Self Excavation

This is me. This is my light right now. Tiny and surrounded by shadows and lack of colors and filled with gloom. Lets call this light my creativity. And I'm the flame...wanting to shine brighter despite all the other elements. Today, during my morning pages( or mourning pages, cause that's how I feel ) I had a complete meltdown. I started out just writing what was going through my mind, just to get the garbage out, which changed to soul and how I felt like I didn't have enough when I paint, and how I want to apply more soul to my paintings. And out of no where WHAM! Wounds I forgot were even there started rising to the surface threatening to drag me under with them. Things I thought were gone, were really hiding under layers of scars and quick fixes and pushed down as deep as they could go. Childhood images of happiness and sorrow, of me creating and actually realizing when and why that stopped and how innocent I was. And how I was ROBBED. Someone stole from me, some ONES stole my whimsical childhood, my innocence, my light,  before it was even shining at a full force. When it was a tiny flame, a baby really. And for some reason no one knew but me. No one protected me. Why? Where were my protectors? Now- how do I heal? Jonny say's to keep writing, keep painting, paint through the pain, "it doesn't have to be pretty- it has to be real." And I'm finding it harder and harder to paint ugly and real. Sweet little nothing paintings, shallow and fun, are so much easier to create. But that's not the artist I want to be. I want to be real, I want to make people see my sorrow, feel my rhythm, cry with me. Love it or hate it, but FEEL something. That's the type of artist I aspire to be . That's the type of artist I AM becoming and will forever be. Devils be damned.