Painting by author
While I couldn’t articulate the issues yet or name all the ghosts, I could feel them. They surrounded me, pressed up against me, shoved me down from above, and choked in my throat. They seemed to take up all the oxygen and all the space, until I finally felt like I couldn’t move.
If I tried to pull away or in, they just took up more space, leaving little for me. Who were the ghosts? Who was I anymore?
So I painted what they felt like. At least I could “see” how bad I felt. Their presence was like an emotional version of that stomach bug.
While I couldn’t express a coherent story of what was swirling around inside me, as I painted, a few loose words floated to the surface. At least that was a beginning:
Fear
Guilt
Questions
Phobias
Nightmares
Shame
Disgust
Anxiety
Flashbacks
Self-hate
Self-doubt
Longing
Rage
Ache
Abandonment
Loneliness
Depression
Memories
Impatience
Fury
Each was a thread, and they weighed a ton. I was tired and fed up with carrying them.
But to get them out would require the equivalent of throwing up…emotionally.
I didn’t want to run, but I didn’t want to throw up. Wasn’t there any other way?
Soul Mosaic 
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