I pictured myself underwater, the skies dark, as I swam toward something that I knew was an anchor. I reached for it and pulled myself toward it knowing, feeling as though it was the only thing I had left.
In these last two months, I have felt alone, sad, frustrated, full of grief. Each feeling adding on to the next, anger being the most recent. Even with things that I thought would excite me, like having time to draw, my motivation has been low. Everything feels pointless, meaningless almost.
I’ve tried for the last few weeks to keep things “light,” intentionally staying away from referring to the pandemic and sharing how it has been affecting me personally. It was my way of keeping things positive, a way of not adding another burden to whoever read my blog or came across my posts.
But the more I operated out of that mindset, the more I felt like a phony. It didn’t matter whether I shared somber or genuinely positive material, something was still getting in the way—it was my subconscious expectation to ignore the pain.
So, as a means to clear the air with myself, I recognize my need to be honest and acknowledge that sometimes that includes uncomfortable realities and contradicting sentiments. Moving forward, I will share stories and drawings from a place of permission. May I return to this page whenever I need reminding of that.