I haven’t finished a painting or written anything in so long. No motivation, no inspiration. I’ve been in survival mode. Just existing. I wasn’t even enjoying music anymore. Or the simple joy of a beautiful sunrise or fresh fallen snow. I only crocheted to use up yarn, make useful things, and to control the anxiety, stress and never ending racing thoughts/internal monologue. Some times I would just sit and stare at the painting my mother did many years ago, trying to find comfort in the soothing blues of the water and sky. My aunt gave it to me last year, I think.

But even it wasn’t comforting me like it normally did. That’s when I knew I was spiraling down into the darkest abyss again. I wear the most convincing mask for work… everyone there sees the public version of me. The confident, productive, competent me. The one who has it all together and is unbothered by life. It’s not a lie, it’s survival.

This is a way of protecting the unbelievably easy to break heart inside. And this heart has been broken so many fucking times, it’s a miracle it can still feel anything good. I used to be great at detaching, disassociating. I can still wear the other face and perform the role. Yet now it’s not comfortable and familiar.

She is not the soul inside. She is a tool of survival in a world that only wishes to break and control. I have to protect what’s left, heal the wounds and not give up. It’s not a lie to say it’s been a struggle.

I am a Gemini sun and moon, rising sign Leo… I was born during a Mercury Retrograde. (Gemini is ruled by the planet Mercury- the communicator, and when it goes retrograde it causes issues with communication in all forms). I understand chaos. Which is the reason my blog is named Chaotic Sympathy… after I heard the phrase in the NUL song, I knew it was the right name because it perfectly describes my entire existence.

Being chaotically sympathetic is difficult. I’m calm and collected in an emergency or crisis situation, and afterward I tend to fall apart and recover in isolation. But this last year plus has felt like an unending crisis and I am utterly, completely, extensively exhausted.

I can only harness chaotic energy sometimes when painting or writing. Then it’s like conscious detachment- the subconscious takes over. It’s different than ADHD hyper focus, but I can’t figure out how to explain it properly so that people understand.

Being creative has always been part of me, I just haven’t always known how to express it. And then it became a survival tool to escape the desolate despair of my life. Finally, it morphed into a way to connect with people who matter to me. When communication with one of them ended 15 months ago, that’s when the insidious, spiraling descent began. And it’s my fault.

The unhealed version of me (the one with so many soul wounds from the trauma experience in this life), she came to the surface in an ugly way. I was emotionally raw from the way the AVA album decimated all the walls I had ever built. I was trying to deal with the oceans of chaotic emotions flooding through me. And the one person who had always been kind to me, the one who’s presence was soothing peace to the unending chaos inside… is the same person who wrote the lyrics to the songs that tore me open.

To call it a shock is an understatement. It was an awakening wrapped in thought provoking (many times poetic) lyrics and soul rending musical compositions. I couldn’t find the right words to express any of these emotions because I had banished that part of me long ago as an act of self preservation.

Everything from the betrayal in Texas, the deaths of all of my grandparents, my mother, and two of my closest friends… the death of my beloved soulmate dog Bruce… all of the grief was buried deep inside, walled off and I was in survival mode. Until AVA broke me. Specifically the songs “Gravity” and “The Last Day”.

I ruined everything with one of the kindest humans I’ve ever met. One stupid, thoughtless Twitter post about him “ignoring me”, when he was experiencing a life changing, traumatic loss. And he responded… with his usual gentle kindness.

I didn’t know what he was going through until months later. But that’s no excuse for my behavior and words that came from triggered wounds that he had no part in creating. The guilt I feel is almost unbearable. But I will carry and own it. Because my unhealed trauma severed a connection to one of the brightest and most beautiful souls I’ve ever had the fortune to know. And I feel the loss of him every moment of every day.

I sent a message of apology to him in early November and have left him alone. Until today, when I saw the Twitter post about the NUL dvd being available and able to be shipped out of Japan with a proxy service. Something that shouldn’t have made me cry, but it did.

Tears of joy, because he is successfully living his creative dream and I’m fiercely proud of him.

Tears of happiness, because I will be able to see songs I dearly love performed in a live setting.

Tears of sorrow, because I fucked up.

And tears of regret, because I can’t go back in time and not make that catastrophic mistake of a post.

I had no intention of writing all of this in a blog. This was supposed to be about a painting I finally created after way too long. Ever since I had a dream I actually remembered some details of earlier this week… the descent into the abyss was full speed. I crashed at the bottom and have been trying to distract, ignore, do any and every thing to not feel the emotions that dream provoked.

Last night I was filled with rage at myself for trying to be that person again. So instead of going to bed, I got out a canvas and the blue shades of paint (with white for contrast). Bare handed smearing paint on the canvas that seemed to be mocking my lack of creativity and inspiration. And then I coated my left hand in my favorite shade of blue (ultramarine) and pressed it into the middle of the canvas. I was determined to paint something… anything… to break out of the creative prison I’ve been in.

Then, after washing my hands, I got out a small brush and began blending paint on the canvas. But I left the hand print mostly untouched while the canvas dried overnight.

When I woke at 5:30 am, I cracked open a Redbull and returned to the canvas, studying it for a moment. I turned on some music and sat down to work on blending it more smoothly. There are some ridges in the middle where the paint was thick on my fingers and I didn’t fix it before it dried. But I don’t care. I have a few spots to touch up and the sides to cover, but this painting is in its final form. The imperfections in me are reflected in this canvas. And the chaos of my soul is always under the surface.

I haven’t listened to any music by NUL or DR for months now. I needed distance while working on identifying, facing and healing inner wounds. I needed to find the “me” that is left after the disconnection from Hizumi. I needed to know I could survive being this version of me without him to support me in any way. That I could be creative without his inspiration. And I was failing miserably at the creativity part of it all.

This painting is not my best work. And I’m okay with that. It matters that I did it. For me. Because I need to matter to myself. I need to accept I am a flawed human with a loving, resilient heart, worthy of love, acceptance and reciprocity. That I can be my own light in the world while still navigating the darkness.

This is only one step forward in the healing journey. I am under no illusions that it will be sunshine and rainbows from here on out, there’s too much work and reflection left to do.  My life is chaotic because my soul is too big to be contained in this flesh vessel. And it will be uncomfortable until I figure out how to exist as both soul and human.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading. Now I’m going to go dance (terribly) and lip sync to September by Earth, Wind and Fire as I cook dinner.