Avoidance

I'm sitting here listening to Johnny Cash's American IV, a brilliant album that suits the new persona that I've found myself living. Who is this sad, pitifully sorrowful individual staring back from me in the mirror. How did I travel so far away from home on my own to study at a foreign school, surrounded by strangers. Only to befriend and cherish as close personal friends; trustworthy of my faith and love. I find myself in the same situation, only in reverse. This time I have my family to support me in my time of need but there is this desire to leave again. No longer do I wish to remain. For these days of trying to support myself through my art, only to struggle more and more with myself. Where has the strength gone to search out those who I could one day call friend. 

I wasn't always like this, at one time I would never openly complain or moan about the smallest pain to the mightiest burden. I was the one to count on to bear the weight of those around me, taking on board their problems and most of the time, find a rational solution. To think outside the box. Always chin up! Back straight! Don't let them see you as weak. Some might say this is a foolish life, to better the lives of those around me before my own. Strange what one finds to be happiness. 

But I sit here, the man in black filling the air like a thick syrup, smooth in a sense; if you have ever sampled a really fine oak cast whiskey, that flavor that finds itself waiting to the last second before you shallow, is how his music warms my ears. Funny how a voice can produce such emotions. Yet, here I sit a stranger to myself. I want to produce amazing art, capturing  a sense of the different dynamics that fill our lives. And I know I am very much capable of producing this art, yet each time I start working on a piece my mind wanders and my hand ceases to function. Some might call this a block, or a untamed mind that hasn't truly been taught how to concentrate. Both might be true. I haven't been myself in nearly half a year now; consumed, tormented, isolated by my own doing. It has gotten to the point, and this is absurd even to me, that I can no longer sign-in to my normal social site that I use to keep in touch with friends and family. Each time I look at the screen, all I can see are the smiling faces enjoying the life I once lead. A very smart, truly amazing friend of mine who lives on a wee island in the north, told me something remarkable about photos. That each photo is a snapshot of moment in time, this I already knew, yet even when you're out and not really enjoying yourself, you smile for the camera. So the picture gains this sense of happiness and good times. When viewed later, you associate a memory with this photo; a fond memory is formed from that time forward. I had never thought of it that way. If you think about it, you never really see any photos of unhappy times. Even those you keep to yourself, you do smile almost every time the camera is present. Smart beyond her years, my friend is.   

One day I'll be okay, nowhere near normal; but then again, I never really was...