Daylight lasts a tiny bit longer, now that the season is changing. Thirty extra minutes of sparkle kissing the edges of the pink and purple clouds as they turn into this chilling reminder of love turned into a psychotic breakdown lilac clouds actually gives me peace. It gives me a peace that I have been yearning for. -So long-
And of course with this fragment of bliss comes my familiar, Sadness. She's been kind to me this year--I can say that we've had this silent understanding and mutual respect for one another. I don't think I've had an episode where I've let her win for long. It could just be my continuous short-term memory protecting me, gotta love hypomnesia (I found the term and condition to be shared with a fellow artist, one whom I think has more of a right to claim than I do. Think: child of war.)
I haven't verbalized the heaviness on my heart, pressure between my eyes, and desires to destroy my self-containment for a few years. I've been able to handle it ^_^. But tonight, I'm allowing myself a release from control. My entire life I've searched for methods to control the world around me when my thoughts and emotions did not 'match' my ideals for myself. My entire life I've sat frozen repeating maladaptive thoughts, words that became my conscience for years, damaging words and created a pattern of life that I am unable to completely abandon. Even though I have tried, to learn. And tried so hard, to find strength and control. And tried so hard to find peace with myself, peace with my past and peace with those who have hurt me, those who watched it happen and let it go because mental illness is not real.
It goes away with age and silence.
I have been trying, and I have beaten Her down to a bloody pulp countless times. But she's a bitch and is quite resilient. She stays hidden, lingering around the few memories I have left of my life, and when those memories are triggered, it's like her battle cry. She is ready and I am left defenseless.
I feel torn and exhausted. Is it even worth bringing up now, as an adult with the ability to speak level-headedly, when my own mother has never modeled appropriate displays of emotion? Asian women have no emotion. We are quiet, stoic creatures. Asian-American women are torn, as are many hyphenated Americans. We're born into two worlds and must conform to the rules of both in order to maintain balance. Impossible! I am sure most of us have or will have the internal conflicts and choose.
I have chosen my balance, and I am working on my peace. It was just a little tougher today.
And of course with this fragment of bliss comes my familiar, Sadness. She's been kind to me this year--I can say that we've had this silent understanding and mutual respect for one another. I don't think I've had an episode where I've let her win for long. It could just be my continuous short-term memory protecting me, gotta love hypomnesia (I found the term and condition to be shared with a fellow artist, one whom I think has more of a right to claim than I do. Think: child of war.)
I haven't verbalized the heaviness on my heart, pressure between my eyes, and desires to destroy my self-containment for a few years. I've been able to handle it ^_^. But tonight, I'm allowing myself a release from control. My entire life I've searched for methods to control the world around me when my thoughts and emotions did not 'match' my ideals for myself. My entire life I've sat frozen repeating maladaptive thoughts, words that became my conscience for years, damaging words and created a pattern of life that I am unable to completely abandon. Even though I have tried, to learn. And tried so hard, to find strength and control. And tried so hard to find peace with myself, peace with my past and peace with those who have hurt me, those who watched it happen and let it go because mental illness is not real.
It goes away with age and silence.
I have been trying, and I have beaten Her down to a bloody pulp countless times. But she's a bitch and is quite resilient. She stays hidden, lingering around the few memories I have left of my life, and when those memories are triggered, it's like her battle cry. She is ready and I am left defenseless.
I feel torn and exhausted. Is it even worth bringing up now, as an adult with the ability to speak level-headedly, when my own mother has never modeled appropriate displays of emotion? Asian women have no emotion. We are quiet, stoic creatures. Asian-American women are torn, as are many hyphenated Americans. We're born into two worlds and must conform to the rules of both in order to maintain balance. Impossible! I am sure most of us have or will have the internal conflicts and choose.
I have chosen my balance, and I am working on my peace. It was just a little tougher today.
