I did not want this blog to be a place for me to write about myself. I wanted it to be a means of posting my creative writing pieces. For people to read and enjoy my stories, or to feel connected to the emotions and ideas present in my poems. But I haven't posted anything in a long time, and I feel compelled to do so. At this point, I haven't written anything creative in a while. Sad, but true. I have been so busy with other things. The most creative, unassigned piece that I have written, has been about myself, specifically my feelings about myself. I am posting it in hopes that some people may feel the same way about themselves and can connect to it, or if nothing else, can maybe gain better insight into who I am. Here it is. Love.
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Rain makes me feel poetic. I do not know if it is the sound of the water splashing against the pavement or the fact that I am held captive, locked inside...a prisoner to my thoughts. It is almost as if the rain is the background music, a constant melody to the lyrics that are playing in my head. These lyrics are contemplative, rather displeasing memories or feelings of dejection, which I would rather not think about. But once the rain splatters onto the ground, like paint to a canvas, and the wind begins to whirr, my eyes become glazed over and there is no way around the forceful urge to think.
Right now I am feeling a sense of loss. Not a loss of my "sense of self", but rather a loss of a part of my self. Is it my dignity? Maybe. Is it my pride? No. I have never really been a prideful person. I have always worn my heart on my sleeve. Even though I am easily bruised and due to my openness, eagerness, and hatred of "games" I have been shattered and displaced, I always dust myself off, and continue to chase after my dreams, whatever or whomever they may be. But I have recently learned that persistence is not the answer to everything...well at least not the answer into everyone's heart.
It seems like recently I have been selling myself. Selling myself short, perhaps. But mostly just trying to get by, to rush through, because within me, there exists an internal clock, ticking at a frenetic pace. It is not a steady rhythm and sometimes it speeds up irrationally, making my mind blurred, my face red. The only way to cease the incessant ticking and tocking, the resounding and pounding, the loudness, the quakes, the never-ending beating and banging is to take action. And, unfortunately, most of the time that action, simply should not have been acted upon.
If I received a nickel for every time I committed an action and then regretted it shortly after...I would have A LOT of nickels. No, but on a more serious note, I would be sitting on my private yacht, circling my private island, drinking a peach mojito with extra mint brought to my by my private butler, Jeeves (anyone who is anyone has a butler named Jeeves, right?). The point is: I cannot censor myself. And recently it is becoming quite a large-scaled problem. Maybe it is not that I lack a filter or self-discipline or the "just say no" bumper sticker, but it is that I see the warnings and blatantly ignore them. I notice the stop sign, but roll right through.
I have told people before that it physically pains me to keep feelings or thoughts inside. To conceal is something so inorganic for me. It is incredibly difficult. Like trying not to laugh when you are being tickled - quite the challenging task, I know (unless you are not ticklish, you lucky son-of-a-gun). But, once you give in, once you finally laugh, it feels so freeing - just giggling with glee and relinquishing yourself and really committing to that release. Here is another hypothetical: You are a young child, playing a pool game with friends, trying to see who can hold their breath under water the longest. If you come up a second too early you could lose, or if you hold your breath one mere second longer you could win. But once you have been submerged for a certain amount of time, the panic sets in, that sinking feeling in the depths of your stomach, and you do not care about the contest or the consequences anymore. You just want to reach the surface and take a big gasp, a large gulp of air. Once you come up for breath, however, you realize you most certainly could have stayed under for longer, and when little Suzy comes up a second after you and shoves her victory in your face, you are left feeling incredibly defeated and angry at yourself. This is how I feel whenever I say something I know I should not say or do something I know I should not do.
I have often thought of life, and the many facets within it, as just one big build-up to a climax. Many activities, goals, experiences - all are centered around working until you reach a climax, and then retreating down the slope, only to build right back up again. Getting a lead in a play, a promotion at work, a marriage proposal, etc. Imagine all the grandiose efforts put into reaching these goals, and then remember the downward spiral after it has been achieved. Anyway, I am impatient, and do not typically enjoy "the process". I just want that burst of excitement and passion, that moment of "flow", when everything is working cohesively together and everything feels right in the world, even if it is not. And so, even though I know, rationally, that there is a certain path to reach this climax, I refuse to take it because it involves censorship and discipline and games and most importantly time...and for some reason I do not have the capacity to wait.* I am in a rush. But I do not know why. I feel as though I am trying to reach an invisible, imaginary deadline. And it is ruining me.
I am also one of those people who writes an extensive New Years Resolution list (I try to whittle it down to ten, since I have slight OCD and like lists to always be at ten or at least a good, solid number like five or fifteen). But of course I can never abide by these "rules". The resolutions are usually alterations of my character. And almost always, one of them is to "be less open". I am often too vulnerable and do not protect myself. I do not think most people appreciate my openness, but instead find it uncomfortable or invasive and off-putting. I wish I did not have this yearning to reach out to people so much, to share everything with everyone. It is so drastic; so black and white. If I could be grey for a moment, life would be less complicated. I could be patient. I could hold my breath and count to ten. I could breathe. Maybe I could be found instead of trying to find.
I do not want to search anymore. I am on an endless hunt for what I want, and I am not returning home. I put myself out there. I climb on that limb, and now the limb is disconnecting. The branch is falling off the tree, and I am barely hanging on. I want to feel sturdy and secure. But every time I make that resolution to be strong and stop saying every single thought that enters my mind, I simply cannot abide by it. Stop being forward. Stop seeking. Do not do that. Be this way. Act that way. Wait. Be patient.
...I cannot.
And unfortunately, given my stubbornness and inability to learn from mistakes, I will not.
*Now do not get me wrong. I can be very disciplined when it comes to school work or an assignment, but not when it comes to finding love, which is mostly what I am referring to in this post.
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