03. March 2010
Painting- With my music in my ears and a paintbrush in my hand- | am fine. The paint goes on and when I step back to check my work I am pleased. For the first time in my life, I feel creative. The colours flow into each other, the walls stand out and I am calmed. My mind, my heart are at peace.
I leave the house and I immediately feel a great weight settle onto me. My thoughts turn dark, tears are only a blink away. I can’t bear to see people. Some know whats happening and I feel on the defense. Imaginging the things they might be thinking, or the questions they might ask. Most don’t even know me, and I feel defensive with them too. My face is haggard, tired, red eyes, I am distracted and struggle to make simple decisions. “Do I want what?” “Cheese?” “um. um. um. yeah, sure, please. cheese.”
I feel stuck. Accountable to many, who all want different conflicting things. I want nothing more than to curl up in bed, music in my ears, thumb in my mouth and sleep and sleep and sleep.
But the children need me. So I paint. And that keeps me laughing and talking and functioning.