I spend a lot of time thinking. About everything. It, inevitably, makes me a good personal assistant and a terrible family member. And, that is ok.
I am generally pretty open with how my brain works and how it is not the greatest place to be sometimes – but I am trying to remember that doesn’t mean that I am weak. It is my truth and no one has to support it, like it, or care about it. Being able to sit here and share how I feel is important to me.
About a month ago, I wrote something that was frightening to others and my husband. I was in a bad place and I felt pretty terrible. I took down what I wrote because I somehow believed what I had to say was wrong. It wasn’t wrong.
I’ve been dealing with some major life changes along with some interpersonal shittiness since September and I think anyone would struggle under that kind of pressure. That’s not to say that I am without fault. I have made tons of mistakes, caused problems, and haven’t really been the best spouse to be around. But, no one is going to accept me unless I accept myself. No one is going to love me unless I love myself.
In that vein, I wanted to share several pieces of art I created of myself (it’s never easy to look at yourself and create art (which is exactly why its probably worth doing)). I don’t know if you remember the painting of Ophelia by John Everett Millais – I am not actually a huge fan of that period of art, but I wanted to create photographs of myself that looked like paintings. I wanted to invoke romance, but also sadness. Depth and all the things that are fleeting. Darkness, but also dreams.