Early Morning

I am someone who needs to paint. There's something about the physical and emotional act of painting that I need. Yes need, not want or desire, need. It's a part of me and who I am, even though that's one thing I've tried desperately to stray away from. Why? Why would I try to tell myself that I'm not an artist. Because I have the tendency to listen to others and not myself. I was told that I was not an artist, that I was this list of other things, which in itself are all well and good, so I went with it. And now I'm feeling it, the draw, the emotional longing for the thing I love doing. But what has happened to me. I've lost confidence in my hands, in myself. I can't will myself to even attempt anymore. This pull back and forth is tiring. I will close myself off. Lock myself in. And paint. Force myself to get right again.