I’m finding myself surprisingly and painfully inept tonight. Today was a great day, even if all I did was wake up somewhat late and work for eight hours. I’m really fucking pissed I missed the gym. Last night I smiled more than I have in recent nights. I’m finding every day to be increasingly amazing for a single reason. This summer has been nothing like what I expected, surreal and sleep deprived and forever part of me. Unbelievable. Defining. I understand myself and my needs and desires more than I thought possible. I feel new, in a way. There have been breakthroughs; this happiness feels strange and novel and frightening.
--
It is not easy to let yourself be broken. I fear I do it too well.
--
I was motivated earlier in the day, even started writing a piece I’m really excited about. I planned to write more when I got home from work, which is now, but now all I’m doing is worrying and wondering if my worry is misplaced.
I am an extremely blunt and honest person. To a fault, I believe. When people ask me something, I tell them the truth. I do not shy away from feelings and truths, and in doing so I realize how vulnerable that makes me. To strangers, I think I appear the opposite, not vulnerable in the least. I’ll have a conversation with anyone, but almost always in a joking manner. I love humor and use it in very unnecessary and even discourteous times. It is extremely hard for me to be serious. I have to focus, really focus, most of the time. Humor, I think, is some sort of guard I put up.
I rarely share my private thoughts and emotions. If I truly talk to you about my deepest feelings, then you must be very special to me. I’m not at all secretive or shy, yet in another way, I’m extremely, extremely private. I admittingly put up a guise. The jokester who’s never serious, who will and does say anything. I’ve had real and deep conversations with very few friends. Lately, I find myself spilling my soul to someone in particular. It feels too easy, as if it’s supposed to happen. This is alarming to me, and wonderful.
I’m beginning to sort out of the pieces.
--
Tomorrow is Warped Tour. I should be excited. Instead I feel sick. Not ill sick. Worry sick. Amazing, how simple little things, may it be no more than ten words or a span of five minutes, can so deeply affect you.
I thought I could read minds, but apparently I’m not as good as I assumed.
--
I hide things very well when I want to; I’m often an extremely happy and pleasant person, although sarcastic. But I think, inside, too much, and I worry, inside, too much, and tonight, I realize, I will not get any writing done.
Other than this.
I often sit and think and stare, or listen to music and think for hours.
I’m a very deep thinker.
I stare at the beginnings of my piece, and my mind brings me somewhere else.
I have to go now
my mind says to me.
The words resonate.
They aren’t entirely true, of course. Although I know my mind can stay a few minutes longer and say a bit more to me and help me out, because right now I’m in the dark and I hate being in the dark, I think my mind is afraid for some reason, or hurt because of my own words, a truth that I had to share, and my mind leaves. It’s angry at me.
Perhaps I’m even blunter than I presume.
I have many faults.
I would apologize to my mind, but I believe I said nothing wrong and needed to shed clarity. Clarity can be touchy. It is sometimes easier to forget certain things.
--
A few years ago I realized there’s only two things I want in life. I am, in many ways, very simple.
I want to write and be published and share my stories with the world and people who matter to me.
I want to find someone who, for lack of more original words, completes me, makes me feel happy and alive and fulfilled. I believe I am startlingly close to both.
Shockingly, perhaps naively?
No, I read people very well, and what should happen will happen, no matter how much time passes or what happens in between.
I understand that this is a rather grand assertion, but I’m very sure—surer than I have been of most things in my life.
--
I’m also a fool, but hopefully that plays no part in this.
--
I’m aware that I may sound insincere. I say I’m a private person, and then I admit this truth above.
Truth is, I lost my ability to sit back and watch the world live as I failed to live with it. Partly because of the chances I never took, and partly because of what I heard authors, published and accredited men and women, say to their audiences during readings and speeches and whatnot.
An altering moment in my life: I was one of the winners of a poetry contest at UConn (no idea how I won anything involving poetry but I did it twice) and I was awarded a one-on-one session with a very talented poet. I’m horrible at writing poetry. Really.
Anyway, he read my poem, and he told me I wasn’t being honest. This didn't surprise me. It was a very personal poem about myself and my fears and beliefs and loves—it was almost certainly melodramatic.There was a drowned angel in a pool, wings ripped off, and a devil in my bed. He asked me why I wasn’t being honest, why I was hiding behind my words and “Beating around the bush”, and not leading the reader see myself for who I really am.
I told him I was afraid. It’s hard to let strangers see who you really are. It’s hard to show your complete self to anyone. I believe you shouldn’t show your complete self to everyone, maybe just one person.
He told me I couldn't be afraid, that us, as writers or poets and just people in general, must live life to the fullest, and in doing so we cannot hide our emotions and feelings when they matter most, when everything is on the line, when you will look back and curse yourself for what you didn't do, your failure.
My god. Yet another surreal moment, hence the italics. Pandora radio. My favorite ambient band, Hecq, my favorite song of theirs, and a title that just gave me chills. “I am You.” This strikes me. So apt. At this paragraph, at this time, of all songs, this song starts playing. The threads of life are not as random as people believe.
We must seize opportunities and live despite the dangers and risks and the pain that may come. We must be true to ourselves and our reader, and more so, the people around us who matter most. We must hurt, and cry, and smile, and cheer, and we must love.
--
I’ve been writing this for far longer than I ever thought I would. Almost two hours. This is all train of thought, but slow thought, like my best writing, though I’m certain this isn’t my best. It just feels vitally important, for some reason. This entire blog has proved far more significant than I had ever dreamed. I began it on a whim, for pleasure I thought, but now I realize that I began it for a reason. I didn't see that reason at first, but now I do. Subconsciously, maybe I did the entire time. The times and events match up almost perfectly, just like everything else. My subconscious has been extremely forthcoming with me lately. It refuses to let me deny what I feel.
I’m far from elegant in speech, as I’ve probably said at least once already. More so, it’s sometimes hard to say everything in person to the people, or person, you really want to share yourself with. Sometimes you can’t be together in a setting proper for such things to be said. Sometimes life can be difficult and torturous and really make you work for what you want.
I feel much better now than when I began tonight’s blog.
But I’m still worrying. It’s my nature to worry, to think into things.
My memory is horrible, yet sometimes it’s perfect, remembering every word.
If you can hear my voice inside your head—and I know you can, you told me—then you know I really am speaking to you in my true voice, those of pen on paper. This is my voice. These are my words, because I’m bad with words spoken aloud. You, reader, are my muse of late, and this blog seems to be my therapist. Gods know I need one.
--
Thank you for reading.
No comments:
Post a Comment