Stay True

I stopped writing for a while. I was scared of becoming dependent on it I suppose.

I'm trying to figure out how to communicate visually and I guess that I was scared that anything I got out through writing would then be lacking on my paintbrush.

I also found greater needs to communicate verbally. How could I learn to talk to someone if I relied on writing?

Maybe I was right to be scared and maybe I'm foolish to be reverting now. I don't know.

What I do know is the feelings I was scared of expressing in the wrong ways have become the feelings I'm scared of expressing at all and now I'm scared I've lost them.

I'm scared I've lost me. When I look at my old writings I see a person that is no longer me and when I look at what I have made recently I don't see a person at all.

And now I am not faced with a question, but rather a hundred questions face me:

Is this moving forward or backward? Am I helping or hindering myself? Do I even exist anymore? Can the person I'm trying to become and the person I was both exist? Can I fit either of them inside what is left of me now? Is this faith or is this fear? Does it matter?

I know meaning is something that grows as you give it the time to, but I still won't be satisfied until I know where to find it. Each step either takes me closer or adds distance, and I can't know which until I'm there or gone forever.

Is this what gone forever feels like? Or is this part of the fog that gets me closer in the end.

How I long to act without fear of some elusive eternal fate decided not by any moral act but mere personal preference, and yet it is only the hope of a happy such ending that keeps me moving forward.

If I am not true to myself, I'll lose myself. I hope only that I am in the process of finding myself rather than losing it, for I am not quite sure who to be true to quite yet.