Three Months Ago, I Wrote This Journal Entry…(now I’m sharing it with you)

I’m supposed to write. Writing is good for me. I used to need to write. I used to love writing. Now, I still want to write, but I don’t. I don’t update my journal, or my blog, I don’t even write status updates on my facebook page.

It’s important for me to keep writing, and to push through this block. But why am I blocked? Why do I deny myself the one thing I seem to want? Writing was my air, my dancing, my sustenance. And though I desire it, I have abandoned it. Though I dream of it, and envy all who seem to wield words far better than I can- I fail to pick up a pen, or type a word. I have been failing myself. I do not want to do that any longer.

My brother bought me this MacBook pro so that I would do creative things. That I would put my entire effort behind them. He wanted to give me a chance to succeed, and to make my visions of the future come true.

Now, I know that I can, I always did have the power to do it. I just need the work ethic. I need to put the structure into my life, and schedule time to spend with my craft. Honing my skills, and putting words down. Getting them out of my head and written is the most important and seemingly the most difficult task. Even now, Fauchard (my cat),  makes biscuits on my chest and blocks my view of what I write. I continue on typing, because I do not need to see, to know what letters I touch to make what words I think.

This is easy enough. If I can just become part of the machine and let my brain connect with the screen and flow, then I don’t have anything to fear. I can just let it all come out of me, and not judge what I write. Just spill out the words like my blood, like the contents of my mind.

After Hans broke up with me, I spent two days alone and distracting myself with all the plans and ideas of things I would do. Things I would focus on, and things I would accomplish, to prove that I was a great person. That I could grow and be okay no matter what. No matter if I had lost the love of my life, or if I could win him back again.

Since then I have been gathering back myself, my friends, and my family. I know there is much work to be done. But no one can do it but me. So if I do not begin the work, it will fail. I will fail before I have even begun to try. And if I try and I fail- which I have done before, and I’m told I shall again. When I fail, I will get back up, and try again.

I am resolved to this now. To succeed no matter what. To become a writer. To be read and loved, the way I read and love other authors. I want to create a world for people to love, and characters for them to care about. I think the only way for me to do that, is to create a world that I love, that I want to live in, and that I find interesting, with characters that I would want to be friends with, or love dearly, or even despise.

There is something to be said for making amends with people from your past. I friend requested J today on facebook, and he asked if it was my way of wanting to start our friendship over. I suppose it was. I wanted to see what would happen. I know that there are feelings hidden inside of me, many mingled feelings for J- both good and bad. I would like to get to the bottom of things, of why he did what he did to me. I think I could understand it. I know I can be overwhelming. I know I was emotional, and that I didn’t know what I was doing. I was being reckless. But sometimes I am reckless. Often, I am reckless in love, and in adventure. I dive in, I jump. I do things that everyone says is crazy to do, and impossible. I have to do these things, for if I do not, then I know I shall regret them for the remainder of my life.

In the case with J, I acted in a way that I carefully considered. I chose to go to Florida and wait for him to pick me up on his sailboat. He wouldn’t acknowledge me publicly, he wouldn’t tell C about me. I felt guilty, dishonest, sad, invalid, insecure. I wanted him to treat me like more than a mistress, more than a person to have sex with, more than a secret. But the secret was beautiful, it was fun, it was dangerous. I’m sure I would have been content to be a mistress on a sailboat with a man who I found both attractive and intelligent.

I won’t lie. I still have an attraction to him, or to the idea of him. But I know that he is dangerous for me. Perhaps that is part of what draws me to him. I cannot be foolish enough to trust him again. Not unless he proves to be deserving of that trust.

I’m obsessive. I am an obsessive person. It’s why I fall in love so easily. It’s why I binge watch five seasons of a TV show in one week. I am voracious, I must consume everything and everyone. I don’t mean any harm in it. It is my curiosity that drives me. Perhaps, not only knowing but experiencing. When I watch shows, or read books, it gives me the chance to experience many things that I wouldn’t otherwise have been able. However, it also keeps me safe from the perils of such journeys, not to mention it also keeps me set apart from the characters.

If you think about it, I develop a deep emotional attachment to characters, who are to me, (real) people, friends, even. Friends that never will know my name, or love me, or know anything of me at all. And once their tale is done, I have lost them forever. Until I watch or read or listen once again. But that- it is their story, frozen. Their story only changes as I change, as my perspective grows and transforms.

Is that why I must finish reading a novel, or a series? Is that why I’m left with such bittersweet sadness, an emptiness, when I have accomplished my goal?

Will I feel sadness when I finish writing my first novel? I suspect in some ways I might. I think I will just feel proud, and perhaps uncertain as to how I could have possibly done such a thing. It is something that I have failed at for all my life, and I suppose that I have seen myself as never being able to do it.

I think I need to let go of so many of my notions about myself. I think that those stories I tell myself (about myself), they are not helping me at all.
I think it is time to tell myself a new story. One that I want to believe in. Something that I can be proud of, achieve and make the truth.

