I am having a hard time writing lately. Have a lot going on and it's hard to focus on one task. I am thinking this is normal sometimes with writing, so I'm not being hard on myself for it... But I miss it. I miss putting down into words whatever comes to mind. I know I should set aside a specific time to write, but if in that moment I'm having a difficult time, I just don't do it... Therefore keeps getting put off. I'm hoping the skills I'm learning every week for personal purposes, will give me more spare mental time to actually be able to write again on a normal basis. I'm missing writing on my autobiography too, but that Creates mental stress, so that's on hold as well. I know I just need to be patient and it will flow when ready, but it's hard not to miss it.
I'm tired. Always putting in everything, always getting practically nothing in return. It hurts and I'm tired of giving my all... I have nothing left to give. Always left behind or put second to most and other things. I'm alone and lonely.. Something's gotta give
It hugs tighter than all things. It consumes my aching heart. It tears at my soul seeking to swollow me whole. It breaks me down, tells me I'm not worthy. It weighs on my shoulders and follows me around. It's black and thick and hard to breathe. It hurts my heart, I know I'm better than this loneliness. It leaves me shaking and vulnerable and scared. It takes over when it wants, and cares not for my suffering. I ache in my heart for something I fear I'll never have. I ache in my soul feeling unworthy. Loneliness is a real bitch...
I'm sitting on my front porch this afternoon watching the rain fall in a steady stream as it hits the ground. It looks as though it would be soft hitting my skin. The clouds have been low all day, as in lying in waiting for it's companion to show up and follow through with a promise of a wet ending to a gloomy day. The air is thick and heavy with fog, and the humidity is high causing a small struggle to breathe, which is normal in this region of the country. The smell in the air is fresh when the occasional breeze hits, and I take a deep breath letting the cool air fill my lungs. As I sit here my eyes look around and notice that there is still so much green around for being the end of the year. The fact it was snowing in my front yard last week makes the green a welcome sight. It was the first real snow in around ten years at least. It set the stage for Christmas, but was melted by lunch. Now here I am breaking a sweat as I sit here`72 and raining just a few days later. I'm grateful I live where I do. The nature here is beautiful, and the palm trees line the highways. The sun shines most of the year and I am blessed. And even as the rain falls, I can't help but be thankful for my life. Yes I've struggled. But who hasn't? I am no different. I am still learning to see the good even through all the bad. This time of year is hard for many, myself included. I can do nothing but take each day in, learn from it's lessons (Or try to anyway), and move forward into tomorrow hoping for better than yesterday. I will continue to sit here on my porch, watching the rain fall and listening to the sounds of life moving around me. Content in this moment. Content in this space and time. Realizing that life moves forward with a purpose of living and survival... I will continue to do just that. Blessings to all who are struggling.
All you are, and all you give, means nothing if the person you're trying to give it to.. doesn't want it. How demeaning to feel all your efforts to love, are swept aside like dust on the floor. Words said on paper are just that, words. How do we get past typing, into talking and having real conversations about life and struggles? Why is it do damn hard for someone to accept a listening ear? Or someone to hold them as they cry? How is it so difficult to just allow love to be? Just to be... No, but an unwanted gift..
Imagine a beautiful library. This library holds books that pair together. Fitting into the slots next to each other in harmony and peace. Imagine now there are two books that need to go on the shelf, and there's a spot perfect for them. One book is hardcover. It's cover very thick, heavy. and somewhat rough around the edges, but full of life and wonderful love stories to be matched only by the one dares to carry and read the chapters. It's not an easy read, and patience is necessary to get through each page. Worth it for sure though. And a great ending, but hard to finish. The second book is a paperback. Thick with pages and full of life as well. It's edges are also worn, and life's lessons have taken their toll. But it's read is romantic, nurturing, and the love story it has to tell is full of protection and honor. The ending also a wonderful part of this book and worth the read as well. Now, picture the second book is open and ready to be put on the shelf with it's match. But with the first book always closed, and the second one always open.. how do the two books fit together on the shelf? They don't. They can't. It's literally impossible for the two books to fit together, even though the spot is a perfect fit for them. The second book refuses to close. It's an open book, it's comfortable and loves being open and ready to read at any moment needed. If both books were closed all the time they would just sit on the shelf and collect dust as life passes by. You would think that the two would balance each other out. But they don't, because the first book wants to be on the shelf, remaining closed and protected within itself. Never to be read by a soul. So it is put there. To remain unread. And the second book stays laying out, for the world to see... Alone as well...
