Gratitude and Creativity: Calming My Anger

Yesterday I was angry. I was so angry I had to cry to release some of the emotional pain the anger made me feel. I was angry because I spoke with my sister for the first time in just shy of five years. Her reason for ending contact was trivial and petty. I learned that she decided to cut me off based on a false assumption. Within ten minutes of talking about our different perspectives of what happened five years ago, it was clear that we could have resolved the issue without losing so much time out of each other’s lives.

I called her yesterday morning because I feel like I need to get myself organized. Because I don’t know when I will have surgery or what might happen when I do, I feel the need to contact people who I haven’t communicated with for a long time. Not acquaintances, but people I believe hold a significant place in my life. I am contacting them to let them know – if they don’t already – that I am (still) ill and I am adding their names to a list of people I want contacted after my surgery with news about the outcome, especially if it’s poor. I want to call these people because I believe in preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. The worst of what I’m preparing for is that something could go wrong during or after surgery, and I don’t want a phone call from a stranger to be the first time they learn that I’ve been sick for so long or worse. I feel like it’s a thoughtful thing to do. I know it’s self-inflicted stress, but the fact that I keep thinking about how these people might feel tells me it’s something I need to do. For obvious reasons, my sister is on the list.

Nonetheless, let’s get back to my anger. My sister made me angry because she chose to stay angry with me for a petty reason for five years. In fact, she said she felt she had the right to be angry about what happened. She held on to her anger even after my many attempts to make peace. After almost a year of reaching out and having her respond with coldness, I gave up. I figured she would contact me when she was ready to talk. That never happened. Then to add insult to injury, she said she didn’t feel angry while we were speaking.

Her rationalization and justification about her behaviour made me boil. Then she said, “Well that happened.” As if there was no more reason to discuss the matter further. I felt my blood pressure rise at her cavalier attitude about five years we could never get back. I reached dangerous temperatures when she swiftly changed gears and started to ask me detailed questions about my condition as if we just spoke a few days ago and I was now calling for a heart-to-heart chat.

Sadly, the more upset I became the more I cried and the more my pain increased. I had to cut our conversation short. After I hung up the call, I needed to find something to calm myself. Surprisingly, I reached for my art/gratitude journal. I got to work on a page I started the night before. I lost myself in colouring the shapes traced on the white page. I worked on it for hours until it felt complete. While I worked on it, I was able to calm my anger and empty myself of all thoughts and feelings about everything except the page in front of me.

Filled Found Shape

Filled Found Shape

I put myself into that page. I had no plan for where I would place the colours. I didn’t know I would draw patterns to fill the coloured spaces. But, when I finished, I was calm and my anger was in the distance.

 

EMF – You’re Unbelievable

Gratitude and Creativity: No Room for Perfection

I was struck last night by the realization that I am still bringing my need for perfection to my art/gratitude journal. How ridiculous is that? I’m making space for my creativity, yet I’m trying to control what I produce. I’m leaving pages blank because I don’t have a perfect idea for what to doodle, draw or paint. In trying to open up my life I’m contributing to making it smaller with my deep-seated need to control. How crazy is that?

I understand why therapy – and in some cases antidepressants – is necessary for people suffering from chronic pain or a chronic illness. It is so easy to get lost inside yourself while you try to control the smallest things because your life, your body, is not in your control. It is so easy to lose your awareness because you spend every minute fighting to hold on to your old self instead of creating a new one that isn’t stifled by your new circumstances. It is so easy to try to impose perfection onto an imperfect situation.

I have so many blank pages in my art/gratitude journal because I’ve been combing the internet trying to find the perfect creative ideas to fill its pages. I’ve been searching to see what other people – perfect artistic people – do to fill the pages of their art journals and sketch books instead of listening to and expressing more of my voice. Last night it hit me that I’m wasting my time and making myself feel worse instead of better. In my search for the perfect things I’m comparing myself to others and the person I used to be. And this journal isn’t about perfection.

This journal is about giving myself space for a few minutes – or hours if necessary – each day to express myself. To put on the pages whatever spills out of my mind, even on the days when what shows up doesn’t feel or look like it came from my mind. It’s my space to draw imperfect shapes, doodle imperfect lines, and paint imperfectly matched colours. This space is mine to be free of judgement about whatever it is I might write or create.

Colour Doodled Hexagons

Colour Doodled Hexagons

There is no room for perfection in this space. And I know that each of us inflicted with chronic pain or a chronic illness need to have some space where we can feel free being ourselves whatever that might look like.

 

Imagine Dragons – Radioactive

Gratitude and Creativity: Blurred Vision

The sound of my mid-afternoon medication alarm woke me up from an unplanned nap about an hour ago. I have so many of these sleep episodes these days. Yet I’m exhausted all the time.

When I woke this afternoon it was a bit different. I had a poem in me waiting to be written.

 

Blurred Vision