Recently I was finding myself slightly bitter over a few things I could not change. For weeks, I found myself struggling to see the good. I couldn’t feel it; I couldn’t feel anything, but- I heard myself. I heard the things I said and the way I spoke, the way my thoughts were struggling to stay half full.
I was being so hard on myself that I was crushing myself more and more everyday. Everyday was a battle just to interact with the world, just to think, just to be.
I made this beautiful watercolor portrait that I couldn’t even love. I was so distant from myself, I would see it when I would pass by the spare bedroom and I didn’t even know who painted it.
I couldn’t figure it out for such a long time that I could feel myself growing roots there. Like when ivy starts to spread, and it covers up everything that was there and then everything is just ivy every day after that.
Wild Little Hare 