My dear friend and soul sister, Hayley, recently posed the question of "where do you put your anger?". What a beautifully complex and personal answer everyone must have to this one. While she likes to clean her room from top to bottom, scrubbing as a coping mechanism, I do the complete opposite. It is easier for me to purge outwardly, whether that be deleting Facebook friends whose posts are too painful for me to look at, ignoring texts, or just plain turning my nose up at things I find distasteful. Inwardly, I pine for everything lost. That layered mess you see up above is my own personal avoidance of the responsibility to keep myself composed and orderly. I've spent the months since summer in an absolute daze. Despite some moments of precious lucidity, I've scattered clothes and thoughts alike all over without any consideration as to when I'll need to come to a conclusion. It's at the point where I'm extremely uneasy when anyone enters my room, and I'll urge them towards the door with as much subtlety as I can muster. To glimpse the inside of my room is to peek at the maelstrom swirling in my head.
That painting in the background? She's probably my best yet, but progress is coming along so slowly. I can feel the cracks in that collapsing house. I don't want my brush to slip and eliminate that legitimacy.
For someone making books about coping mechanisms, I feel like I am more so emboldening a question mark than forming hypothesis.
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