The past two weeks have been overwhelming. I have been hesitant to write and share the experiences here. The demon of negativity that resides in my head keeps telling me, “no one wants to read that shit!” You know, it's odd that I haven't named the demon. He has been with me for as long as I can remember; criticizing my writing, my ideas, my expression, my art.
Oh, I have fought him. I've screamed, “You're wrong! My ideas are good!”, with tears in my eyes and that lump in my throat. You now, that lump that makes it hard to swallow and causes breath to come in shallow gasps. That lump is fear. Fear that the demon is right. Fear that my art will never be good enough. Fear that the emotions I long to convey through the magic of words will remain stuck in the purgatory the demon has created inside me until finally, he tires of the torture and tosses them into the abyss.
We have danced this dance more times than I can count, my demon and I. The steps are familiar, even – dare I say - comfortable. My creative mind is our ballroom. I normally arrive wearing an elaborate gown adorned with my creative thoughts. He saunters onto the dance floor in ripped jeans and a black Metallica wife-beater. He does not greet me, nor bow. Our waltz begins.
As we move, feet in perfect rhythm, he tears apart my ideas with each step. Ripping the thoughts from my gown, wantonly tossing them about as if they are nothing! Once I have been stripped bare, he gives me one last spin. I stumble and land in a heap, naked, my tattered gown in pieces on the floor. He knows he has won once again and chuckles as he disappears.
I'm a glutton for punishment. I never stay down. My soul won't allow it. It will take time, but I will stand proudly before him again, wearing a new gown and a determined smile on my lips.
Humans have names. My demon isn't human, I know this, but maybe he is made up of the criticism received from humans that I trusted throughout my life. I argue with humans. I create boundaries and expect them to be respected. I fight and stand my ground. If my demon has a name, a human name, maybe I can do the same with him.
I'll call him Dave. Dave the Demon.
Shut up, Dave!
I'm all worn out from dancing with Dave, so I think I'll rest for the night. I'll be back, wearing a new gown.
Ashtaroth and Satan kept me in darkness and in mortal combat for decades until I could defeat them both. Fight the good fight through gritted teeth and learn to smile at the same time.
Maybe next time start naked? Bare it all from the start and deny Dave the easy grip of the gown.
Love your style, keep it up.