Once again, my words have stung.
They have pulled back the sheets to expose the rotting flesh of disease underneath. Illness of thought that runs rampant in our culture of social etiquette.
As children we are taught to mind our words. Our mothers hiding our truth through gently excusing our voice when it bears too much reality. We grow up knowing that we must not speak of that which brings discomfort to others.
We even censor our experience to ourselves, when we disregard the hurtful actions of others through endless rationalization.
This society of pleasantries is creating a world where individuals are drowning in their own mental anguish. We only have each other to reflect off of, and when we paint solely rainbows, those who see the darkest of shadows are left isolated.
The deepest of dysfunction lies when we paint the brightest colours over the darkest shadows cast by others.
“You will be okay” they gently say, despite you screaming at the top of your lungs that you are “NOT OKAY”. You are curled up on the cold concrete floor of life, bleeding profusely from the gaping wound in your guts, and we stand beside you with a smile and a band-aid.
I refuse to paint rainbows. I will stand in front of you with the blackest of truths. The emotional flood of blood pouring from your veins as you slowly stitch yourself back together with threads of truth.
I am not afraid of the dark. If I see it lurking behind you, I will bring it forth, calling out its name. I drag it unwillingly to the light, for all to see.
Sometimes you are not ready, and you respond with anger. How dare I say such a thing to you? My words opening that wound that still festers, the pain in your heart apparent through the bite of your tongue.
But sometimes, you are ready. Sometimes you embrace the discomfort that growth requires and you face the shadow head on; an epic battle with the manifestations of your own self. Your mind resistant to change, but your will reigning power over the reality that is going to change for you.
This battle is not mine.
I only stand here with the paintbrush, and the deepest hope that you will fight hard enough to be met with some relief, and not succumb to the darkness of the psyche.
I stand here, and I pray for you. The dark tone of honesty dripping from these bristles…