It would be remiss of me to share any sort of falsehood on this blog. I believe that the posts made on this website should be completely clear intentionally. Although I have made several posts in a fervor of emotion, I have kept each and every one of my entries with their original intent and integrity.
I am proud to say that, even though I do not believe it is the case sometimes, this is a direct mirror of my life. I am clear emotionally with other people, as I can be, and this presents a genuine idea of who I am as a person. When I am in good spirits, which is, luckily, often, I am jovial and generally warm. When a mood, or cloudburst as I like to say, of depression hits me, I try to signal that to those around me in a way of melancholy acceptance. Aside from the oft jolly persona I give off, the most indicative showing of emotion I give off is when I am upset. I am distant and cold when this happens and it is very clear that I am choosing this type of reaction.
I do not live a life of ice. I prefer to keep my relationships and ideas kindled so they never burn out. Unfortunately, I have encased myself in a shell of frigid layers. The entire year has been travesty upon horror with the occasional pocket of good fortune given to a select group by divine providence. My oratory skills have been my only defense against a year of instability and pain. In the closing days of 2016, I seem to be nearly tapped out of speaking through difficulty.
Fortunately, the endless well of words that I own will never run dry. I can distract any problem with spectacle then slay it with logic. I can rapture my enemies with dazzling displays of multisyballic mania and chain them to my sentences with simile and metaphor. I can create waves of melancholia. I can summon pillars of delight. I can do anything I want to and the literate will bear witness.
Why do I bother warming my ink and paper with literary pyrotechnics if I can’t keep my physical life hot enough to melt the icy barriers I’ve set up?
I direct you to remember the song. Three men have lines in the song. Thomas Paine, Alexander Hamilton, and George Washington. I recently read a biography on Washington (read about it here) and before that I finished the popular Hamilton biography (both by Ron Chernow) and long before that I was reading Thomas Paine’s work to help form my feelings of what I thought my country’s essence was.
The song and The American Crisis both start with the following:
THESE are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.
In no way am I comparing the struggle and heartache that I have experienced this year to the trials that the colonists fought through during the Revolutionary War, but I am likening my resolve to theirs. The pain that has changed me unalterably this year is only temporary. The cold covering I have encased myself in will, as time passes, melt into warmth and happiness. The pain and terror that I have felt will crumble into dust and be blown away by the welcome winds of change.
I have this resolve in the middle of a harsh winter of my life.
Modesty does me no favors. I have strength in my words and that will unquestionably survive this sheer cold. I will write my way out.