Entry 10: Happy Imposter

I decided that for a change, I would write in this online diary a.k.a my personal purgatory, when I am collected and grounded. I survived yet another ride on the rollercoaster, and honestly the peaks don't scare me anymore. The world is frankly going to s**t and I have no choice but to follow its path, so I will. But I'll be bloody damned if I can't express myself in the process, if not through sadness, then through this state of stoic rekindling of my old poetry, a feeling I have yet to find words for to describe.

I remember once in therapy where they tried to convince me that you didn't have to be at the brink of sanity to be creative, and perhaps that is true. However, I've noticed that it is in times when I'm the most vulnerable that the most beautiful things I've written have come to be. Perhaps it's because people can better relate to despair, not personal poems about exes or daily struggles. Despair is the blanket under which every human has slept at least once, of that I am convinced. And it is through finding relatable poems that they become likable, even memorable. And isn't it so that even the writer must relate to her own poems, because if not - where will they manifest their meaning? 

With all this said, I feel that I'm losing my creative mind as I keep it clean, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. I overthink too much, and feel too little, even though it is in a sense paradoxical. After all, it is my feelings that have caused me to overthink. I even have it on paper that I am over-sensitive, now if that's not a degree! I just hope that I will be struck by the symbolic flash of lightning that sparks life into my creative mindset and helps me listen to the poems I know are eager to be written.

Speaking of degree, or perhaps the far-fetched synonym "accomplishment", I drunk-cried the other month, first time in years. I was so hammered I almost didn't feel the tears but the pain was very much present, as were the memories of earlier youth and shattered dreams, put in an even darker light when I am the one to blame for their destruction. It was a bad idea to party in the same building where I celebrated my high school prom, any other outcome would've been unimaginable. 
But I feel better now, I do. I've found things that give me more meaning in my everyday life, something that makes me feel that my life isn't wasted and that is a nice feeling to have. I think I'll hold on to it for a while, even if it involves politics and not of sensual nature as Taylor so elegantly put it. Perhaps I'll elaborate the term and instead call it "A political rendezvous". What a fancy word, one would never think I learned it from The Sims 3, but from an award winning novel about sizzling french erotica. Hence the title "Happy Imposter". I feel very much like an imposter, but I'm happy with it.