I've seen horror stories play out in real life. Seen buildings explode and crumble into ashes. I've seen people jumping to their deaths out of 20 story windows to escape death by fire. I've been raped, abducted, and had to fight for my life through strangulation attempt by a crazy man. I've seen drug deals go wrong, seen a man shot, and held his leg with a turnicate all the way to the hospital, to keep him from bleeding to death. Seen someone overdose, and escaped the madness of solitary confinement for almost 8 months.... I've seen nightmares come true, over and over again. And it's done nothing but make me stronger. I survived. Yes I did. Now I move forward knowing my strength. Knowing I have gained wisdom and courage. Knowing I can survive. Fighting? Yes I have been.. But for my life like so many others do. I will continue to love and just be. Forgetting is impossible, but moving forward is not. Love to all #PTSDawareness
I am me. I am proud of that. No one else like me, and never will be. I am a strong willed woman with a soft heart. I love too fast and too much. I have faults, and I have pride. I am willing to fall down over and over again, just for the opportunity to rise from the ashes once again. No, there's no one like me. I have strong opinions and hate small talk. I am loyal to a fault. I am brave beyond measure. I have thoughts that drive me crazy, and sometimes follow with crazy actions. I am not perfect. I am not the best at everything. I am simple. I love hard, and give it even to those who don't want it. I am me... Proud to be, Always me
I'm sitting in my room on a chilly November morning, and it all seems surreal to me today. I'm looking out my window and watching the cool wind blow through the trees and wondering, once again, where exactly my life is headed. Maybe here? Maybe there? Who knows at this point, certainly not me. Oh, I've tried, believe that I have. Many times I've pondered and tried to put the pieces of my life together, to fit in itself like puzzle pieces just needing to belong to something else. To fit into another space just right, perfectly even. As I recognize that my life is probably a little more than half over, I still feel a yearning for an understanding I'm not sure I'll ever get. Maybe that's just something we find out in the afterlife. But that doesn't stop me from digging deeper and hunting it like a rabid dog. Chasing this understanding is a part of who I am. Contemplation hits at some point every day, and I get involved in the vicious circle once again. I lose my self in my thoughts. Lose myself in pain. Pain from the past and pain in the present. Pain I have not yet been through, but know is coming. It's a dark hallway that so many stumble down... Some never make it out. In our existence, this hallway is never ending until we die. Pushing forward. Pushing against the strongest weight pulling us down. Lifting our heavy legs over and over just to survive. At the other end of the hallway though, there is a light. It's the most beautiful light filled with hope and love. As long as that light is visible, it provides a reassurance that better outcomes are possible in any and every situation in life . it's gotten me through times I didn't feel I had it in me. Hope is something completely invisible, but provides strength beyond measure. Hope... Hope in change. Hope in answers. Hope in love and humankind. Hope that all the pain and suffering will bring about lessons that can be learned no other way. I will hang onto hope, this day and all days that lie ahead of me. It keeps me alive, keeps me going. Gives me faith in things I can't see just yet. Hope, what an absolutely wonderful word. Yes, I think I could ponder over life's answers as long as I keep hope and faith alive in my heart. The answers will come, just not in my own time frame... And I am okay with that.
I am a new writer by definition. I have always written poems and short stories, but I have a new found desire to share my work and possibly become published one day. I'm in the process of writing my autobiography and looking to do some projects on the side I don't even know exactly what area of writing I will spotlight but am willing to try anything. Think I'm leaning towards fantasy adventure stories. Can't wait to see what the future brings!