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Thursday, December 2, 2010

Coming back to myself

     I haven't written what's in my heart or from my soul in years. Things have happened, or [un]happened depending on who's telling the story, that sent me into hiding, for lack of a better word. Sure, people can sit on the other side of the table, screen, phone line, country, or world and offer up all kinds of judgement helpful suggestions, but do any of us have any right to advise another person on dealing with their own emotions? I have heard countless times, "you shouldn't let "them" make you withdraw or censor yourself, you shouldn't give "them" that kind of power". Really? How about if I give "them" your phone number & address so "they" can interrogate you? Gee, thanks for that advice, now ALL my problems are gone! It's a bloody fucking miracle! Assholes. You have someone jump down your throat for every single word you write, someone who apparently thinks they are much more important than I do, someone who assumes everything you write is either about them or is in any way their business and wants answers or explanations for every little letter that spills from my soul. Someone who had the gall to spend hours looking for ways to contact other people in my life for reasons I still have never figured out. I used to write for me, and I gave that up to keep my sanity. Dropping out of sight became the most effective way to deal with this as my normal lashing out & ridicule tactics were met with threats. I had to find a way to stay sane inside insanity.  So here I am again, ear buds nestled in my ears, music blaring in my skull rattling my teeth and my fingers pecking away at the shiny keys still proudly displaying all their letters. I'll wear them off eventually, I need to, I've been away from me for too long.
    Since my agonizing decision to stop writing, I've been through a lot. Some really bad stuff, some really great stuff, all of which settled down in the deep crevices of my soul waiting for me to acknowledge it. I didn't. For a while, I just wanted to be. Yes, just simply be, or be, simply. I wanted to organize my house, play Suzy frickin Homemaker, spend a lot of time at the gym, and all those things society tells women with children they're supposed to do or want. I'm a silly person by nature, being a grown up has never been a good look for me. I discovered that my family are pigs who leave out every single item they touch, I stood staring out my kitchen window for what seemed like days on end. I did have a good run at the gym though; dropped 45 pounds & exercised to the point of exhaustion for entirely too many hours a week for months on end, all in an attempt to maintain whatever it was I was struggling to maintain.  I wanted to be something I'm not good at. I wanted to be normal. That didn't work out very well as it became increasingly more apparent that the whole domestic gig doesn't suit me. The whole June Cleaver act isn't me. Oh, I knew it wasn't, it hasn't been since I was a very young child, but I thought I could bullshit my way through it.
    My relationship with my littles started to become strained, the spouse and I fought nearly constantly and at times quite loudly. Life began to unravel and still I wouldn't write, all those words, interrogations, accusations, bullshit screamed and threw chairs in my head whenever I sat down, be it with pen and paper or at my old worn laptop to try to write so I could stop this downward spiral. Not expressing myself in the way I have expressed myself since I first held a pencil made expressing myself at all nearly impossible. I felt caged, restrained. I had never justified what I wrote for anyone, so why stop writing because some folks can't handle me?  I always wrote the same way I love, with wild abandon. So if you, and you know who you are, have somehow after all this time tracked me down again, you can officially fuck off and die. Go ahead, stop threatening to hang yourself and just do it. This isn't yours, it's mine. My life, my heart, my emotions, my soul. MINE!  For me, I'm going to go back to being myself. I've missed me.