This will be my last blog in a very long time.
I need a break from words.
Which seems strange given that words are the reason I live.
Words give life to concepts, to thoughts, to ideas.
I have been impregnated by thoughts that invade my mind, torturing me through my days, tormenting me until I give birth to them on paper. After the sweet painful release I am calm again, free from those imprisoning thoughts that can draw me to ruin the very things I love in my life.
I can not help but to wonder why as writers, we over analyze our lives? Why is it that every moment in our lives must play out like a scene, a melodramatic tragedy, like fiction rather than simply our lives? Why is it that writers live in these fictional worlds that they have imagined for themselves, altering it, changing characteristics, antagonists, plot and scene? Why is that I have manipulated the scenes in my life in order to make them more interesting, to fix dialogue and throw in symbolism and foreshadowing for my pleasure, for my writing gratification? It seems that I have created a script, if you will, with a permanent soundtrack that follows my every move and thought.
For once I would like to stop playing god, stop creating these fantasy worlds that i insert into my reality. For once I would like to stop playing god, playing with the rules of nature, forcing love to go as I HAVE DESIGNED IT, rather than the creator himself who has given birth to life as we know it. I can not keep thinking my life is like one of the stories I have written. Yes I am the author of my life story, with the power to narrate the decisions that I make...but what happens when the author takes complete creative control, forcing the story to take on forms that it was never meant to take? When we force our lives to be molded into cookie-cutter shapes, we do not give it the freedom that every story deserves.
A true writer knows that when writing a story you must let it flourish on its own. A real writer sits at her/his desk with ideas, characters, plots and when writing, half way through...even when reaching the end, the writer may realize that the story reshaped itself into a new one. The original concepts are lost in new ideas, and these ideas that were randomly produced by chance, by free will, that is where THE TRUE STORY LIES. I started writing my story and like I've done time and time again, I forced it to go a certain way. I said: "The plot is love. The characters are him and I. The conflict is confusion and doubt. The foreshadowing is blogging. The ending is heartache."
A good writer knows when to abandon a story. We,like parents, must sometimes allow our babies, our stories to run on their own and if they are not successful we must nourish and guide them. But like "tough love" we have to know when to leave them alone until they are ready. Some stories die. We have so much love and dedication to our babies, we have seen them grow from mere ideas and WORDS into full length stories or novels. We started with a character and then create a family. We grow so close to our WORDS that we don't know how to let go.
This story...this scene from my life story...was manipulated until death. Today I will murder it. I will abandon it. Half way through the story I realized that it was going in the wrong direction all along. I was guiding it the wrong way. So now after almost losing something, someone dear to me, I have realized I have to let go of this hold I have on the story. I have to let it take on its own form and hope that the end result is beautiful. I have to have FAITH. Something that I have probably never had.
My WORDS....
Truth, my cyber audience, my WORDS have gotten me in trouble countless amount of times. Because I don't know how to keep quiet...because if I don't let it out I feel like I will die, I release, sometimes word vomit that I have not contemplated long enough to see the consequences of. So for the first time in my life I will not use my WORDS to tell the story, but let the story tell itself.
When I was six years old I wrote my first short story, it was about ice cream. When I was nine years old I wrote my first poem, it was about a toy. When I was ten years old I wrote my first love letter...it was done on crayola art studio and had a fun border and the end it said check the box yes, no or maybe. That first love letter totally got me in trouble. I wanted to show my friends and i put in my notebook and when i reached for it, it was gone. Apparently, the recess assistant found it and she knew my mom, the parents association lead member, and lets just say she wasn't too happy about having to tell my mom that by ten I was already professing my undying love to boys. "She's boy crazy" she said. I begged and promised that if she didn't tell my mother, I would never write another love letter again! Guys...I definitely lied! I've written so many love letters in my day you'd think I could make a collection, "The Greatest Love Letters." I wrote them again when I was 11, and 12, and 13, and 14, and 15, and 16, and 17, and 18, and 19, and 20, and 21. Many were never sent. They never reach my beloveds eyes, but rather are still found in the pages of my diaries or stored away in my memory boxes. Many are just for me to get those thoughts OUT, exit via pen. The ones that do reach the hands of my beloved, in every case scenario, has created an unwelcome drama. And now I perhaps have written my last love letter. Perhaps I have written my last nonfiction story in this blog. I have a tendency to be honest about myself...at the lunch table in high school everyone gathered around to hear my stories. They awaited the fascinating tale of my journeys and escapades of the weekend. What did Evy do now? they wondered. And with notes passed during class or a loud reenactment of the scenario, everyone laughed and gasped and always wanted more. I guess I am accustomed to telling my story, because I feel that my story is the REAL story to tell. Mine, is the greatest story, the most real, the most sincere, the most tragic, the most exciting, the one that I know the best, but the one I understand the least. Because I don't really understand myself or my life, or what this is all about, it is the story I can't stop telling. But perhaps in retelling these autobiographies, I have forgotten to just live it. I have been working on my memoir. I have always wanted to write a memoir. When I reread the written pages, they seemed like just WORDS. How do you do justice to life with words? It seems that i have been living my life on paper, animated and translucent. I am the translator, the mediator between experience and story. Maybe this story shouldn't be told. Maybe this life just needs to be lived. So I am going to exchange WORDS for EXPERIENCE.
