So. It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Gosh. You would think after blogging for almost two years that I would have gotten the hang of coming up with naturally inventive and creative beginnings. Of course, this is me we're talking about, and one of my many mortal writing weaknesses is writing intros to things. And yet somehow I chose to become an author.
What can I say, I'm a glutton for punishment.
But this post isn't going to be about how much of a monster I am, or how terrible I've messed up the past few things in my life, because, well, I've got good news for once! No, I'm not getting married. No, I'm not pregnant. No, I didn't magically find J.K. Rowling wandering aimlessly down my street looking for me so we could talk and become the best of friends. I really was wishing for the last one, though.
The good news I've been meaning to share? Remember that one really huge topic I started what felt like forever ago, called 'Statues' (you can search for it through my user and read it if you'd like)? It's finally turning into a novel. And by turning into, I mean I currently have the first full-length chapter for everyone to read on my blog (also under my information, or you can google for me, too) with an actual title and expected release date of October 2011.
Holy crap, RIGHT?!
Okay, so maybe I'm a tad more excited than most, but that's okay. I just really, really, REALLY wanted to share that with you guys without looking like a creeper spammer, though after being here for a few years, I don't think I could be labeled as such (right Cog? Riiiiight? -panic-)
So, if, by chance you happen across it and read it, let me know! I've been twitching all day hearing different stuff from different people, and it's just got me beyond warm and fuzzy on the inside.
Yeah. I'm going to stop the mushing weird stuff now before I'm really labeled as crazy. Haha!
I must admit, I probably have to be the most self-destructive person I know. Last night would be the best testament to this.
Most of you know that, while it's been a while since I've written anything in here, I'm not spared of owning my own demons in my life. On good days I think of them like little imps; casual, mischievous little creatures that enjoy watching me trip over my own two left feet. Bad days, however, tell of a different tale. I lose part of myself to the darkness, swallowed whole by a miasma with no way out. My inner voice splits into two, the light and the dark, waging wars with each decision I make.
Every time this happens, I can only sit on the sidelines and watch, my hands and feet bound, mouth gagged. The darkness overcomes me with ease, images of icy steel and a withered world holding homage to the black-cloaked side of my nightmares. She only shows up when I'm standing on a cliff, metaphorically speaking of course, just as my feet scrape the edge of the craggy, unstable rock. We both know I can't do this on my own, so she offers to take the reins for a little.
I gladly accept. I never seem to learn from my mistakes to put her in control.
Last night played out just like that. My head had been spinning for days, my relationship with my life-long boyfriend Tim threatened. I had been doing well before when we'd fight or feel an outward pressure placed upon us; breathe, smile, continue on with life. I wasn't that lucky this time. My skin had felt like I was burning alive from the inside out, my inner screams and pleading going unheard. I had gotten testy with Tim, snapped and felt the crackle of pain in my words, yet I didn't stop. I hadn't even made it to the cliff before my inner darkness had seeped out, promising to make everything go away.
So what had I done? I said the worst thing I possibly could. Told him I didn't love him, that I liked his cousin more. I took a sword to his throat, cut halfway through, only to stop and watch him bleed, alive and in pain.
What have I done?
I want to go back so badly right now, stand up before myself and smack the frightened girl so hard she'd lose her front teeth. In those words that I had cut him down with, I built my own cage, my own damning prison, and from the moment I uttered the words, I regretted it, I truly did. I should know by now that trusting the dark hole to offer me comfort was probably the largest laughing matter next to my wish to win the lottery.
Thankfully, I'm not alone in dealing with my inner black hole. With every ounce of darkness, there is a pinprick of light somewhere, like thunder in the distance. It lights up the sky for just a moment, but it burns in your retina, showing you the paths lingering ahead. As soon as the damage had been done between the two of us, I did my best to recover. By no means am I a religious person; while I was raised a Christian, I don't acknowledge myself with a church, or any form of religion. But I do believe in God, and I sure as hell believe in second chances.
A very similar road presented itself to me a long, long time ago, back when I thought teenage love was forever, when hormones took control of everything I could think about. While I took the wrong road there, I made sure I didn't this time, even if it meant combing back through the thicket to the fork in the road to make that choice over again, I did it. I wasn't, nor am I ever going to, let my one shot for true, life-fulfilling love get away from me. I'm willing to fight, stand tall and proud, and bridge the gap that has fallen between the two of us because of my actions and my words.
