Fragments of Arcadia: You Are Strong

VI.

Evangeline opened the door to her quiet apartment. She was exhausted, but she couldn't rest, not yet at least. Tomorrow was her day off so she had time to work tonight. She heated up some leftover spaghetti from the night before and washed it down with some soda. She needed a little bit of fuel for the night ahead of her.

She went to the bathroom and removed her makeup. She then washed her face with cold water to wake her up and get her going. She tore off her outfit for the day and replaced it with some overalls that had paint all over them. She made sure her hair was out of the way by putting it up in a chinese bun. She had special pins that looked like charcoal pencils that she used to keep it up.

Evangeline took a deep breath and marched confidently back to her purse. She took out her sketchbook, her pencils and opened to a clean. She sharpened her pencil and nothing. Absolutely nothing. A black hole of creativity drained the ambition of Evangeline. She had no ideas. Nothing.

"You're going to disappoint him."

Of course this would happen now of all times.

"You're going to ruin your first gig."

It definitely wasn't helping.

"Nothing is probably better than what you would have drawn anyways."

"You're not good enough for this project."

"You shouldn't even try."

"Your art isn't even good."

For a few moments she sat motionless at her kitchen table, frozen, trapped by her own mind. Her own self. Then she started to shake as her body caught up with her mind. All the negativity, all the thoughts just become static that overwhelmed her senses. She could feel the water pressing against the dam, but she refused to cry. She didn't want to cry. She didn't want to feel weak. She didn't want to be beaten by herself again. She didn't want any of this. She just wanted to be normal, feel normal and have her mind act normal. She just wanted peace.

Tluck...plip...speck, speck

One drop after another hitting the page of her sketchbook. She didn't want to cry, but she needed to. She didn't want to be weak, but you can't be strong forever. She didn't want to be beaten, and she hadn't been. She moved her sketchbook away as she buried her face into her arms, pushing her glasses to the top of her head.

The river wasn't just flowing, it was flooding. Everything was flooding; emotions, memories, thoughts, stress, life. It was overwhelming. This was her chance and she was ruining it, just like she had so many times before. Just like when she was fired from her first job when she a panic attack in the middle of the lunch rush. Just like when she was supposed to have her art final showcase and she couldn't give a tour of her art from the anxiety. Just like when she had the chance to produce something for the local art show, but her own doubt stopped her. It was the story of her life. A river of sorrow home to a healthy population of regret fed by the rains of anxiety and doubt. A river she could never escape.

Evangeline stayed there, crying, for what to her felt like a millennia. Lifting her head off her arms felt like it took all of her power. She knew what she wanted most right now, her bed. With shaky legs and weaker body, her feet shuffled to her bed. She fell face first right into it, her pillow soaking up some of the tears still lingering to her face.

"Look at you giving up again."

"You'll never change."

"You'll always be weak."

"You'll never amount to anything."

"You are useless."

"You are wasted talent."