Was This Supposed to Happen the Whole Time?

Confusion. Nausea. Headaches.

Imposter syndrome. More nausea. Fogginess. Overwhelm. Immense pressure. Self-doubt. Self-confidence. More & more nausea. Explosion of ideas. Absolute fear. Embarassment. Optimism. Spiraling. Control.

And finally, clear headed.

What a ride for only seven days so far, am I right? It’s okay, I can do this (I say over & over to convince myself).

Why now? Well, a week ago, the job that used to pay my bills simply chose to no longer to do so. It’s actually quite funny how life happens, allow me to explain…

I have gone through all stages of life to the best of my ability, yet it has never felt ‘right’. I have lived so many lives just hoping to morph mine in a way that fits into the world that I find myself in. I tried, trust me when I say I tried, but I have failed, relentlessly. Though, I did have it going for me for quite awhile; I could have followed the path they train us for, I could have accomplished what would have been more socially acceptable. I often think maybe I should have & when it gets harder than ever before, I often wish I did…until I don’t.

So why pick the hard thing over & over? Why take a detour after detour? Why rebel aganist everything I was ever taught? The answer is simple, to feel. This mental game I’ve found myself in is not only in relation to chasing the dream of being a successful, happy, financially satisfied artist with no boss to report too except her own refelction. This is in relation to everything that I am & every choice I have ever made. I’ve spent my entire existance either camouflaging myself in one place to feel included or running so far away, they could never tame me; you see, you can’t lasso someone who’s felt the noose.

But a person who knows suffocation all too well, knows how easily they may succomb once again and either way, whether it be a rope so tight or smoke from a fire I started, I can’t breathe. So my why is to have access to air, is that so bad? Why has that always felt like something society is aganist? I once spilled the guts of my brain out for a licensed psychiatrist, they looked at me, death in both our eyes, and said, “You will not be leaving here until you are fixed.” How was I ever supposed to fit in when those who are supposed to help me instead instilled a belief that there actually is something wrong with me?

So I continued what they call life, fully believing I was the problem. And truth be told, I sometimes was. You reach a point after quite some time where nothing truly matters, actions have no real consequences. Truly, as I once lied my head down on the top bunk within concrete walls, staring out the cracks in the bars placed before the window ensuring we never jump out, I thought to myself, ‘how freeing it is to not have to exist out there right now.’ It was in that moment I fully understood how people end up where I was, mentally & physically caged, how they’re all so different but perhaps, we are all the aftermath of pain inflicted so deeply, we no longer recognize pain we inflict upon others, let alone ourselves.

So I’m a person who has felt pain? Big whoopty-doo, I know, I’m nothing special in that aspect. So how does that bring us here, to today? Well a person in pain can only continue their detours until there are no more, and eventually, I did run out of ways to escape. This led to years of introspection; I saw no other ways out so I chose to go within. And I am so happy I did.

Slowly relearning every little thing about me, examining my trauma, exploring why I am the way I am, asking about my childhood…all of these ‘tasks’ I called them, parts of the healing process, led me back to me. I began to love my tasks; how far can I go into my own mind? How much power can I summon when I put forth the effort?

Discovering yourself is like awaking the child the world forced you to grow away from. For the first time since I was six or seven, I felt alive. Genuinely present, grounded, shattered yet rebuilt. It wasn’t an eye in a storm, there was no drug that levitated me into a better place. It was light, real sun, shining on me & beaming out of me. It was warmth after a forever winter.

It’s home.

And home for me, these days, is all I crave. Peace. Ease. I spent so long surviving, I do indeed believe I deserve the ‘something more’ I have always felt destined for. I never knew how it would happen, when it would be, what it would consist of, I just knew that there must be more to life. A daily routine until 67 can’t be all there is, the ideal college degree & perfect job that I ran off track from can’t be the only way. There was & still is this fear that maybe I took a match to so much of my life, I will never fully recover from the material burn. I, myself, can rise from the ashes relentlessly but how can I still make it in an external world that doesn’t understand me?

Then I wondered if, maybe, some of you do. And that is how we got…here. And as happy as I am to be here, I’m even happier to share what it’s like on this side of life. The brighter side. The side that does not see a lay-off as an absolute total crisis because perhaps this is how life happens. I’m unsure if I ever would have bet on myself enough to pursue my passions full-tme unless it was forced upon me, as much as I may hate to admit that. And something I learned to do very well over the course of my destruction, was draft my thoughts into words.

So on my journey to (hopefully) making it as a full-time artist, I thought I’d share the vulnerable side of it with all with you here. Maybe you’re like me or maybe you’re just rooting for some little girl who’s only constant has been the ability to create something with her two hands.

No matter the reason, this is my brain one week in, and I thank you for joining me.