Vulnerability

This is the second time WordPress has deleted a blog post.

I can’t even try to rewrite what I originally wrote. The walls are firmly in place. My brain is tired. I keep fumbling with words. I don’t even care any more. I’m sick of being a failure.

 

I want to be more but being vulnerable is a weakness that I cannot handle. My anxiety is through the roof right now. I’m panicking and I am certain I will never succeed.

 

These thoughts are chasing me and I cannot stop running from them.

I guess I should have stuck to playing the violin. I chose horses when I should have chosen violin.

 

Sorry, that’s all you get.

As May turns to June

I let out the inner me. She had fun. She laughed, she danced and she was beautiful.  Beauty is as beauty does. When I awoke from four hours of sleep I felt fine. Then the days wore on and now I am feeling the pain from all of the energy she used. She’s asleep now and dreaming big dreams but the one whose face I see in the mirror looks like a ghost.
Shadows of a difficult life are etched beneath eyes that are flat and glassy. My face is wrinkled and pain reverberates from my shoulder, neck and back. Injuries that were never allowed to fully heal.
I’ve been burning the candle at both ends. The wax is almost gone and I am hoping it is enough.
My dreams are all looming in the distance and I feel I must let them go. I feel trapped. As though I am in a corner woth no way out and my dreams are being ripped from my cold fingers.
I’m so cold.
I fought for so long and I dreamed pf big things. I’m living the dream. Just not the dream I had planned on.
I’m faced with a choice and I don’t see how I can get around it.
To become an adult you have to make sacrifices but haven’t I already made enough?
I guess I haven’t.
Time to cut off two limbs. I hope I can survive the blood loss. My mind is being ripped apart from the inside out as she slumbers and dreams of things that cannot be.

Crossroads & Story Telling

Stories. We thrive off of stories. We wake up each morning to begin a new story, a new chapter, a new paragraph in our messy, complicated and beautiful lives.

Story tellers are revered for their ability to communicate their perception of the world to others. Entertainment is story telling. Movies are stories. There is a saying that there are no new stories. Just old stories retold in different manners. Which makes me wonder- why do I write?

Why do I bother writing, when I can’t seem to master the art of story telling? Why do I find myself stuck in the beginning of the story? Why can’t I seem to finish my thoughts? One might blame the biological roadblocks I have or one might blame my crazy life. Or one might blame the society I grew up in.

Maybe, I’m kidding myself when I write this. Maybe, I’ve realized that I just don’t have what it takes. However, what boils my blood is the fact that there are published authors out there that make me wonder how they got published. Maybe, I’m just in the wrong genre. Writing is about expanding and challenging yourself. It is about look at the words on the screen and being critical of what was just written. Writing is about forming and reforming your thoughts and ideas until they make sense.

I know because I write and rewrite all the time. At least that’s what it seems like when I create stories within my mind and organize scenes and characters and motives. However, it seems I am the only one that likes my stories. I’ve sent work out- yes, it wasn’t completely polished and maybe I should have worked on it more. End of story.  The rejections don’t bother me so much as the lack of reasoning behind the rejections. I know they receive massive volumes of material but a pointer or two doesn’t take years to write.

The thing is- I’m afraid. I’m afraid to write about the darkness within. I’m afraid to admit that I carry a darkness that scares me. She slumbers but I feel her in my skin. I never want to wake her. Why? because she isn’t afraid to kill and she relishes in destroying anything that gets in her way. All of the stories about superhuman powers and mutants and superhumans makes me wonder if the stories are true.  There is another saying that says when enough people believe something it becomes true. Maybe, it is just evolution. Maybe, I am crazy. People with Narcolepsy are sometimes misdiagnosed with mental disorders like schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder among other diseases.

She slumbers as I write this and part of me wants to see what would happen if she woke up. The other half prays she never will. I’ve realized that fear haunts each step I take. I am afraid of who I truly am. I am afraid of what I am capable of. It is better to keep your head down and forget your potential (I tell myself that) than to open up a can of worms without knowing the consequences.

The question is- do I keep myself in the box or do I let the chains break?

 

Slave

My life has been a teeter totter of events.

I am starting to get my footing underneath me. Which is good. I have a lot of things I need to fix. Chiefly, my financial situation. I’ve always known the value of a dollar but I never really thought about what it meant. Most recently, I’ve wondered why I was so devoted to my horses.

I loved them and I didn’t really know why.

I loved what they meant; what they offered. Yet, the day to day grind of taking care of them was something that wore me out. I had to make sacrifices. Had to give them up. I will get them back and I will make amends.

This morning it dawned on me that Jesus sacrificed everything for me. I know that it is a stretch but I need to explain this.

God loves me. He loves me enough to clothe me and feed me. I cannot do anything for him. I cannot hope to repay him. For this purpose I am a “money pit” to God. It has been said that if you are taking care of horses properly you are losing money. The amount of time you put into them will never be returned. Yet, they provide a person with other things.

I love my horses. I will sacrifice everything for them. I didn’t really understand what that meant. What that means.

God loves me. He said I will give up everything for you. He left heaven to come down to this earth. He gave his life for me. He loves me. Jesus loves me.

Do you understand the parallels I am trying to create?

I gave up my security, my safety, my hope of a future for my horses. They cannot do anything for me. They take up all of my time and energy and yet I cannot walk away from them. I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve said I cannot do this over a hundred times.

God has been good. He has opened up doors and done miracles. He has done this because He loves me. God loves me. What God has given no one can take away. Every day I worry that someone will take my horses from me. That I won’t be able to get them back. Every day I push myself because I don’t want to have them stolen from me.

God loves me.

I am scared, worried, stressed and uncertain if God will continue to favor me. I fear that I am living on borrowed time. That my horses will be ripped from me. That people were turn on me. That I will be let down.

God has asked me to trust him and I am but it is a tenuous trust. A trust full of second guesses and doubt. Do you love me? God asks and I say yes Lord, I do. He says then believe in my goodness and trust in ME.

I’ve shut so much out of my life. I’ve run from everything, including God’s love. Yet, he has never stopped loving me. Even when I think I am alone He is there for me.

I write because I need to explore what my imagination creates. I have but one life and I know it will be enough. As I begin to ponder what it means to be me I realize that God loves me and will never let me go.

God has done amazing things.

I dream of being a writer. Of being rich and wealthy. Of never having to worry about money. I will get there and I won’t give up. Each day God sacrifices everything for me. He loves me and wants me to know I am loved.

 

I wish I could write this more eloquently. I wish I could put my feelings into words. For once I realize how limited language is.