The Outside

People don’t get it.

I’ve written since i was tiny. Four years old. I was always wired for language. I devoured books, then moved to writing my own experience.

I’m honest in my writing. It’s not an endeavor that requires much from me; writing is like breathing.

Taking two years off is… Not ideal. I know​ that when I’m not healthy… I don’t write. Which i suppose should have tipped me off to the fact that it was spiraling.

People have shifted. I’ve lost some and gained some. But sometimes when someone is done done with me, they say some harsh things. I hate harsh.
Like when someone told me they were finished and wanted me gone.

And then that i was likely going to post some drama all over the web about …. Essentially poor me.

Look.

Don’t ever confuse my writing about my feelings as some sort of pity party. And for the safety of all involved… NEVER tell me to stop expressing myself.

Ever.

Because I’m handling my journey the best i know how to. And it’s sometimes raw or messy and it’s sometimes unkind. But it’s the only way i know how to sort through the muddiness that is this world. 

I may not leave anything of substance as a legacy when I’m gone. And i expect I’ll know little more than i do about the POINT of it all. Maybe. But a life is made up of moments to stop and enjoy. Or to be mad or sad or whatever. I hope that i never stop expressing myself, and especially not as an artist. And even more so not at the bitter request of someone who barely knew me.
I think a lot about what people think. I’m equally fascinated and terrified by which version of me is being perceived at any given time. Who do you see?

I’m terrible with criticism.  Mainly I shut down and immediately become unreachable. But once in a while something comes up that’s different. A criticism of my outlet?  Now, that’s worth fighting for. 

I’ve read many a moral dilemma from my blogging friends about where to draw the line between what we are sharing about those in our lives. I understand that there must be protections in place, not only for myself as the person living a public life, but also for my friends and family. In short, I try to watch what I say. Over the years my ramblings have gone from experiential to abstract.

I write about the way that things make me feel when they’re happening as opposed to the actual things most of the time.

It saves me from this boundary. 

But there are things in my life that have impacted me more than anything else. And they’re a huge part of me finding my way through the weeds I’ve tangled myself up in. 

Unfortunately those things also involve or impact other people.  Or. They did. And it would be crazy for anyone who has been reading or watching me flail through emotional wreckage to not realize how much I held back in an attempt to be diplomatic. 

Now I’m on my own.

So maybe I don’t have to hold back so much.

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One thought on “The Outside

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  1. Write your truth, lady! I’m reading a book of short stories called “Tomboy Survival Guide” by the extremely amazing storyteller, Ivan Coyote. In one story, Ivan says “Writing about vulnerable things doesn’t make me feel vulnerable. Writing about my tenderest bits is the only way I know to have power over them. Staying silent would leave me alone with them. My silence is what makes me vulnerable. My secrets are sharpest when I am the one holding them. Writing them all down turns my secrets into something else. Something closer to strength.” (p.221)
    PS. I don’t think I’ve left a blog comment since like…2009. I miss the times when facebook was barely a thing and it was all about the blogs and the livejournals. Life was better when we were all vulnerable all over the web.

    Like

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