reclamation of self

Making inroads into trying to get back into my own self, wherever that person is now. I'm reading Bridges' Transitions again. Feels as if I just didn't get it at all the first time round. Also seems that I'm a Forest Dweller; this is a very comforting thought as I try to reflect on my distressing transitioning.
I can 'see' my head, but can't articulate it yet, so wont.
This is what I did this afternoon in my studio here; a textual collage of what I feel but can't say out loud.
Maybe I will talk about it later....maybe not.

violation

I didn't mean to do this; say out loud, here, what I really think, but, I will now.

I struggle with transitioning.

I miss my island home.

I can't see my shoreline.

I can't think at all.

As I move forwards into a void, I leave behind a place of memories, of sadness and peace, insulated and isolated from the other world of grown up real people living real lives earning real money to buy real stuff.

What I want I can't buy, I can only feel..........and remember.

The studio I worked in every day and the shoreline I walked every day, knit together into an unimaginable  warmth and sense of 'rightness'.

I left them both.

The image above is one I took on Saturday. It's of my studio door; smashed in, the interior scattered in the search for....whatever a mindless brain conjures up.

Imagine a blackbird's voice at dusk, the soft whisper of waves dropping onto sand, now look again at the image above and hear the thoughts of the person who has violated my space, my memory, my studio on Arran. What sounds did they make as they kicked in the red door into an unknown world.

I am sad.