I know, I know, it all sounds a little, well, nuts. I mean, who visualizes the light and dark within them as separate beings? I'm sure I'm one of the sole few who isn't existing off of medication for conformity into society. But there's just no other way to put it, because that's how it happened to me. Being a (slightly unstable) writer gives me that awkward spin on things to the point where I view my life almost from a third person perspective. Either way, be it third person viewing or first person, I'm ready to tackle one of my most personal problems head on, because I don't back down from a fight. Never have, never will.
Sometimes the sun only shines for a few people, clouding the rest into a thick veil of darkness. Well maybe it's time we try to rise above the clouds for once.
I believe I've discovered a new chapter of myself, growing a new leaf could be another way of saying it.
I'm not totally sure it happened, to be honest. As I had mentioned before, I had essentially stopped writing, having cut myself off from my inner author for the pursuit of... well, I have no idea what the hell I was pursuing, but I think I found it.
Maybe I'm not the only one here who gets feelings that makes it impossible to write. You know what they are; to some, it's depression. The idea of the darkness swallowing you whole makes you so morbid, you can't fathom to pick up a pen and paper to write unless you plan on creating a mass murderer killing out of loneliness.
To others, it's happiness. Even when you think you can write because you're all smiles and your world is perfect and golden, you can't. All you get is images of sugary rainbows and unicorns dancing over chocolate. While happy endings are always something we want to achieve, sometimes the story in your head just doesn't call for it.
Then there's that neutral patch. You're not happy, but you're not sad either. You're there. You're living. It's life. Eh. Yes, those moments happen, too, and when they do, it sucks. It's like the dreary skies without the pouring rain.
I think I can safely say that my writing tends to be its best when I'm depressed. It's a sad thing to say, I know. Who wants to admit they can't write unless their life is hell and there's no light at the end of the tunnel? No one wants to, in reality, but inwardly we recognize and acknowledge it. We know our happy skies will eventually bring pouring rain, and then we can go back to our computers and notebooks and scribble out every detail that eluded us under the shining sun.
But something's not right this time. Today, for the first time in who-knows-how-long, I was writing. But not only was I writing, I was editing. Tweaking, fixing, buffing, polishing, whatever you choose to call it. And the heart of it all? I was writing while happy. Holy hell Batman, what's wrong with me?
In a way, I kind of want to thank my boyfriend, Tim, for this. I know he didn't put my fingers to the keyboard, didn't craft the words in my head, but you know what? He loved me, and still loves me. He's stood by my side since he learned of my goal to become a published novelist, and never once did he waver. "Do whatever makes you happy," he said to me, and I haven't forgotten those words yet. No one in my personal life has said that to me, not my parents, not my past boyfriends, not my friends. This one boy, who is facing his own trials and demons between his home and his job, is coaching me, the girl in a comfortable home with everything she could ever need, to do whatever makes me happy in life. If that means I want to change my mind every few months, he's okay with that. If that means I want to do five different mini-careers at once, he's going to support me through it, and encourage me to succeed.
I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love him. And I don't think I'll ever love someone after him, either.
So Tim, even though you're never going to read this, thank you. Thank you for being my rock, my life vest in this storm, my medication to each headache, ranting fit, and crying spell I've ever had and will ever have in the future. Thank you for being you.
And thank you, guys, thank you for the comments, the kind words and advice. I've personally taken the time to say this, so I believe it's well past due. And even if you never commented, but just glanced through and suffered reading this whole thing to hear me rant, rave, sob, scream, or cheer about something, thank you, too.
...I really must be in a mood. Ho-lee crap.
It's been a while, I know. I almost want to start things off with a simple 'hello, old friend', before I dissect my life for the world to rip and tear apart.
Things have been... different since I last posted. I've stopped writing, completely. If you honestly asked me why, I couldn't give you an answer. To admit it alone is like I'm offering my beating heart on a silver platter to a hungry pack of wolves. I do my best to never directly confront my writing, afraid I'm going to see what I knew would happen all along; that it's not as strong as it once was, that I don't hold the ability to write like so many people thought I did. That I, Livi, would fail so many people on so many levels, and ultimately, fail myself all at once.
But with every storm comes a clear sky in the end, and my life hasn't been without it's high moments. I've been dating the love of my life for a solid four months, and the promise ring on my finger shows just that. He may not be the best person on a planet, with all his ducks in row, but he, like myself, is trying to find his place in the world. It's proving to be difficult, to say the least.
It's like... I can feel myself falling back into the hole I dropped into my junior year. I know the pit well; I dug myself into it. The walls are the same dark, damp, cold walls I stared at in the darkest moments of my life. They offer little comfort for me now, only the stinging reminder of what was once in here; the lost and crying girl who couldn't speak for herself and stand up on her own. The difference from this time and the last? I can't seem to claw my way out, no matter how many roots I grasp at frantically, no matter how many screams for help I let out.
