Thursday, July 16, 2015

...

 It's been a bit.

Lately, I've been trying to write a book.  Crazy, I know.  And for some reason, trying to write a book needs to be done on paper.  I need to fill a notebook, need to write corrections in the margins, hide the evidence of such an endeavor under my mattress.  Okay, I haven't really hidden it, at least on that scale.  My notebook lives on a shelf, sandwiched between my regular journal and my control journal. 

And just for the sake of clarity, my control journal is about things like house work schedules and routines that keep my life under control.   Routine is my friend, as is organization.  Sometimes I hate it, but it is important to my sanity, so I love it even as I hate it.

I digress... my book so far is about ten pages long.  And much of it is similar to how I write here.  Random things that I am thinking about and want to express but am totally unsure of how accurate they are to the rest of the world. 

I learned a long time ago that my brain works differently.  Part of this is the severe depression and anxiety, which color everything in the worst shades of fear and frustration.  Some of it is that I am a girl, which means that I have a filter that takes everything and dissects it.  Most of it is that I am me, and I have a filter all my own that changes nuances and tweaks perspective.  Sometimes my filters are a good thing.   Sometimes they are a not good thing.  And sometimes, my filters go missing and things get CRAZY. 

Right, my book.  I'm worried about it.  I really want to write it, but I'm afraid to share it.  So much of it is extremely personal.  Some of it is painful truth about what other people have done and how I have or am reacting to them because of their actions.  I don't want to hurt anyone, but I don't want to be afraid to tell my stories either. 

But lately, I am afraid of everything.

Afraid of the future, because I have very few dreams and even fewer goals.  And you cannot build on nothing. 

Afraid of the past, that it is set on repeat and I'll never break the cycle.

Afraid of today in the context of past and future.  I should have gotten up earlier today; not stayed up so late last night.  I should go do this or that, but what-if-that-is-the-wrong-choice-? type of fear.  So afraid of doing the wrong thing, I don't do anything, and kick myself for it, for days after.

Part of everything is that I am mostly anonymous online.  No one knows my face, and I try to be general with my specifics.  There are no names of anyone, to keep it private while being public.  If I share my notebook with people, I have to hand it to them.  Watch them read it, hear them critique it out loud.  And right now I cannot take being told how to tell my stories.  How I should be more positive, more upbeat.  How I should look on the bright side more often, how I don't really need to tell it with such candidness and honesty.  How personal it all is and do I really want to have people reading it. (The funny thing about that one: I want to share with people, just not the people involved in my stories.  I want to write a book and have none of my family know I've written it.)

So, I'm writing. But as of yet, I don't know how it will turn out or how to get it where I want it to go.  Maybe I'll just type it all up eventually and put it up here.  People can find it but I can stay in the background.  Because really, that's what I want, for my book to create a space for people to find their clan.  For all of us to love who we are as individuals, and learn to be accepting of where we are in our respective journeys.  Whether it is learning acceptance of who we are, or loving the space where we are letting go but not moving on yet, or moving on to better things.  That is what I want my book to be.

I have no idea if I can do that.  Re-reading that, I am terrified. I want so much, and am really not sure I can pull it off. 

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