Hello my fellow bloggers and writers.
I have decided to actually make writing the main focus of my life because after much inner turmoil, self doubt, and ultimately encouragement and love from the people around me — I have found the one true purpose of my life, and the one thing I ultimately turn to, is something I should be fighting like hell for.
I love telling stories. I love hearing people say they relate to characters, scenarios, and ultimately the human condition we all share.
Am I a thoroughly trained writer? Absolutely not.
But do I like telling stories and do I love writing?
Writer’s block, depression, anxiety… all three of these are huge obstacles to overcome when it comes to being a creative. I’ve learned that when these things happen — and they always come in cycles — writing is the one thing that gets me through those difficult days.
I haven’t been writing poems on here in several months because I’ve been collecting them in a document on my computer. My goal is to get something published and out there.
I’ll post one more time once my new website is up and running so that we can stay connected there if that’s something you’d like. Thank you everyone for being so supportive of me on this journey so far.
The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2015 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,300 times in 2015. If it were a cable car, it would take about 22 trips to carry that many people.
Click here to see the complete report.
this time it’s different because i’m aware of my own breathing… and the pain in my chest each time i look up and realize you’re not there isn’t killing me anymore, it’s making me feel whole like i can feel more than just what’s around me… i can feel galaxies brushing against each other and moons colliding and stars going out and all the people on this little planet are just minuscule parts of a huge ecosystem of life with its complex intricacies stretching and webbing far across the unknown
and who would have thought that i’d ever reach this place
this place where i feel my whole self letting go and where i stop shaking things up for the sake of having something to plunge my negative energy into
if you told me a year ago that i’d finish 2015 knowing where i was going i would have laughed and asked you what your childhood was like
were you dropped on your head? did someone hurt you? were you a monumental let-down to your parents?
i know this year has been full of baby steps but i did more than i ever thought i was capable of
and i feel like now, maybe i can be more.
You do it for the sake of getting something out there — of putting pen to paper. Don’t you?
And even then it’s not like that’s going to make anything better because all it does is help you run away from the sickening feeling in your chest that, one day, developed a voice and whispered, “You don’t matter,” each time you took a breath.
So you lie down in the sand and at first the ocean swallows only little parts of you, maybe your toes, and then your ankles — until it finally consumes everything you thought you knew about yourself.
You tumble around in the currents of things bigger than yourself. You love when your face scrapes along the bottom of the world because the pain is the one thing you can definitely feel.
When you surface and breathe air for the millionth time it is like being reborn into the same body where nothing changes.
And you wonder why you only felt alive when you couldn’t breathe.
Words crescendo and you can’t stop yourself can you?
You sit down and after the world stops moving around you, you finally feel like you’re ready.
Like you could maybe do something.
The guitar is being plucked at by someone who doesn’t really know what they’re doing.
But the music is so sweet and your foot is tapping — and then your shoulders — and then you get some of that torso action in there, the kind that could maybe burn some calories.
And then comes your part —
And you open your mouth to sing.
Today has been a really fun day.
It started out with me freaking out over my current financial situation and then turned into me wondering what the actual hell I’m doing with my life.
I’m at this point I never wanted to be at… where I punch into work for 40 hours a week to a job that isn’t terrible, but also isn’t what I feel like I should be doing.
For so long I’ve struggled with what it is that I should be doing. I waited for people to tell me only to realize that I am literally the only person who can figure that out.
And I know I need to write things. I’ve felt compulsively attached to writing since I was young so… this is the industry I need to focus my time and energy on. But trying to… I don’t know, break into the writing world seems like this hugely daunting task that simply seems insurmountable and idealistic.
I mean, of course it would be fantastic if I had an in, but I don’t know how to make that in and that’s where I’m at.
Just seems hopeless sometimes.
I’m going to look into it.
I have faith in myself.
Something incredible happened as I stared into each of their eyes.
They continued marching forward, humming something about darkness and complacency — all while pushing a bottle to my lips.
There was a low rumble in each of their bass voices and with each syllable they spoke I could feel myself sinking deeper…
It was only at the bottom that I wrapped my fingers around their ankles, toppled them over — the whole army — and grabbed their weapons.
They were dull, plastic, cheap things. They had looked so menacing.
How was I ever going to use these to fight my way to the top?
Up above me there was singing, colors, a promise of lightness.
Instead, I climbed on top of their strewn bodies, staring into their lifeless eyes as I went. There was nothing there. Nothing that I didn’t already know how to climb over.
With each step I took I crushed their souls as they’d once done to mine.
But halfway up I couldn’t do it anymore. The singing was so beautiful from up above, but it was much too far to go.
So, that’s where I am now.