I TOLD you I wouldn't make it. I tried.
Sort of. I mean, seriously. I gave it the best half-hearted effort I had. That's actually saying more than you think it
is.
Yup...this is about where I'm at. |
I have to be honest, though: I haven't been honest
here. This probably isn't really a big
surprise, seeing as I haven't actually been posting a whole heck of a lot and,
really, the problem is that I haven't been completely honest with myself. Or even a little bit honest with myself. It's probably no surprise to you that, when
you can't own and recognize your truth, writing is difficult. It's also probably no surprise to you that,
when the truth is that you are struggling just to get out of bed in the
morning, it's difficult to find things worth writing about. It's not that things aren't happening. My days are full of random crazy stories I
would love to one day laugh about, or cry about, or share and tell you. I would love to be able to story it all, from
the big things to the small things, and write it or poem it or create it into
something that connects us with my words.
But I can't. I just can't. It's not because of lack of desire or
interest or attempts, either. I have sat
at the page and tried to make the words come, and they won't, mainly because I
silence them before they hit the page.
After so many of those attempts, it's better not to even try and to
instead push myself into other such lofty endeavors as sleeping. Or spacing out. Or trying to figure out my life, or making
myself wash dishes, or convincing myself it would be a good idea to paint my
nails.
The important things--the things I want to (need to?) write
about are not appropriate for me to write about here. So I don't write about them at all because,
seriously, if I'm not going to write for YOU, what makes you think I'm going to
write for ME?
Part of me really wants to try and put a positive spin on
all of this for you. I want to say
something like, "I know that growth is almost always painful, and so I
know that once this growth spurt has passed, I will be writing and living and
smiling again." I want to say
things like "It's all just going to be okay," because that's what I
do, and that's what I've always done, and that's what's comfortable for
me. It's okay. It's not bad.
I'm fine. I can keep
smiling. Nobody worry because Superwoman
here has it all under control. Except
for the fact that I don't, because I can't.
It's taking me a long time to realize that it's okay that I don't have
it all perfect and controlled and wrapped in a smile. I know it's okay--nobody could, really--but
that's not how it feels, and even if nobody could have it all perfect and
controlled and smiley, I still want to exhaust myself trying because I'm used
to being the exception. I've almost
always been an exception, or convinced myself that I was. But now...well right now, with this, I am
decidedly not the exception and can't even pretend to be. With this, I need to struggle just like
everybody else. And that's just not okay
by me, even when I have no choice.
The hardest thing, though - the thing that's the hardest to
acknowledge and write about --the thing that most prevents me from writing--is
difficult to put into words. Words are
how I understand things, and if I can't write it, I'm probably confused by it. As close as I can come to naming it, though,
the hardest thing is this: from the time I was a kid, I have always felt a
connection with some sort of higher power.
Sometimes I called it God, sometimes it was more of a god-lower-case-g,
sometimes it was Nature or a universal loving spirit, but it has always--always--been there. I connect most strongly and easily to it when
I am in nature: it's a peace, and a coming home in my soul that connects me to
myself and my world and makes me feel whole and loved and supported. When I write, I reach that place. I feel connected to myself and to my world,
and I am at peace in myself with my words and my heart. When I make music, when I have a really good
conversation, when I meditate, when I am quiet--these are the times I felt I
knew God. I needed these times. No matter what was happening, these times
connected me to myself and to something bigger than me that left me comforted
and protected. It reminded me that there
is something more--something larger than myself that could support me in the
rare moment that I could not support myself.
When I was really desperate, I would go outside at night and look up at
the stars and talk to my grandmother--which always brings me to tears--and the
stars and the dark and the night air and the tears and connection I felt to my
grandmother would bring me home to that universal loving spirit--to the god
that held me.
But that support--that comfort and "something
larger" and protection--it feels like it's gone. I sit to write, and I write and write and write
and never get to the point of peace, never feel held or supported or whole or
loved. So why should I bother? I try to meditate, or be in nature, or talk
to my grandmother, and it all feels empty so I've given up trying. The place inside me that would be filled
feels frozen with a fear and anxiety I can't name and I don't know if god has
abandoned me, or is angry at me, or disappointed in me, or if he/she was never even
there to begin with. The only thing I've
learned is that I never fully appreciated how much my belief in my god did for
me until it was gone. And I have no idea
what to do to get it back. I want
it--need it, even--but it all feels ridiculous at the same time. How can you want something you don't even
believe exists anymore?
I have no idea how to end this. It's all unanswered questions and loose ends,
and I still have this intense desire to tell you I'm fine, I'll figure it all
out, you don't need to worry, I'm strong, it's just a momentary difficult stage
I will work through in no time. But if I
told you that, I would be lying. Or
rather, I don't know if I would be lying or not because I don't have the answer
to any of those questions and I don't feel confident enough to say with any
assurance that I will figure it out.
These are the things I know for sure: I don't do
vulnerability well. Life will continue
moving forward. The world will continue
turning. The sun will rise in the
morning, like it or not, and I will have to get up to greet it. I will get up to greet it. And so I'll begin another day.
Yep, I sure get this. I've had a similar crisis in the past year. Frankly, not believing anybody is there doesn't seem much different than believing it, at least as far as what happens to me. I still have to deal with my shit either way and it's the same shit.
ReplyDeleteYou've got some great stories to tell. It's up to you whether you tell them. I'd like to read them though. <3