So it’s not a cliche after all.
Us mad artists really are quite neurotic.
I didn’t pay attention to it properly until today.
I was sitting at my kitchen bench this afternoon. I looked over to the fishbowl sitting on my bench top.
It has no fish in it.
I had every intention of buying some fish to put in there, but I decided that it was all too hard. I know they’d just end up dying, and I’d end up being beside myself.
To anyone else, this might be weird. But it totally makes sense to me.
I looked over at the corner of my now empty lounge room. A plant, well, some sticks, live in a pot plant in the corner.
This plant died around 10 years ago. Yet, I still keep it there for some unexplained reason.
I pull my earphones out of my ears. My ears are sore.
My earphones are an extension of myself. I am constantly listening to music. I don’t think anyone is plugged in as much as I am.
I use music as a constant source of inspiration, as well as a distraction.
My overthinking mind sometimes has my thoughts spiralling into things I desperately want to forget about.
I ran my fingers through my tangled mess of a hair. My hair that is often kept hidden beneath a hat for that very reason.
I don’t know anyone else who goes an entire week without brushing their hair. Who allows it to go into dreads by the weeks end. The girl who only wears makeup on Saturdays.
I thought about my messed up sleeping patterns.
Sometimes I’ll be up haunting the hallways in the middle of the night. My mind restless, and unable to switch off.
I’ll often take naps during the day to make up for the lack of sleep I get through the night.
And I thought to myself – I’m such a weirdo.
So I left my house and went and bought some alcohol. It was time to write. To channel my torments creatively.
Alcohol. My faithful friend that always manages to take the edge off all of the nonsense that runs through my mind.
Upon going to the liquor store, I attempted to convince the cashier that I’m not an alcoholic. That I’m a writer. And it helps me write.
“Hey, whatever gets you there right?” He responded to me.
Of course. Whatever gets you to where you need to go. That’s my motto. My mantra. Why was I even apologising?
I saw a quote today. And you all know how I love my quotes.
“Never love anybody who treats you like you’re ordinary” – Oscar Wilde
At school, I remember being taught to love ourselves.
Not until recently have I discovered the weight of those words.
And then I had a thought.
I don’t think I’ve ever really loved myself. Until now.
I’ve always searched for someone else to love me when I had the capacity to love myself that whole time.
When I had the ability to recognise that I’m far from ordinary. In fact, I’m extraordinary. I’m brilliant.
Sometimes in life, we are so fragile and easily broken by the world that it does take someone else seeing that extraordinary self that we are. To help to open our eyes to what, for whatever reason, we have been blinded to. To remind us of who we truly are.
And for the beautiful friends I have in my life, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for bringing me to the attention of myself.
Especially my other brother who told his sons friends the other day “I love Amy. She’s crazy. But she knows she’s crazy. And that’s why I love her.”
I love Amy too. Finally. My quirky flaws and all.
As I write this, I’m listening to music with my perpetually sore ears.
I’m listening to Christina Perri.
Her lyrics “I have died every day waiting for you” play out.
Perhaps I have died every day waiting for you.
The you, being the extraordinary, brilliant, beautiful, and captivating self that has always resided within.
So let’s learn to love ourselves for the extraordinary, completely neurotic, utterly eccentric gifts that we truly are.
And only allow those into your world who can see you for the individual you are. And as always, do whatever it takes you to where you need to go.