed to speak about my focus. The dark corner of my apartment. This place where I’ve felt comfortable and safe for months, is still playing tricks on me with the shadows of a previous version of myself.
I watch the Tempest smooth out her craft, and torture themselves on a bed of doubts, and I wish I could give them the comfort needed to know that such a trial isn’t necessary. But maybe it is. I highly doubt, however, that anyone destined to become an expert in their craft somehow avoided the self-imposed prosecution and nightmarish doubt. I wish there was another way. That I knew another way. But it’s the only revolution I’ve ever known my world to make.
And I’m sorry for that.
That I can’t help but stop, and stare at the dark corner of our beautiful life together.