The Reason My Soul Stopped

I believe there comes a time to look objectively at my life and decide if there are any beliefs, behaviors, projects, relationships, dreams, and/or time spent in any other ways that are doing more harm than good, or simply need to be allowed to die a natural death.

 

 

I have spent 6 years on a story. One which has changed altogether 3 times. One which has brought me much joy and realization, illumination in my own life.

But this story is more closely tied to my uncertainty and shifting life purposes than I was aware. Blair does not know what her story is or how to arrange in her heart all the pieces of her puzzle.

This is because, I do not know these precise things.

I cannot yet tell you Blair’s story. To all those who have read one of her stories, I am ever grateful for your help in revealing a part of my soul to me. But I must admit, you have not met Blair in her fullness.

It is time Blair and I move on together, to further discover our own lives.

It’s time I begin anew.

I will always love Blair. I will tell her story at some future date.

But to do so today would be a sham, a disgrace, a lie.

And there is a difference between perseverance and sheer stubborn denial.

 

So, I must confess, I was wrong. I haven’t lost the urge to write. I’ve lost the desire to try to force something that isn’t ready.

But this is great freaking news!

I am moving on.

 

 

I find I am excited by this new, empty page.

There is a dragon unlike I’ve ever met meandering around in the back of my mind; napping, checking in on zombies, solving mysteries to keep herself from going mad, and eating a lot of peaches.

I’m interested in her, in this strange new feel she brings.

 

In conclusion, I’m eternally grateful that I have not been published.

I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know myself at all. Consequently, my stories were places where I could escape the nastiness of my life. I cram packed it when violence, anger, death, and not much else.

I can no longer be the writer I was before.

I’ve imbued myself with lessons learned and truths identified. I’m glad for these stories, critiques, experiences, and rejections. They give me traction to climb my life’s mountains and the cushion and helmet I will need when I trip, stumble, and almost fall off.

Because let’s be honest, soul eater or dragon, I’m a wobbly individual.

The Abyss. The Masquerade.

Do you ever get stuck?

Come up against wall after wall, again and again and again. Until you finally just say screw it?
Do you ever wonder why you’re holding so tightly? Then wonder what it is exactly that you’re holding to?
Do you ever just get tired?
Tired of all the petty, childish, selfish drama of others.
Tired of the same no good, same.
Tired of the pain.
Of the knowing and the incapability to do anything about it.
The correspondence between misery and choice is breath to my lungs.
But I’m still not breathing.
Sometimes the silence is the only thing that keeps me alive.
What do I have but this noise masquerading as life?
What do I have more than a truth I can do nothing about?
What is there but this sadness?
What is there but this madness?
How do I crawl out of the abyss when all I’ve ever known is to suffer? To flounder in the denial.

 

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No Clarity, Only Random

It’s one of those days.

One of those weeks.

One of those months.

One of those years.

So instead of having the clarity to focus and organize a blog post into something readable that doesn’t sound like a non-sensical unicorn on crank wrote it…

I’m just going to give up and throw a bunch of garbled, random thoughts together and hope they form some kind of linear… something.

 

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“The thing about truth is that it exists beyond belief. It is true even if nobody believes it.” Dieter F. Uchdorf

Denial is a disease I don’t want part in anymore. It’s crippling. It’s debilitating. It slips into your skin, digs in deep, wrapping around your heart and brain, and squeezes your bones. It leaves nothing for you but misery and confusion, fear and pain.

Truth, on the other hand, is a good pain. A welcome, healthy pain. It only hurts while it’s exercising the disease sinking into your marrow.

And even if those around you mock, shake their heads, don’t understand, try to keep hurting you – you can hold tight to the knowledge that no matter what, there is something better for you ahead. Just keep being honest with yourself. Because honestly, who do you help by allowing others to pull the wool over your eyes? No one. Who do you hurt? Yourself. Only you. You’re trying to please all these people or run from all these things or tell yourself you’re ‘oh, so amazing’, and it’s not doing a thing for anyone else, except spreading more denial into their veins. And it’s not helping you, it’s not elevating you, it’s not helping you stop the tears at night or the pit of misery in your gut. Nope. It’s just sinking you lower and lower, and putting restrictions on you  – telling you – “hey, you’re happy, you like this, smile!”

I like this truth thing. It kinda sucks at first. But once you get the hang of it, you start to see that maybe you shouldn’t hate yourself so much. And then you can start clearing the cobwebs of self-hate and denial away from your blood and start to look at the world with a new vision. One that comes complete with options, joy, and optimism.

 

“This business of being a writer is ultimately about asking yourself, how alive am I willing to be?” Anne Lamott

I love this quote. It’s a valid question for me to ask myself. How alive am I willing to be? You don’t have to be a writer to ask yourself this question. But for me, who I am is tied in with being a writer, and so it fits me like a second skin. Beautifully attached to my soul.

