Those Seismic Shifts and the Theraputic Properties of Electronic Ink

This quote, from one of my favorite writers, brings me particular comfort today - a day when I feel out of sorts, like a ship that has suddenly broke from its mooring in an increasingly agitated sea.

I have always found my balance through writing. It has brought me closure and peace more readily than any hour spent on a therapist couch. Sometimes I feel like I have a nest of bees inside, an angry buzzing colony of secrets and the only thing that brings me serenity is to write. I have often used electronic ink to battle back my anxiety and plaguing doubts. There are things however, that I can not put to paper and because I can not, I carry them with me always. Grief, guilt, anger, shame...these things all bare a particular weight in one's heart. Still, I do the best I can, even on those days when I feel the shifting seismic plates of fate beneath my feet.

My Dark Sister

My dark sister is cherry painted nails, a black bra strap, a pulsing beat. My dark sister slips into sweat soaked dreams and lurks beneath the skin, a shadow the color of sin. She beckons with a siren's song and rakes the soul with poisoned fingertips. 

 Sometimes I find a line or a start of something and I'm caught completely unaware by where the string of literary logic may have been heading. Reviewing some old blogs, I found the brief passage above residing under the date of July 7th 2010, seven months after the birth of my daughter. I am surprised at the tone, much more ominous then one would expect from such a newly minted mother.  It resides, somewhat uncomfortably between an entry about being depressed and looking for a homeopathic doctor and a blog about feeling joyful just watching my infant daughter sleeping peacefully. Yo-yo much?  Clearly, I was dealing with a roller coaster of emotions at that particular time in my life.  Once again I am thankful that writing was always my preferred method of coping, surely it has kept me med-free and saved a ton of cash on therapy sessions over the years.

So who or what is my dark sister?

An alter ego? A manifestation of dormant deviance? A metaphor for an atypical suburban mid-life crisis?

Well, whoever she was or is, she sounds pretty bad-ass. I think I may keep her around a bit longer.  Who knows, she may show up in a story someday with her sin-colored shadow and deadly digits...