Expressive, Photography as Vocation

I Will Find My Voice

In organizing the papers and books onto the new bookshelves, I had the chance to go through some of my old college papers.  Most of my major papers were mediocre because of the critical nature of the work; I’m not the best argument constructor.  But I did at least get good enough grades to graduate with departmental honors.

So, what happened?  Severe decline in self-esteem is what happened.

I’m determined to find my voice.  It has to happen sometime or other.

And I don’t want to continue writing out of anger or apathy or despair.  It’s tiring and quite frankly, it must be boring to read.

There’s only so much to say about bipolar disorder.  It’s an illness and it sucks and it makes it hard for me to make plans in the future.  I’m still adamant that society’s stigma toward mental health issues must be squelched permanently.  But I am more than my illness.

There’s also only so much to say about being a parent, most days.  I love my boys with all of my heart, they’re fun, cute, and they’re mine.  But I’m more than a mother.

I’m only a mediocre wife and I’m only a so-so partner.  Jared has to handle way more than his fair share of our household affairs.  I love Jared with all of my heart, but I’m more than a wife.

So, where does that leave me?  I’m an expert at…procrastinating.  I’m really good at social avoidance and I don’t do well under pressure.  I love playing with design of this site and I’m an expert at writing in stream of consciousness fashion.  I love mornings and yet, I have a hard time waking up to enjoy them.  I love my camera; I love taking odd pictures that only make sense to me.  I enjoy making my own beads but I’m afraid of fire.  I love making crystal jewelry.   That’s pretty much it.

This is a whining post and I know it.  It’s okay with me.  Some days are like that.  I just want to be good at something, I want to be steadily good at something.  I can write in stream of consciousness, but it always just seems like jibber-jabber nothingness.

As I said earlier, my self-esteem suffered a fairly severe decline, starting when I first got sick again in 2008.  My God, that was four years ago.  It’s been four years that I’ve been a shell of my former self.

There is another way to look at it, of course.  That episode in 2008, and the one in 2010, facilitated a rebirth of sorts for me.  It gave me a second chance to construct myself from the ground up.  It’s just slower-going than I like.

Looking back at those college papers, I realize I was looking for my voice then, too.  Except, maybe I’ve come a little farther toward finding it than I think.  Because, as I remember quite often, I was looking for other things I’ve long since found, back then.

I will find my own voice.  I can feel  it, it’s closer than ever.

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