“I don’t have the personality to be God.” I stated to nobody in particular. “I just can’t bring myself to allow others to worship their perception of me.”

I have found myself on the top of a pedestal. I’m not really certain when that happened, but when I’ve heard others talk about me, whether to my face or behind my back, I found myself precariously perched on top.

I consider myself a good human, not a good person. A good person isn’t allowed to make mistakes, trash relationships that no longer work, or draw boundaries around what is good for them. A human, on the other hand, is perfektly within their rights to do any, all, or none of those.

I’m embarrassed when people call me an angel. I know how often I roll my eyes or mutter under my breath while I’m doing something for another human who probably can’t do what I can as well. I feel negativity, but I allow it to pass unless it’s harming me or someone I love. I’m emotionally fly by the seat of my pants. I give because I enjoy the feeling I get when I do. But, in spite of that, it’s harder for me to feel joy when doing something for myself (at this time.)

I can’t tell you the last time I laid one of my beloved paintbrushes to a canvas to create. Yes, I’ve been writing which is cathartic in getting my thoughts out, but painting is coloring in the emotions that are overwhelming. It focuses them in a different way than words can. It allows me to express emotions without self-criticism or judgement which I tend to do in words.

When I write, everything has to be in order. Everything has to make sense to myself and for others. Every idea that pops into my head is best written down so I remember what is important to me, what my goals are, and how I’m going to do what makes me happy.

Art, in any of it’s forms, is a way for me to run around emotionally naked. It encourages me to let go of the control I think I need in the written word. With colors, forms, shapes, patterns, etc., I can bring the darkest, the most joyous, the mundane to a life that is visible. It allows me to fight my demons in public without holding onto them any longer. I miss that.

Yet, here I sit typing away as if this is the only way I can be “seen”, when at the beginning of this writing, I talked about the pedestal I’m perched upon. I want to jump off of that pedestal and spread my emotional wings again. The euphoria I feel when I do that is worth it. I’m making time as we speak to allow space for something so crucial to my well being.

I don’t have the personality to be God, but I have the hands of a creator that are longing to spring anew.