Write. Be specific, stay real, let it be as raw as it is; that’s the point. That’s the point of writing about it. Where I cannot write about it, I ask why? If I cannot express it in art, what am I hiding from myself? Is there anything I’m hiding? Or is it only a constraint on time and headspace holding me back? The latter, for sure… And these days, when I say headspace, I mean that there are those who are insistent that writing about most things will self-incriminate. I disagree.
It is liberating, not just for the self.
Not writing uses more mental resources. Not writing results in rumination and invasive thoughts, both of which have been used against me, both of which have resulted in leaks, if you will—spillages that aren’t easily cleared, that might have otherwise been articulated at least well enough to not generate the response and reception the overspill did.
Note to self: KEEP WRITING. NO MATTER WHAT. And remember: it’s only as meaningful as you are prepared to be open. If you cannot explore, if you cannot dig into your own depths, you cannot speak or write truthfully. That’s not something I really struggled with until perception of others overruled my core.
There are those who copy and claim deep truths as their own, crediting only themselves, obsessed with the impression they leave on others, too eager to capture limelight yet too unruly to accept blame, rendering themselves incapable of self-excavation, blinded by their projection of urgency and their need to bolster self-worth… they see it mirrored where it does not exist… yet, their distorted view would grow clearer if they dug a little deeper into themselves instead of mining, or undermining, others.
Too many have looked at me and seen only their reflection. It is clear that the projection burned a little too long in the wrong spot.
I am not afraid of my reflection.