cacophony

but man I wish I had a hand to hold.”
— Edie Brickell, “Me by the Sea”

I am an avoidant person by nature, and very much an introvert. When things become too much for me, I withdraw — as far and as deep as I can, as far away from people as I can get. And I stay wrapped up in myself as long as I can. There comes a point, though, when that withdrawal is too deep, too far, and hurts me more than it helps me.

If I spend a week without writing a word, I am being helpful to no one. If I can look back on an entire month and find no new photos of my child, much less anything else, then I have fucked up. I am fucked up. Denying my drives is never helpful; it always means I have pulled too far away from my life.

I wonder where it came from — this creation drive. Do all people have it, and only some of us indulge ourselves, or are there only some of us that have this slashing, clawing need living inside, trying to find a way out? Sometimes I wish I didn’t have it, because I tear myself up if I don’t get it out of me. Rip myself to shreds. And that is not a very comfortable fit with my tendency, desire, to withdraw into myself. Why do I need to rediscover this over and over and over again? Why do I have to keep fighting with myself to reach an understanding I’ve achieved already dozens of other times in my life? And every time I do this to myself, I get angrier.

There is always, finally, something that snaps me back. That pulls me out of that shell. This time, it was a series of photos from a friend that were both visually stunning and emotionally powerful, a punch in the gut — and the kick in the ass that I needed. Like a light switch was thrown — yes. Yes, this is who you are. This is what you should be doing, see? This is the kind of thing you want to strive to do. Just like this.

And suddenly I find myself iwth pen in hand, camera in hand, and once again — open.

I don’t know what I want to say. I don’t know what I want to take photos of. I don’t know what I want to bring out, what I want to birth out of the darkness, what I want to put out into the world — what I want to create.

Finding out is the fun part.

I want to capture this feeling, bottle it, so I never forget what it feels like. So that when these avoidance tendencies, and this too-deep withdrawal, try to smother me I can chase them away with ease rather than — once again — having to fight myself to get here.