I Had A Point Once, But Hear Me Out Anyway

It’s exciting to be back in a writing mind. I’m eager to get my thoughts out, and I look forward to the dialogue my posts may open up.

But the mind to write isn’t the same mind to publish, and regaining that drive has been frustrating, to say the least. When I’m not meeting you all here, I’m meeting myself in my head. I write in my notebooks pretty often, here’s a look into what that looks like:

These pages are a visual interpretation of how I think. Colorful, all over the place, outside the lines, too much to even fit the boundaries of each sheet, and not even always in English. It’s hard enough for me to turn actual blog ideas into a coherent post, so I can’t say much of this book gets transferred here.

But I woke up this morning, drank some water, visited my notebook for a fresh new page, and wrote myself into a little mental breakdown. After I had a good cry and washed my face, I thought I might share some of what I wrote.

For a little context, I’ve been frustrated with myself and how easily I throw my plans aside for others’ sake when it’s not necessary or even noble to do. This constant self sacrifice has been eating at me in different ways and as I — eh, let me just quote the book and we can go from there.

Why are you so willing to hold yourself back? And also, why can’t I just cry? Sitting on the brink of myself is physically jarring. It hurts. The pain is strange.. It’s like being attacked by an internal black hole. Just an aggressive pulling, denying my escape, preventing the release, blocking the healing. No motive, just there. Tormenting.

I had a point to share all of this, but honestly the struggle to open up in this way took all of my focus away. It feels important still, so please excuse the scattered nature of this post.

All I can do at this point is ramble a little and hope it goes somewhere, so bare with me. I don’t mean to continue the same energy as the last post. You guys come here to laugh most of the time, and I’ll get to that. I want to get back to that.

But maybe it was that perceived pressure to be light and quirky and witty that led me to isolate myself when I felt none of those things. I’d rather be real with you than to not speak at all.

I was blown away at the reception of my last entry, actually. It wasn’t easy being that honest, and I really appreciate all of the responses I received, and the support and love. I don’t necessarily write with anything in mind besides clearing my head and shouting into the void about any and everything. So when my writing is actually relatable or helps in any way, even to just one person reading, it surprises and humbles me.

The more I write and share, the more I get to see the multidimensional nature of people, as well as myself, and it changes my worldview more and more each time. I feel empowered, I feel more forgiving and empathetic, I feel more curious, I feel more unaffected by fuckery, I feel hopeful.

I don’t really know how to wrap up this trash fire of a blog post. But hey, I hope any of you reading struggling to find that release from whatever finally snap. Because yeah, I woke up this morning and promptly fell apart, but I also got this written, drank water, moisturized my hair, and I’m gonna finish crocheting a scarf when I’m done typing this up on my phone(I’ll fix formatting issues when I get to a computer by the way) all before 11am! I can’t remember the last time I was this productive. Snap the fuck out, safely and constructively, but do it. Get there. Bye.

Late Nights: Drafts

There are currently twenty-nine drafted blog posts on my dash.

Twenty-nine unfinished thoughts and half-executed ideas.

They will never come to fruition.

They’re only still there because I just made the decision to stop lying to myself that I’ll go back and finish writing them. The truth is I can’t even if I wanted to.

I thought I was just being lazy or uninspired by blanking out every time I got just enough motivation to open up a draft with the intent to finally publish it. But it’s not laziness or artsy brooding that stops me every time. I’m simply not the same person who began writing that post.

I feel like I think three days worth of thoughts in a 24 hour period. My mind never stops, and as a result, ideas and thoughts that I feel compelled to write hit me unceasingly throughout the day depending on whatever I see or am doing. Connections. Stories. Frustrations. The thought of Oh I should blog about that comes up multiple times every single day.

So why am I not posting all the time? Why do you rarely hear from me?

Because I’m an idiot, essentially. I keep telling myself that I’ll remember and I’ll write these things down later…

*Kanye glare at myself*

This site has been up for two years. I am beyond aware by now that I’m not actually going to remember anything even an hour after the fact. But this happens to be one of those lies you keep allowing yourself to be duped by, like when you say you’re just going to lie awake for a little bit after your alarm goes off before actually getting up. I’m just a very convincing individual. I get me every time.

Well, I’m sick of that, I’m sick of me. I’ve started off this year with, perhaps a rather dark new perspective but it’s working for me.

That me, who wrote those twenty-nine drafts? She’s dead now.

I’m never going to have the same perspective again to finish those articles coherently. Never. Time has passed, I’ve learned more, I’ve forgotten much, and I don’t understand the point of what I was saying at that moment. Either I’ve already settled it, or I’m on to new confusions and new intrigues, and I see the world at a slightly different angle.

So all of that to say I’m done sitting on words and I’m done trying to hold on to the dead. I look at my writing and thoughts now as a race against time. So here’s an early warning that I might make less sense than I did before with my posts, but at least it will be a more consistent barrage of madness. I think it’ll be fun.