Time: 1:48am April 28 2021 
*Balloons play* 
So I sit here by my lonesome. Creative juices depleted to the last ounce. Ruminating on what’s become of me. How did I get here? When did it take such a turn? When did I become so...unhappy? The tumultuous brawl for stability, for contentment has proven to be too formidable, even for me. Even as I type this out, I catch myself having to take sporadic heaves in and out to quell that painstaking persistent feeling inside me. It’s perpetual. Nasty. It’s miserable. But I best make sure I attend to it’s needs before the allusionary balance is shifted and the already pathetic facade lifts it’s veil. 
*Piano Plays*  
So I walk around, constantly on the precipice of a breakdown, tears verging, smiling and animated, praying no one provokes the beast. But they know. My friends know. My family knows. Shit, I know. *laugh*. The actor can’t even pull off being happy. There are different ways I’ve tried to remedy this problem. I’ve found myself grabbing onto nostalgia, forcibly launching myself into a time where rudimentary feelings granted me the gift of bliss. The complexities of life didn’t throw every issue it could socuwer my way. The nuisance that is the thinking brain didn’t keep me up at night contemplating how truly cruel this world is and if it’s worth living. No overdrawn tangent or bombastic string of words were needed to describe how I felt. I was just happy. But those memories have long been tainted. Relaying back to those thoughts only angers the beast resting east of my chest, for thinking about the past only exacerbates the feeling of lost hopelessness I have. What good is holding memories if the only purpose they serve is rebranding that cursed fate you’re doom to...I don’t think I will ever feel that happy again.
*Piano 2* 
So I try a different approach. Escaping this bleak and unforgiving reality for as long as I can. It progressed from ignoring my responsibilities to neglecting my family and friends to relying on weed to provide me a haven. A haven I can inhibit until the curtain rises again and the sun starts its performance once more. But it caught up to me. The light dragged me back to reality and I had to face the fact that my life was in shambles. Weed proved to be no match for my existence. Ignoring the present wasn’t an option. As for the future…*huffs* It's been months since I’ve entertained that concept. So boom, i'm depressed, we all get it. So what am I gonna do about that. To be quite frank...I have no idea. Every day, thos beast evolves and adapts itself, improving it’s salvaging of my happiness.  
*Guitar* 
I’ve found ways to align myself and feel joy again, even if it’s only a spark. Thrifting, playing soccer, watching shows, hanging out with friends. Still, the beast permeates through and alters my perspective. But I’ve been better at fighting it, or I've been trying at least. The beast is a worthy rival, that I’ll give it. And who knows, maybe I won’t be the victor when it’s all said and done. But here and now, in this moment, I’ve decided I won’t go down without a fight. It’s a lot easier said than done, and I don’t expect steadfast results anytime soon. But who knows. One day maybe...just maybe, I’ll remember what it feels like to be happy again.  

This process started at a very low place for me. Without the aid of my primary creative outlet(theatre), I felt trapped and it started to take a serious toll on me. I found myself in the shower for over an hour just thinking about my life and it was already late as it was. I had all these feelings in me and they had to be released. This was something that couldn’t be executed through a poem. I walked to the library but as I walked in, all my friends were walking out. There were no more excuses. I sat in the library for a while. It was completely quiet. Tranquil. I looked to my laptop to see what I would write. What could I do now to expel these feelings? I started writing to myself in first person. Started drawing out these emotions and what they meant to me. Started giving them form, life. They started to become less like demons terrorizing me, and were conforming to whatever I made of it. This sounded familiar. This was familiar to the monologue I wrote to myself to help accept my coming out. My fingers couldn’t stop and I was making good progress, but I felt like I needed something. Another dimension to the piece to make it feel dynamic, more full. Then I just remembered the sounds we were working with during class and it hit me. I would make this a monologue and add the music to layer my feelings. I had the first part of my monologue done and started experimenting with the sounds I felt would function best as the ambience for my performance. The sounds were compiled for a collaborative music project in which they mesh together no matter when they’re played. I eventually settled on the sound “Balloons (Bb) - Sparse”  The sound was chilling yet comforting. The strange, almost paradoxical feeling this sound produced was perfect for my current state. I have no knowledge of audio engineering or how to manipulate it to my advantage so I used my voice memo function on my IPhone and it surprisingly worked really well. I did a couple of test runs and was shocked but excited with the quality. The music did exactly what it needed to do. I continued writing and editing, adding in sounds and textures that I felt best fit well. The experience was rejuvenating. For the first time for as long as I could remember, I felt like an artist again. I was being creative, mixing different mediums and turning the pain in my heart into art. I finished the script and was satisfied with what I had in store. I then started to reflect on this project and my first interarts project. How much I have grown and developed just within the span of this school year. How much I learned about myself and understood how much more I have to go. I felt proud. I felt proud of myself. I began to record. I had the tabs lined up for the music. I took a deep breath in and released. My chest began to deflate. My shoulders stopped tensing. This felt so real. So cathartic. I reached the end of my monologue but found myself going off script and impulsively said “Good Luck Ayouba.”  This is also how I ended my monologue in the first semester. It was nearly 3:00am. I was exhausted, drained, and famished. But I was proud. And that's all that mattered.