This one's a little... weird. I feel rushed. Distracted.
People talk about the importance of creative expression when it comes to mental health. Art therapy is a thing. One person's doodle is another person's "morning pages". Art is supposed to take all of that excess energy and all of that icky and stick it on a page. Make it pretty or burn it, just get it out there. It's hard to argue the benefits of playing (or writing) in a journal.
The longer I go between paintings, the less focused I become. It gets icky. And I've been feeling pretty icky lately.
I think I've been experiencing anxiety attacks.
Mental health issues is pretty old hat, but these physical manifestations disturb me. Why now? November really cast the world in a pretty dark light. Maybe it's all been just a little too much. I haven't written and I haven't done much expressive painting. See what happens if you don't paint enough? You get sick.
So I took a bath with our new robot fish. I wrote a letter to a friend, and then scribbled out some of those "morning pages". I did whatever I could do to convince myself that at least right now, everything is as it should be. I don't have to worry about work or to fix my car or do any of the other bajillion things that need to be done.
Last night, I was able to sleep without experiencing the illness or heavy dread, my thoughts completely silenced. Now I just need to overcome these feelings of inadequacy so I can actually create something.
Hello! I'm Melissa, and here you'll find some behind-the-scenes footage of an artful life. Won't you join me?