“I don’t give a shit what the world thinks. I was born a bitch, I was born a painter, I was born fucked. But I was happy in my way. You did not understand what I am. I am love. I am pleasure, I am essence, I am an idiot, I am an alcoholic, I am tenacious. I am; simply I am…You are a shit.” –Frida Kahlo, from an unsent letter to Diego Rivera
While I do not necessarily identify directly with every word written by the legendary artist quoted above, there is no denying the profound, heart-wrenching relatability that is present in its message.
I wasn’t born a bitch (though at times, I certainly can behave like one), I am not a painter, and being “fucked up” is sort of something what was an evolutionary process. I am tenacious, no doubt. I am passionate as all hell and sometimes I feel the anger, hurt and white-hot fire these words represent…almost as if they were pulled directly from my soul.
Note that this was taken from a portion of a letter written by Frida Kahlo to Diego Rivera that went unsent. I cannot tell you how many times I have done this. Putting my thoughts on paper has become an invaluable form of therapy, release and a channel to express emotions so powerful that, to be honest, I may be the only one who truly comprehends the weight and meaning my private words internally hold.
Whether it be a journal entry or an unsent letter to a loved one, where furious feelings are revealed and, often times, vicious daggers are figuratively thrown, I’ve learned to try and pump the breaks, if possible. This is not because I am anti-communication (I am likely the biggest advocate for openness and conversation — often times to a fault), but because I have, through experience, been slapped with the cold, hard realization that anyone who can induce such resentment and exasperation, is either unworthy or incapable of truly absorbing the meaning behind my words.
So, here’s to us — the ones who have had our hearts broken, who have acted out, who have turned to self-hate, anger and substance abuse in an attempt to cope with the bullshit life throws our way. Hats off to those who have had the strength to stand up and hold their own — to speak out or write down what they feel (sent or unsent), and move forward with their lives.
I love these harsh, disturbing, beautiful words by Frida Kahlo — so much that I feel them in my bones.
So cheers to being a an idiot and an alcoholic. Cheers to being pleasure and essence. Cheers to being happy in your own way and not being afraid to call out any friend, boss, acquaintance, lover or enemy who hinders the free, wild spirt that drives an electric current through your soul.
Cheers is to writing a fucking letter that expresses the words you so desperately and painfully hold within — even if the only person you actually are writing it for is yourself.