In the spirit of writing…

I must express myself.

No longer will I hide in corners. No longer will I feel incompetent. No longer will I supress the urge to laugh, cry, sing, dance, or fall over my feet. I will stand tall and do what I want to because I want to. I will dream, I will rage, I will have good days, I will have bad days. And I will scream, and I will love. I will hate, and I will devote myself. I will pursue my talents, my interests, and not worry about who may be watching me, thinking about me, or hating me. I am tired of my life. Does anyone know how I can get a new one?

Tonight was a very hard night. I love Joseph wildly, but we cannot be together any longer. The pain is like ribbons and shards of glass coursing through my bloodstream, tearing me apart from the inside, poisoning me, making me pant out my frustration, and sweat out anxiety. Strangely, it also stokes my creativity.

Emily Dickinson, approx. 1850: obsessed with death. A recluse, living her life in fear, writing inspiring and amazing poetry about the call of death and the pain of love.

Edgar Allen Poe, approx. 1815: half-insane drug addict who married his second cousin. Wrote brilliant, dark stories with a deep mind and brilliant pen, before dying alone in the cold.

Are all great writers insane, depressed, or drug-addicted? Is it possible that the most deeply felt emotion is not actually love, but pain? For love is wonderful, but even love is full of pain, sad and beautiful. Pain comes into your life and steals your warmth, turning blood to chilled ice, turning your heart into nothing more than a drum that beats out the seconds of your life, a clock ticking down, counting, counting…

I feel such emotion right now, and am overcome with grief. Yes, I know, plenty more fish in the sea, he was no good for me, and I was ruining my life by ignoring the need for money, a job, a home, and the love of my family. I ignored friends or gave them only half-attention. Joseph was right, and it hurts. I was blinded by love. It had to be done. I am now single.

And my heart beats, slowly, slowly, slowly. My heart feels heavy, leaden, and does not want to beat. It wants to fly away, it wants me to scream, cry, wail, throw myself around the room in the throes of anguish and self-pity. I will not let it.

I will move on, and it will hurt. I will cry often, I will talk to my therapist. I will start a doctor-prescribed prescription cycle, I will start to sleep normally. I will reconnect with my friends. I will go to school to become something; an MRI Technician, a Nurse, a Carpenter. Anything. I will get a job, I will pay insurance for a car. And maybe, I’ll move to Japan.