So the problem with starting a journal in a turbulent part of my life is that I’m overwhelmed with what to write about. It is times like these when reverting to the writer’s block section is a good idea.
Is it wrong I’ve actually thought about this before? When I hopefully come out the other side of all of this with an advanced degree, a sliver of sanity and people who love me, it will be one hell of a story of overcoming obstacles.
The trick with a book title is that you don’t want to be a shock jock, but you want it to be sufficiently gripping or mushy to interest those that peruse the shelves at Davis Kidd.
The title of my autobiography would be “Soaring with Clipped Wings” A little dramatic maybe, but the best I could do for the mood I was in when I actually sat down once last year and did a chapter outline. And no, I’m not that egocentric as to think anyone would ever want to read about my life. I was just out of the habit of journaling and found some sort of comfort in getting the buried memories out of my mind and on the screen. It just felt like they were real and I wasn’t just carrying them around inside of me anymore. Then it got shoved to the depths of my hard drive and I’ve not really even thought about it until I saw this writing prompt.
While I’m thinking about other things that have gotten forgotten, I started writing a “novel” according to my 9 year old mind called “A Blazing Heart of Hope”. I think I was channeling Danielle Steel, (smile). It began with a teenager waking up to her house burning. She was making her way out and had vivid memories of emotional significance of things that were burning and we learn that her mother lived with her in that house her entire life until her mother passed away a few years ago. When she makes it out, we met her dad who is just arriving home and then the story progressed into her taking time at a ranch and healing from her mother’s death while growing into a strong young woman. Not bad for a nine year old. But yet another thing that got started and never finished.
I guess on some level I’ve always been a bit fascinated with people that have survived situations beyond their control. My whole life I’ve been telling myself that other people have done it, so I can too. I don’t consider myself a survivor by any means. But I do think of myself as highly resilient. The problem with growing up in such an abusive environment is that my resilience knows no limits. My resilience escalated into guardedness and even stand offishness at times. Defining normal social behaviors and my own age appropriate personality has been an ongoing process. As long as I can remember, I’ve always heard that I was so mature for my age. I always took it as a compliment, but now I’m not so sure it was a good thing at all. I missed out on a lot of things in my youth that were supposed to be “fun”. I often feel myself judging other people’s silly moments as immature rather than joining in. It has been such a long time since I’ve taken this giant stick out of my… I’ve not figured out the balance between getting a little crazy and then getting down to business. I would probably be a lot happier individual if I did. But to be completely honest, I’ve not really tried due to fear of making a mistake I’d have to live with. Up until this point, I’ve never once done something that would be followed by the remark, “I was young and stupid”.
- Current Location:floor next to Tommy the dog
- Current Mood: listless
- Current Music:“Twister” Mariah Carey