last night after i wrote, i went to my extras, to 'hothead's greatest hits' (i am SUCH an egotist) and i just read. i went back to all those nights, all those times when, in some very real ways, being able to write it out was all i had. it was a reconnection to an essential part of myself...that i have lost.
this anxiety is eating away at my spontaneity, my laughter, my sense of calm and peace, my enjoyment of anything still, anything that must be felt. i'm losing myself, and it is so painful to watch...
but as i talk to doctors, call in prescriptions, take the meds, work it out, i feel something - something - start to stir. and nights like last night...something on my mind and just the right songs on the radio...when writing becomes like playing an instrument right in time with the music...i know that i'm not gone yet. far from it. it's all going to be okay. one foot in front of the other.
thanks for stopping by. you just don't know what it means. happy friday, everyone.
*
Know it sounds funny
but I just can't stand the pain
Girl, I'm leaving you tomorrow
Seems to me girl
You know I've done all I can
You see I begged, stole and I borrowed
Why in the world would anybody put chains on me
I've paid my dues to make it
Everybody wants me to be
What they want me to be
I'm not happy when I try to fake it...