I can not be sure if this will last, given that my soul fiends for WORDS. But I'll try and see how loud, how clear the silence can be.
Wish me luck.
B/c your not on Fb and I cant talk to you for another 3 weeks, Im just going to write this in your blog so that I wont do something stupid(b/c I know if I called you, you would've screamed at me NOT to do it)So here is a letter I wrote to him(unsent) buy my letters arent really "letters" so to speak, they are more like journal entries.
ReplyDeleteMy (unsent) letter to Him,
My heart beats for him still...why? I have NO idea, it just does. My heart beats rapid when he's around. almost how a puppy wags its tail wildly and jumps up and down uncontralably when its owner comes home. Lucky ass puppy! Atleast you get the attention returned when you show it. A belly rub, pat on the head, a treat, w/e it is your owner somehow returns your love.
But not me, my heart beats tripple times, jumps up and down uncontralably to the point where Im scared its going to jump right out of my chest. But he never sees it. He never sees the joy, excitment, anxiety I feel all at once. Unlike that puppy, he cant see my wagging tail, my leaps of joy, my yearning to have your attention.
And even when theres a "new dog in town" I quietly sit in my corner, watching you play with the new puppy, being torn apart inside b/c you are mine, but I dont bark, i dont cry in front of you, I just watch, and hope that eventually you will get over the new puppy, and come back to me, the one who has been there even when you thought I wasnt. The "loyal companion" that sat in a corner and watched you be happy with some1 else. The one that no matter what you say or how bad you may treat me, that the very next day it will be ME who is sitting by the door or window and wagging my tail wildly waiting for you to come home.
I've been sitting by that window for 11months now, and he has passed by occasionally, and patted my head, or rubbed my belly, but then he goes away for months, unseen and unheard, and me, like a stupid fuckin puppy sit there and wait, jumping up everytime I think I hear his voice, or looking around when I think I smell his cologne.
I cant be his puppy anymore. I need to find someone new. Someone who gives me the attention and care that i constantly give them. Some1 who wont let me sit by the window waiting for them to come home. Someone who will be rite next to me. But until then, my heart will continue to jump leaps and bounds for him, and all I can do is continue hiding it like I've been doing.
*I was really thinking about sending this to him, but I know I shouldnt. Just like you, this is 1 of my many letters to him that never got sent, out of fear, or ridicule, or mostly rejection. I wanna be over this NOW. I seriously drained myself while writting this. This is my last testimony of my love for this man. Im going to be happy now* Thanks for listening(well really reading)
Love ya Evy
Danielle,
ReplyDeleteUnsent letters are healthy forms of emotional release and detoxification of the heart. As long as you don't send the letter there is no harm in writing it.
The heart always heals in due time, and I have no doubt that yours will be no different. Allow yourself to hurt sometimes, write the letters, mourn your loss...but do it with some kind of dignity. What I mean with this is that once you find yourself relating and comparing yourself to a dog, a creature, primitive, instinctual: that is a problem. I know that when in love we lose all rationale and instead are driven by our instincts to love and our longing for acceptance...but that rub on the belly, those "doggie treats" make you so ill. That one reward that we long for sometimes is the very reason for ones demise. Do not let his goodies, that instant short-lived gratification trick you. You can't teach an old dog new tricks right? You are not a puppy(girl), you are a mature "dog" (woman)and there are no tricks that you have not seen. Use this to your advantage.
So yes Danielle, continue to write because as I tell everyone, writing is therapeutic and it will heal you. As long as these writings never reach your beloveds eyes. As I wrote in this blog, only when that letter reaches him do i get into trouble. Keep those letters locked away as memory of the scars so that they become more like badges of survival, of resilience, and not of vulnerability. Like you told me Danielle a month or so ago... "You'll never get over it if you don't stop taking strolls down memory lane!" And what did I do? I put the pictures, the endless unsent letters, the stories, the diary entries into my memory box and locked them away. Sometimes even the unsent ones get you into trouble...with yourself. This is a conflict between man vs. self, and only you can conquer your own weakness.
Lastly, Damnit you should have called me! Yes I would have tore your ass a new one! lol. I love you Danielle...please keep me posted. And thanks for sharing this on my blog, it was honest and profound and I always respect a person who is not afraid to put their most vulnerable moments on display. You are very courageous.
Love always,
Evy
Yea I know, and my time away is actually helping me get over this lil bump. And I cant call you b/c im still in Argentina!!! But thanxs for the advice, I just had a moment of weakness. I let myself get caught up about something that I honestly shouldnt have. Like I said, that was the last time that I am going to wollow in my sorrow.
ReplyDeleteLove Ya much
that is totally understandable. Im here if you need me. I'll be back on facebook soon I just was getting too hooked and wasting too much time on it.
ReplyDelete-Eve
Ps Danielle...I lied. Im always lying. I continue to write letters. Some sent some unsent. Just don't send one to someone who doesn't deserve to see inside your heart. Choose wisely.
ReplyDelete