Each day has proven to be a different struggle for me, it seems. Sure, I have my moments of happiness and joy, but I feel myself putting on a smile to keep everyone at arm's length than really meaning it. Lately I've been wondering where I'd be if I was where everyone else was; off at college, hitting parties, coming home for weekends, all of the typical post-high school stuff. I wonder day in and day out if I made the right choice in going against the grain and refusing college because I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life.
Wait, backpedal here. Did I say I don't know what I want to do with my life?
Honestly, I don't know. I just don't know. So instead of sucking it up and picking an undeclared at a local college, I'm sitting here, moping up my tears with my sleeve, making a desperate attempt to keep that smile on my face so the world doesn't give me any unneeded attention. Someone else could use it much more than I could; someone always can use it more than me.
And I know I've talked about this all before, that I've gotten several people telling me that I shouldn't worry about not knowing what to do, that as long as I'm in college, I'm making an effort. You really think I want to make an effort when most colleges will cost me two thousand dollars or more a year? I'd rather save myself and my family from paying for such ridiculous costs by knowing in which direction I want to go before I do it.
I don't know, maybe I just enjoy chasing the dream more than owning it. It appears that with each new insight into the world of the Arts, I'm drawn into it. From graphic design to writing, sewing to painting, it all appeals to me, and I have a raw talent for it all. Talent that, with time, could be cultivated to make something of it. I just wonder if I'm going to love it as much as I do now if I spend so much time on it.
So, I'm continuing to claw at the pit, and I'm still screaming down here, hoping someone will here me. But it's only so long before I run out of a voice to use, and my body becomes too weak to keep fighting the never-ending fight I'm against.
I love how one thing can suddenly spark a million different fires, igniting the ground in a flurry of brilliant, dazzling light.
I don't honestly know how it started. The day was already planned ahead: get up, go to Dorney with my best friend on the planet, hit home and crash from a whole day of roller coasters, water-parks, and mild madness in the form of two giddy girls together, gossiping like old wives.
Well, it turned out that Dorney was closed, go figure. Stunned, Steph and I debated what to do, and settled for visiting a good friend of ours, Katie. Her having a pool only made things a little better.
I know, I know, I'm kind of jumping around on this one. My brain's a little frazzled, and I'm finding myself in the process of losing my words even while I write. It may have to do with the person I'm on the phone with, it may have to do with the ideas and realizations that smacked me in the face while I was talking to him, on the verge of passing out, but hey, no one's pointing the finger.
See, earlier today, I ran into an old friend at Katie's house. He's been a friend of mine that I lost touch with in the middle of our graduation, him getting kicked out of his house, finding a job and so far not succeeding, etc. Brandon had always been someone close to me, and not just because I had been crushing on him since the day I met him junior year of high school. We connected on levels that most people didn't even touch with me, levels that people didn't even get close to. All we'd have to do is touch, or look at each other, and the silent exchange was more than a book filled with our words.
Just before I left Katie's house today, naturally, I hugged him. I didn't think it would be anything more than the same bodily contact like it was with everyone I knew. Only this time, it was someone ripped a good chunk of my chest out, hollowed me in a way, and then proceeded to fill my insides with a fire that couldn't be contained. I could myself burning, almost to the point of wanting to cry. I honestly thought the loneliness I had felt, the loneliness that felt just like this, had left me when I said farewell to Mike over two years ago.
But this one burned stronger. A reminder of my absence in life. A reminder that I was still missing something important.
I had thought that I could go on without it; the human touch that left me with shivers up and down my spine, that twisted knot in my stomach that reminded me I felt attraction still. But that one, tiny little connection with Brandon, told me I was wrong. I had been making sure not to connect with anyone, keeping these walls up to preserve what was left of my sanity. I didn't think I was doing damage to myself in the process.
It only clicked to me that, while talking to someone near to my heart just a few minutes ago, that maybe it's time for a little change. To take a risk or two, quit playing all coy and 'subtle', and just spit things out when they need to be said, be a little honest, a little vulnerable.
And, ironically, you'd think I'd start with Brandon.
But, that's not even close.
Brandon was the fuel, no more, no less.
So, I'm going to go ignite myself some more, and hopefully this fire will override the other, choking one inside my heart, maybe numb the pain a little bit, if not fully.
And I think I know just the guy who can help me with that.
Separate names with a comma.