smooth the paints onto the palette with a butter knife. deep breath. let the blinding shades of pink slowly drown you. you’ve created a monster, haven’t you?
deep breath. pick up your paintbrush. and with trembling fingers, dip it in your strange amalgamation colours.
close your eyes. think of a picture. think of the bloodbaths in your mind; the jellybean oceans rising higher and higher… deep breath. press the brush to the canvas.
keep your lines straight and clean. gather up your mistakes on a sheet of scrap paper. ignore your texts as they come in.
and you don’t remember; when the tears started falling. but maybe it doesn’t matter. so just mix it all together, as you cry yourself an ocean of oversaturated colours…
rip apart the canvas, wheatgrass stalks of hesitation whispering through your traitorous hands. don’t listen.
look those carnivorous waves, with their drooling currents and gnashing tides. meet them right in the eye. take one last, deep breath….
lie down on the sand. and surrender yourself.
I’m introverted. I have social anxiety. And since we’re in the middle of a global pandemic, even though where I live restrictions are starting to loosen–it’s not like I’m going to school every day or something. For the most part, I’m just stuck in my room, which is kind of what it was like even before lockdown anyhow.
In theory, sure, I could go for bike rides or walks to places outside of my tiny suburban neighborhood. I could try new things–it’s not like there isn’t plenty of stuff I could safely do, in theory. For God’s sake, I could do anything other than spinning around on my little mental hamster wheel for days on end.
But, of course, I don’t do any of those things. Because honestly, it feels like… too much effort. Because I “don’t have the time”, or whatever other lies I try to tell myself.
But at the end of the day, the truth is… I’m scared. I always have been. And I’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. Because most days, all of my energy goes toward just barely surviving–cooking and cleaning and working, rinse and repeat. Not a lot of room left for hobbies, or having any kind of life, actually.
I’m trying to take it in baby steps, though. One scary thing at a time. I’m tired of my world being this myopic. Which is progress in its own way, I suppose.
Lots of love,