How alive am I willing to be? This quote does lots of things to me, inside my chest. I cannot really describe them in words. I’m not there yet in my life, I suppose. I’ve learned to put some things into words I couldn’t priorly (I don’t think that’s a word, but I’m a writer – I can make words up if I want to! Ha-ha!) articulate or really even understand about myself beforehand. But this one, not yet. It’s deep and dark and a question that bubbles up a lot of thoughts that are mainly in the form of emotions and color, wisps of shadows and standing on the edge of the cliff, staring down, teeter-tottering in the wind, feeling the adrenaline pound through my body as I leave my mind blank, daring myself to jump without thinking.

Freedom is a strange thing. You can only have it if you allow yourself to have it. You have to make that decision all on your own.

 

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“Write what disturbs you, what you fear, what you have not been willing to speak about. Be willing to be split open.” Natalie Goldberg

This is a quote from the book I’m reading right now, “Wild Mind” by Natalie Goldberg. I think I’ve always yearned to be split open. Not physically thank you very much, but metaphorically speaking. 😉

I believe that’s something we all want, secretly. To be exposed for who we truly are, all the gunk and ugliness, and incompleteness and strangeness shown to someone important, and all the good bits of us too, and to be understood. Accepted. Embraced.

It’s terrifying to think of splitting myself open and pouring my soul into a book. Letting myself be vulnerable, writing something I truly believe in and can be happy with when I see it on the shelf. Something that can touch someone like the books I’ve read have touched me (get your head out of the gutter!). I’ll never forget the first book series that really thrummed in my heart. Told me on some level, that it doesn’t matter how messed up I am, how many issues I have, if I see a therapist (because damn skippy, I see a therapist now), if I’m moody and strange and a little lot confused. I’m still lovable. I’m still worth something.

To imagine myself writing a book that raw and honest, leaves me cold and shaking. Okay not literally, but you know what I mean. Because in order to do that, I have to lay myself bare.  I have to be okay with who I am, have a pretty good idea of who I am, what I value, want, think, desire, need, feel, emote, etc. and open it all up and give it to whoever is willing to pick it up.

 

“A person is a fool to become a writer. His only compensation is absolute freedom. He has no master except his own soul, and that, I am sure, is why he does it.” Roald Dahl

Absolute freedom is only absolute freedom if you don’t allow these invisible chains to hold you down. So many of us wear them. The world tells us we are wrong, we aren’t enough, we aren’t acceptable the way we are. Those hateful voices strap us down to a creature we aren’t, and tell us we must pretend to be this thing, or no one will ever love us. We’ll be disgusting, disfigured, good for nothing, and shunned by society.

That’s simply not true.

If I am to be a good writer, a great writer, and help people, connect with people, and enjoy my writing – I must be my own master (minus the creator of the whole freaking universe, right?) and not allow those voices to strip my freedom from me.

I must be willing to be ridiculed and looked down at for doing the very thing we all crave. To be who I am. Fling caution to the wind. So what if I fail? At least I tried and had fun doing it! At least I learned something, grew, experienced, gained knowledge and most likely made friends along the way. At least I will have lived.

And freedom, it’s a feeling no one can describe in words. It has to be felt, inch my inch as you gain it. And its mesmerizing.

Does anyone else feel this way – it’s a shift I’m only feeling so very recently. But it’s as if I’m literally in bindings. And as I let the cares of the world fall from me and decide to be really free, it’s as if I feel actual weight lifting off my body, heaviness stripping away one slow strap at a time….. Anyone else get that?

 

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“Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.” Unknown

Ugh. Forgiveness. SO BLOODY HARD!!! It’s like pulling a saber tooth tiger’s fang tooth with only your bare hands. Not a piece of cake (or an oreo, or a chocolate donut). It’s hard!

And it’s something you can’t understand fully until you’ve felt it yourself. Until you experience it, it doesn’t really make sense. Nor does the reasoning!

But trust me, forgiving someone doesn’t mean you approve of what they did. Nor does it mean you’re going to allow them to hurt you again. It simply means you acknowledge that they’re human, everyone makes mistakes, and while you may know that what they did was wrong, cruel, etc. – you are healthy enough to let it go. And move on. You’re not hurting them by being angry. You’re not making them feel bad. You’re hurting you. Resentments and growing bitter hurts you. It changes you into something pitiful to behold. And it doesn’t matter how mad you get at them. You cannot control them, force them to change, or see the error of their ways.

Let it go. Find a way to move on. Don’t let the past keep you from building the future you want. Learn to live and let live. You can learn to love people who make normal mistakes and see them as people too. This can improve relationships, it can improve you. Sometimes, all you can hope to achieve is to let go and move on from that person, as you know they’ll try doing it again.

But let go. Forgive. Just don’t forget the lesson.

 

“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You mustn’t lose it.” Robin Williams

I am given only a small amount of the spark that is my creativity, my genuine personality, my unique madness.

It’s my responsibility to guard it. Not to let the world tarnish it. Not to hate myself for it, but to love it. Learn to take it and grow within it. Let it spread into my fingertips and eyelashes. Build upon it.

 

“You must ask for what you really want. Don’t go back to sleep.” Rumi

Once you see it, it’s tempting to close your eyes again. Don’t do it.

 

 

What’s going on with you?

What issues are you fighting with?

What struggles are you battling?

What joy can you highlight in your day?

Have any chocolate donuts you’d like to share with me? 😀

 

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Donuts? Anyone? No – really – DONUTS!