Oh I am guilty of this. Years obsessing over past injustices that I was to addicted to to get over. It is easy to believe the sad monologue that makes me the martyr and the world my cruel mistress. It’s harder to break out if that mindset and take responsibility for my actions, accept my flaws and make amends where possible. Its simpler to blame others for being cold, thoughtless, distant but when I play back the tape of my life, how many times did I reach out, how many times did I not communicate what I needed. How often did I want someone to read my mind and soothe me emotions. I isolated and stayed withdrawn vs putting my garbage out there and ket the waste engineers recycle those bits that can be reused elsewhere. Oh the tortured soul sitting alone is a grand and classic pose.
I’m moving toward being the mad poet drunk on life and my muse. I’m moving toward exhaustion and insanity, toward gorging on my creativity and spewing it upon those who are brave enough to listen, who hold no preconceived notions of beauty, toward those who like blood mixed with sweat and desire. No longer the solitary figure, no longer concerned if I am heard, I will be a force of nature that makes great errors and miscalculations, I will be the one to deem my work a success because I did the work critics be damned.
I have arrived, gnash your teeth, hiss, boo, loft your decaying produce for I will not be defined or stifled by your feeble perceptions. I am Bacchus I am Pan I am Sagittarius I am what you can never be in this moment.