Bleeding Ink

I'm not going to lie, it's been one challenging week. It started when I awoke at 4am in excruciating pain. A doctor's visit later gave me the news that I need to have an invasive surgery. I am not looking forward to this. Everything else that would normally be an annoying nuisance is now exagerated. Quite frankly, I'm tired of fighting. I don't want to quit, but I sure don't want to play this game anymore.

This journal entry, written by a dear friend of mine seems to sum up everything for me. When she posted it months ago I could see a mirror image of myself. Today the reflection hasn't changed. She and I, we're just waiting for this season to pass when our blood runs black again.


A Razor to the Wrists
by Treava Pool on Tuesday, November 23, 2010 at 7:08am
I know someone that used to do that... cut herself. I hated seeing anyone hurt that badly inside... so much so that "bleeding out the poison" became a dangerous addiction, like any drug might do. She's been/is in counseling and no longer slits her wrists. Thank God! Nevertheless, I do understand what drove her there.

I write, oftentimes, for the very same reason. I don't know how many times I've used the phrase "I bleed ink." It is definitely medicinal for me. Has been since before I knew how to spell ... back when I was a tiny girl, writing songs in my head. And sometimes, well, it's just divinely inspired or challenging to the mind. And sometimes, it's just plain fun. Just depends on what I'm writing. Regardless, I'm never quite satisfied with my "work." Perfectionism can be rather cruel to artists of all genres.

Ann, a friend of Holley (from 'Heart to Heart') answers her own question ("Why do you write?") with: "It is my sickness and it is my medicine, it is my thorn and it is my healing. I take my medicine slow. I gag it down, I choke it up. It never gets easier. I am chronic and life's terminal and this is a salvation, the way the Word meets me. I am not good at it."

I never think I'm very good at it either. But I'm published, so surely I'm not altogether a terrible writer. I journal often... sometimes several times per day, if I need it. And I write poetry, songs, etc, when/if my muse is active/overactive. Lately, all I've been able to write is: "Love is kind." Truth in. Thorn out. "Love is patient." Hope in. Hopelessness out. "Love never fails." Faith in. Failure out. You get the picture.

My muse is dry and sad and sleeping. But she'll wake with fresh breath and vigor soon, I'm sure. For now, I reach out in the quiet, secret places to sweep away the dust of recent battles of the heart. And when my veins have tired of the poison of hateful words spoken, I will bleed ink again. I do believe a masterpiece is waiting on my heart to catch up with my muse. Think I'll just start with: "Love knows no wrong." Forgiveness in. Bitterness out.

I'm terribly in need of a bleeding session. But I just hate that my heart/mind are stuck on the battlefield (though the battle wasn't mine and was over before it ever began). Someone, anyone, challenge my pen! Give me a subject! Give me a cave and a blank sheet of paper! Tear open the thick skin that has built up around my heart like steel. I want to let go of ALL those words and write a new beginning ... again. Maybe, just maybe, I already have!