Even if the emotion is death itself.

I feel like I've been dumped in the deepest part of the ocean and being told "just swim back to shore...you only have to swim back to shore". Yet I've forgotten how to swim, the waves are overtaking me, I'm so cold, and alone. 

The tears won't stop. To try and stop my crying right now feels like asking me to stop breathing. It's completely uncontrolled and I hate not being in control. I'm grasping all over the place to find something to hold onto that will keep me from going under. The eating disorder behaviors are back with a vengeance, all about control, as maybe if I starve long enough that pain can override the emotions that hurt worse than any injury I've ever sustained. 

I was writing this for 9 hours, whereas most of my pieces are quick and straight stream of consciousness, but this moment felt too raw. The crying had turned to screams to the point I feared the neighbors might do something. I felt nauseated and like I was crawling out of my skin, with everything in me saying "don't tell everything...it will be the end of you". This feeling, this fear, is the complete opposite of everything my blog has been and what I wanted it to be. Yet I was heaving sobbing and paralyzed.

Waiting to hear if my insurance will be accepted at a place that might help me. Watching my phone, trying to write but nothing coming out, doom scrolling social media, and I came across an article about Clare Torry, the co-composer and premier vocalist on "Great Gig in the Sky". It talked about what happened during that recording, her fear, her vulnerability, and ultimately credit for such an amazing accomplishment. A success that wouldn't have happened if she'd held back. Sent it to a dear friend who has the amazing talent to sing this and has done so with the true grit of the performance. Then I read it again and it hit me in a different way.

A portion of a piece about Clare Torry from the Two Pennies entertainment page on Facebook:

"Sing."

"About what?" Clare asked.

"Death," they said. "But no words. Just... feel it."

...

But Pink Floyd weren't asking for a performance.

They were asking for something primal.

What came out wasn't singing in the traditional sense.

It was grief. Raw, unfiltered grief.

She wailed. She soared. She cried out. Her voice climbed higher and higher, reaching notes that felt like desperation, like pleading with something unseen.

She wasn't performing anymore. She was channeling.

Every human emotion in the face of death poured through her:

Fear. Rage. Acceptance. Sorrow. Transcendence.

She improvised for 2½ minutes straight—no lyrics, no script, just pure emotional truth.

When the track ended, Clare opened her eyes.

She was shaking. Tears were streaming down her face.

"I'm so sorry," she said, mortified. "That was too much. That was embarrassing. Let me try again—I'll tone it down."

She thought she'd failed. Thought she'd been too vulnerable, too exposed, too much.

...sometimes the most powerful art comes from the most vulnerable places...

Clare Torry proved that the most powerful music doesn't come from technical skill or calculated artistry.

It comes from the moment you stop performing and start living the emotion.

Even if that emotion is death itself."

Even if the emotion is death itself. I feel that's what I'm facing. Though not actively dying, even though we're all dying, I'm facing the truth of my suffering and sadness. It's as if my body could no longer hold back the anguish of all that has happened. The trauma, the abandonment, the abuse, the self loathing and hatred. I am not happy about being alive. Yet there must be some small piece of me still saying to give it one more breath. 

So I'm raging to a virtual world which doesn't actually care what I have to say. I'm giving a "fuck you" to the person who said he loved me, and lied, that silenced my writing by ripping on my sharing and saying, "you lean into being a victim". I'm composing one more sentence because I know, I absolutely know, I'm not the only one that knows how dark it can be and is looking for a way out. 

I haven't found a way out. Still crying. But my breath and voice haven't been silenced yet.