Thursday, February 16, 2012


So now that i am in my new 'pozzy' ... i get to spend some time thinking on my own, with no disturbances, i can concentrate on the thinking process (which is something i haven't been able to do coherently for over 4 years). I'd lost sight of the the luxury most people have of just being able to lie in bed and listen to their own music or wallow in the peace, silence. I've only had that feeling once in my life, when i first moved into my own flat after my divorce. I am listening to music that i used to absorb myself in during those times (back in the 90's), when i was writing regularly for the Star. It seemed easy then.
Not anymore.
Writing is something i seem to have no confidence with anymore. I'm embarrassed to even try writing creative fiction. And no, it's not a 'writer's block' scenario. It's much more than that. There is a void, a bleak grey nothingness inside me, no spark. Each word seems useless, pointless. I try to think of an idea - anything - and get nowhere.

I remember my circumstances when i moved into my tiny flat. It was a haven, a refuge, a place i turned into a precious retreat - somewhere safe. The optimism i felt at being free, truly free and by myself, for the first time in my life, permeated into everything i did when i lived there. The exhilaration i experienced each evening when i returned home from the working day, opening 'my' front door, walking into 'my' refuge ... 'my' space that i had filled with hope, dreams, warmth ... from nothing (literally) .... a space i maintained all by myself, with no assistance from anyone else.
It was such a secret pleasure to bask in the knowledge that i was self-sufficient, standing on my own two feet and i hadn't starved or been crushed by the challenge.
Until I lost my job. And oh, how the walls crashed down in my crystal palace then!

Despite that momentary set back and the fact that i eventually had to give up my flat and move in with family in order to survive, i was so happy in that flat.
Happiness. What a word.
In my case, happiness largely came hand in hand with loneliness, incredible heart break, loss of lovers, loss of friends ... such pain, coupled with so much bright joy - how is that possible?

I guess all of us go through cycles of light & joy/darkness & pain ... but do other people have it happen with as much regularity as I've experienced in my life? Why can't I have a constant plateau of just medium to low grade happiness? Nothing too rash or hectic. Level, even, solid peace and quiet. No, that's not in my cards.

I'm afraid to be happy now - i think that's the problem. The happy got knocked out of me so many times, it's as though somehow i don't deserve it. Who am I to even dream that I will be truly happy one day? There is a master puppeteer at work in my life - twisting the knife in, whenever i think 'this time it's going to be different, it's going to last, i'm safe!" .... i will never be safe. So i believe these are the main reasons why i can't write anymore.
I believe all the time that i am scared to death that it will go off like a rocket and shortly thereafter crash and burn, plunge back down to Earth. Short-lived. Vacuous.
Even this motley, uneven grouping of whinging words took all my effort.

That's what I need.
I found paint before I discovered words.
So now my sanctuary will be put to use splashing about with the acrylics.

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