An art professor once told me, "If you can sign your name, you have the dexterity to draw." The dexterity, yes. The skills? No. The attempt only brings frustration which fuels the emotional distress. Its a vicious circle void of creativity.

Some days I want desperately to be able to draw, to paint. I long to be able to create something from my emotions. It's a desire to purge my system, a need to make something beautiful out of something painful. I have this idea that if I could create something, it would ease the pain. I suppose that's true to some extent, but I'm not so foolish as to believe artistic talent is a cure for emotional distress.

My mother is back in the hospital. Hours upon hours spent sitting in a room listening to monitors beep and whistle. In my head I escape. I wish I could transfer the images onto paper. That would some how make them as real as the tiny, sterile room we sit in.