Getting Creative

When I was young I dreamed of becoming an actor. I loved losing myself into a character on stage; becoming someone else. I loved the way that I slowly disappeared into a mess of nervousness and makeup, only to reappear as someone bigger, grander, flashier. Then I didn't want to be noticed or watched. I grew a shell over myself that was made out of anxiety and insecurity. I withdrew and I started to write.
Then, more than anything else, I wanted to be a writer. I loved, still love, getting lost in my words. I've often had stories or poetry beat so hard against my head that I've had to stop whatever I'm in the middle of, just to get it out onto paper. There is something so cathartic about letting your heart, your emotions, the 'real' you flow onto paper.
I'm not sure when exactly, but I stopped writing. I drifted. I held onto my feelings, tight in my chest, and without an outlet they started to poison. They swirled and grew disgusting in my chest as I tried to bury them deeper, as I tried to forget. This is when I should have realized that I need a creative output. I need a way to express my joy, my fear, my lust, my anger in a beautiful, visual way. I need to show people that I don't see things just the same as they do. I need to roll words around in my mouth, like a gobstopper (am I dating myself, here?), hard and sweet and surprising.
I have a hard time writing now. No longer am I the young adult with stars in my eyes waiting for the next best novel to unravel in my head. I am able to question my true ability. I'm able to diversify and try different ways of expressing myself. I'm able to get lost in the everyday of every day and express myself in small, uneventful ways; a breakfast plate, a love note, a toddler craft, a photograph, a blog.
So what is the purpose of *THIS* blog, other than to give another glimpse into my weird head? To get creative. Today I was sad. I was frustrated and lonely and uncomfortable in my own skin. So I took Trent out and we had a little photo shoot - playing around with the lens I got for Christmas, but haven't used a whole lot. It was fun - it was frustrating trying to photograph an almost 3 year old who wants to do everything except what I ask - but we survived it with only one tantrum (his, not mine) under our belts. And then I got to play with the pictures once he went down for his nap. I totally lost myself in touching up colour, making pictures brighter or softer, pulling out his smile or show-casing what I saw. And now I feel pretty good. I don't feel like screaming into a pillow. I don't feel like running away. I feel like I can breathe again - even if only for a minute - I can breathe.