Brokenness

I love miniatures and the joy of painting them. I love the static models of figures that never were, of people I will never meet, of machines that cannot be or I will never actually experience. I love using them in games, designing them, constructing them, and making them something more than little pieces of plastic and metal. giving them personalities, giving them something in the moment of joy.
But it is in models I have the hardest time when I am unemployed, when I am without hope, when I am numb. for in their static nature, I see myself reflected and an infinite loop is born. I find myself hating, hungering for something, willing these tiny figures to "be". I find it so hard to make them alive when I feel so dead inside, so empty of hope and wonder. How can I paint and design something that mocks you with its life in a static moment when you cannot even live a real moment.
I don't love anyone special right now, I feel little lust, little eros, little hurt, desire, or pain. I cannot but feel without the core of who I am, aimless, adrift and under the numbness an anger burns that I need to deal with soon or it will turn to bile and degradation. It is only my faith, my moments of joy, my mother and father, and the few friends I have not alienated that have kept me from breaking completely. But in the models, in the figures I have completed and made I see something else, the brokenness I have isn't always mine, sometimes the brokenness is a source of beauty, a moment where life could nearly be. It hurts to see them but it brings me back from the numbness, and sometimes changes the anger that burns from so many years of taunts, insults, rejection, fear, and outright hatred; into something milder and then I find myself with a brush in hand changing the world one tiny figure at a time.