i didn't scream last night. i could've; i felt one; i didn't.
lessons learned: no more caffeine (at all, probably), no screens at least a half an hour before bed. more decaf/herbal tea, more books.
i'm writing a fifteen-minute song suite on eating disorders. i've been doing research to make sure i get things right. it's beginning to consume me. books, tv shows, articles...most things say the same thing, but i always want to know more. right now i'm reading a book on how to talk to a friend or family member who is hurting themselves.
all i've been writing about lately is mental illness. the song suite on suicide, a recent tune i wrote from the perspective of a mentally ill inmate, and now this. but that amount of internal torture and conflict is compelling. i don't care as much anymore about pop love songs, about the conversations between two people that we've heard before. i care much more about the conversation within a person, as well as the conversations that we are afraid to have with other people. i care more about depression, anxiety, fear, pain, struggle. i care about working through that and finding some answers at the other end, or at least figuring out when i have answers or when i don't. maybe a lot of this is taking aspects of my personality, blowing them up to an extreme, picking them apart, and them working through them. (i do feel much saner, much more put-together when i write about mental illness.)
i was just going to make a small note as i ate my breakfast, but this turned into a few paragraphs. oh, well. better i said something than nothing, i suppose.