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.

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Wow, somebody remind me to never leave the Internet for two months EVER AGAIN.

I was going to publish a new post today. It was going to be enlightening. It was going to be witty. It was going to be relatable. It was going to be PROFOUND. 

Nah psych! It was going to be weird, you already know. I’m sorry for getting your hopes up.

But alas, it never made it to fruition. The thinking struggle is so real right now.

Because I’m out of my writing habit. The flow is not flowing, guys. I need to catch my wave again. It’s coming, I can at least see it. So that’s…something.

BUT NOT “SOMETHING” ENOUGH. NOT THE KIND OF SOMETHING THAT IS A BLOG POST. And you deserve more something. More something that is a blog post. So instead of giving up and rage-eating salad out of a bag like it’s popcorn…except with more butter (naturally), I will at least give you this.

My other idea has been transferred to my notebook. There’s something about hand-writing something over typing it. The ideas just write themselves. My mind wanders more freely. Maybe because writing by hand allows me to write in the same way that my mind organizes thought…in that it doesn’t have much organization at all.

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Welcome to my process…

I copied the beginnings of my drafted post into my book and almost immediately got struck with the rest of my lost ideas. But it’s raw thought. It needs some refinement. But it’s weird. My thoughts don’t survive well being birthed into rigid lines of black and white, letters appearing at the push of a button…all looking so uniform. No, I need five pens of different colors and I need to write in circles, and backwards in some sections, with thought bubbles, and the occasional doodle thrown in. I need to listen to music and watch my pen glide through every sharp edge, smooth swirl, crossed T and dotted I to the rhythm of my tunes. I need to note how my hand pushes heavier on the page when I’m listening to certain genres as opposed to others. I need to write my ‘y’ differently with every word. Sometimes it needs to be two straight lines. Sometimes it needs to be that loopy ‘y.’ Sometimes it needs some extra curvature at the end. I CANNOT EFFECTIVELY GET MY POINTS ACROSS WITHOUT MY Ys BEING DIFFERENT, DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND MY AGONY.

Wow…uhm. Yeah, I don’t know. I decided to not edit this post.

So long tirade short, I couldn’t get my head in the game. So give me a moment with my long estranged paper and pen. I thought I could type up some greatness, but I’m not that cool. I’ll have some MIND BLOWING BLOG CONTENT for you next week. Until then.