I don’t want to go to sleep tonight.
This morning’s nightmares are clouding my mind. They loom
over my bed already, waiting to pounce.
Waiting for that point in the night when I have become at
ease in my sleep. Vulnerable and relaxed, that’s when they like to strike.
They won’t stop haunting me.
I continue to question why, what, how. But still they come.
This morning I woke up with a jolt, body soaked in sweat,
not knowing where I was. An unfamiliar face threatened my place of safety. As
my hand reached for the light switch, I slowly began to realise that the menacing
face had appeared from somewhere deep in my imagination.
It’s no good telling me the nightmare isn’t real, that the
face doesn’t exist. Because when my heart is spiralling into palpations and I
can still feel the terror within me, I know it’s real.
......................................................
I want to write something more tonight, to feel inspired and
excited by a new scheme or idea. But it seems impossible. I feel neither
inspired nor excited. My mind feels void of ideas. And I hate that. Writers
block (or painter block), isn’t that what they call it? It’s like all my
creative juices have been used up. Maybe because I put so much creative time
and energy into the exhibition, I’ve dried up all my resources?
It does feel a little bit like that actually. Like I need
some creative or intellectual nourishment to spur me into action. Probably not
having my different courses on doesn’t really help matters. Although I don’t usually
struggle to find inspiration on my own.
I’m worried that this is
it. (And I don't mean in every area of my life, I'm talking about my creative aspirations here, as well as the hindrance my depression and anxiety can be.) I’ve sold a painting, I did the exhibition, I’ve written my blog for a
while, and now I’ve got nothing else to offer.
Nothing else to offer except perhaps myself?
Am I too self-absorbed? Always writing about myself and
painting about my own feelings? Shouldn’t I be thinking about someone else for
a change? And why should anyone be interested in what I have to offer? It’s
nothing different from what any other person says, or writes, or does, or
paints, or creates.
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