I have accomplished many things in the past. When I put my mind to it, I was able to overcome my feelings of overwhelm, and fear, and worry. I was able to succeed, to learn, to grow.

I realize something now. I never truly was proud of my accomplishments. I never felt as if anything I did was good enough. I always thought it was normal, that I should do such things, and down-played my achievements. I didn’t want to brag, I wanted to be humble. I think I just expected that I was awesome (my family placed high praise and expectation on me), and therefore, when I received praise for it, I ignored it. I wasn’t proud of myself, I felt I could achieve more. I felt I could do better, always.

I think there was a point in my life I became disillusioned with life. Or perhaps it was the grand illusion. I’m not sure. Working for Ellen changed me. Going to Jamaica changed me again. Living in Portland changed me. Going on the road changed me. Living in New Orleans has changed me. Many of the people I have met, and loved, have also added and subtracted from me.

Who am I now? If I saw myself, would I recognize me? Would I be proud of who I am right now? I am not brought so low, to have nothing to be proud of. I think I am young, younger than my age, even. Though I have had wisdom in the past, I think I have forgotten much. I think I have buried my own wisdom, forgotten it, and chosen to ignore the nagging feeling of it knocking on the trunk, and screaming to be freed.

I have chased love, and sex, and adoration. I wanted to be loved by everyone. It now seems as though many do love me. But I do not seem to love myself. I used to know how to treat myself. How to control my self. I had self discipline of a degree I cannot begin to explain. If I could be that person once, then why can I not, once more? I am still the same, though I am changed. I still recognize myself. I am not so very old. My life is not over, despite what my fears keep whispering to me.

As I face 30 I feel as though I failed. I should have accomplished something by now, and I still don’t even know what I want. I’m just starting to feel okay again. I realize that I don’t have to know anything. That I just have to decide the things I want to do with my time, that makes me feel happy, and enriched as a person. I want my life to mean something to others, not just myself. I want to share my love.

 

Sometimes, I worry that I will be alone, and die unknown, without accomplishment, and will basically have completely failed at life.

 

I’m not going to fail. I am going to succeed. I am going to have all of the love I desire, from all of the people I desire. I am going to have all the books, comics, TV shows, films, art, leather-work, clothing, and whatever else I decide to create!
I can do it all. I just have to figure out how to do it all. And the great thing is that I already know the answer. Just do it. Like Nike said all along. I only wish that I would have understood it for myself, instead of having it sold to me as a slogan for a brand.

That is something that bothers me so much about the world. Everything is marketed. Everything is valued, and priced to sell. I am no different. I am trying to sell my self and my ideas. It’s not noble, but I have to live, and I want to take care of myself. I want to travel and that is expensive. Plus, doing book tours and such makes you travel a lot, I have seen.

I can’t fight against things as strongly now, as I will be able to in the future. I need resources. I need the stories in my mind and in my heart. I need to tell those stories.
I want everything. So therefore, I should have it. Which means I have to do everything in my power to get it.

I want to be strong and healthy. I want to be flexible, and not fat. I want to fit into my old clothes, and get nice new ones. I want to earn money and fix up my house. I want to grow good food in my garden. I want to write amazing works of fiction and nonfiction that empower women, and creative people to find their voice, and motivation. I want to achieve my dreams. And the more I write to myself, the clearer the path shall become. Not only will I realize what my dreams are, but I will realize how to accomplish each step, on the road to success.

I will only penalize myself for failing to contribute to my future. I will never worry about staying up too late, if I am writing. I will no longer need to escape from myself, my emotions, or my life. It is mine. It is all I have.

I will embrace those willing to embrace me. I will cautiously guard my heart, instead of throwing it around without first looking. I will face my fears, one step at a time.

I applied to be a KJ at Kajun’s. Just emailing a cover letter and resume was a big step for me. Even just thinking about the possibility of an audition makes my heart beat faster. It scares me. It scares me that I might get the job. Because that would mean I would have a responsibility, where other people would count on me. I don’t like to be counted on. I like to afford myself whims, and be unreliable. But I am not unreliable. I only fear that I will let people down, that I will let myself down.

I fear giving anyone control over me, and my life. I should affirm to myself right now, that having a job is not giving over control. I maintain control at all times. I can choose to take the job, or not. If the job allows me to grow as a person, to push myself, challenge myself in ways I haven’t been before- then I should accept it. If the job creates too much stress, unhealthy habits and behaviours, and regression from my personal growth, then I should stop it immediately.

No job, regardless of needing or not needing the money, should hold me down. I seek only elevation, expression, and experience.

I am my one true and closest friend.

Perhaps, one day I will find someone who can begin to try to know me and love me, as I do. But I should realize sooner than later, that I have already found her, and that she is in me. Because Hans could never know me or love me that way. Though he loves me deeply, and knows me well.

I fear this feeling. To be so utterly alone in the world. If I am this way, then everyone must be this way. I will allow that to give me some comfort, and hope, that we all strive to touch one another’s souls. To see, and be seen. To be cherished and respected. To have a witness say “I see you. I am here, and I see you.”