I think I have the brain flu, if that’s a thing.
Lately, whenever I sit down to watch television or read, I can’t shut my own words down long enough to take in someone elses. I hate that. Sometimes I want to hunker over a mirror and hold my breath until my eyes bug out and my face turns red and scream at the top of my lungs, would you shut up for five minutes, please?
I swear, I’m not insane. At least you’ll never prove it with documents. 🙂
Yesterday afternoon, I woke up from a nap and read about Chester Bennington’s suicide. Ever since, I can’t stop thinking about art and artists…and how strange it is that someone so many people have always looked to for strength and inspiration could possibly lose his own battle with darkness. Or did he even ‘lose his battle’?! If a person is so aware and alert, sensitive to human suffering, everything going on around him that he channels his pain through his amazing art, essentially sparking conversation and affecting positive change throughout our culture, across the world even, how can what happened be considered a ‘loss’ on his part? Maybe it was just a decision he made? To take things into his own hands?! Perhaps even considering the thought, quiet as it is, that suicide can or could be just a decision (educated and inspired or not) someone makes or has made is just too much to say out loud. I guess that’s why I’m writing this here.
Every single time we lose someone to a possible mental illness, although I hate calling it that, this question bounces around off the walls of my head. Why? But that’s not really the question, is it? Because I can imagine a million and one answers to that question. Maybe it’s not even about answering a question anymore. Maybe it’s just about a feeling the sense of loss and defeat gives me. The only way I can explain what I feel, truly is–Owww.
It sucks. It hurts. It’s terrible that people feel so trapped by hurt that they end up, for whatever reason, deciding that it is or was just time to toss in the towel, especially when they’ve already given so much to those around them, you just know their potential was boundless, or it could have been, if only…
It’s difficult for me to put words to paper (digital or not) right now, because I have so many thoughts shooting off in so many directions, I can’t seem to string together a coherent sentence. So maybe for now, the thing to do is channel what I’m feeling into my art. Other than prayer and exercise, I don’t know what else to do, anyway.
From the land of the emo and perpetually torn, until next time.