I Don’t Care.

At least you can’t take my words from me. Hamper my self-publication and posting efforts for a year or two? Sure. But nobody can stop me from writing, even when everything else is gone.

As I have recently discovered, after having painful walls erected around my very existence with the sole purpose of slowly closing in and suffocating the life out of me; my material has changed some as a result of being in an abusive relationship, but despite being a specific target on my ex’s hit list the writer in me lives on.trapped_in_a_cage_by_crazyluh-d4b6fix

This is my first public post in a long time, and it feels a bit like stepping out to find the sun shining and birds singing after a nuclear winter. Like anyone else who’s ever been trapped by the designs of a monster in human form, I’m sure I could go on and on about the quantifiable atrocities of my experience. Yet in the aftermath I’m finding that it was the war against my passion for putting words on paper which was the most personal for me.

Some of my earliest memories are of picking up a pen and using the words I had to form stories or simply let my emotions flow out in a sort of catharsis. In my adulthood I have boxes of journals and notebooks full of the same, coupled with semi-anonymous blogs, and isn’t it nice that Amazon will let you publish longer works under any name you like? Yes I’ve also always been fairly private about this aspect of myself.

When the attack started it was not subtle, but rather on all out effort to extinguish my compulsion to write. At first it was an essay I insisted I didn’t want anyone to read, torn apart as sub-par garbage over my shoulder as I worked. My journals, individually located, read, mocked, the information within used against me. This blog…..

Since I do tend to keep most of my writing as a very close held, emotional, and private “hobby” (or whatever I should call it) I quickly came to realize that these particular attacks hit me on a different level than anything else. This was one part of myself that I knew I could not lose, that I had to find a way to protect, and so I hid it. I stopped putting words on paper for the most part.

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I still can’t say as I ever stopped writing really, even when it became to painful and too dangerous to do so. The stories continued, the blogs, the poems, the ideas never stopped flowing.  My mind filled up, I just haven’t put as many of them on paper yet. I was worried for a time that maybe I couldn’t, the inspiration was there but the words would not flow. Now the words come to me, but the tone is different, the style is different, I suppose I’m a little different.

However, I’m starting to think that maybe different is going to be okay after all. I’m still free.

 

 

Dear Appendix, it’s just not working out…….

So last week my appendix decided to betray me, I don’t know exactly where we went wrong, one minute we were frolicking in the park together hand in hand and the next my dear Appy had developed a drinking problem and a wandering eye…..  Sigh, but such is life.

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I’m really mostly just mad about missing a couple of weeks of work, I had stuff to do darn it!  Also I look 4 months pregnant but on just the right half of my stomach because of all of the swelling and the doctor said I’m not suppose to have any dirty sex for like two weeks also.

So in hindsight I suppose my relationship with Appy was not really any different than either of my marriages, or the vast majority of my serious “relationships.”  By which I mean, at the end of the day I realized I had been spending all these years housing and feeding this lump of flesh until it woke up and decided to just be a complete pain in the ass, resulting in a couple weeks of nausea and not getting laid.  I’m sure by next week I’m going to find out that he left me for my disgusting calcified gallbladder even though we all know that b^tch doesn’t have anything going for her either…

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In other compleeeetly unrelated news, I started a relationship with this guy a couple of months ago, well actually specifically what I said was “this is weird” and “I don’t really date, like I seriously haven’t been on a real date in years….”  But we’ve been doing this thing where we eat food and go on walks together and don’t have sex with other people (allegedly), for awhile now.  Then these stupid words like “dating” and “girlfriend” have been getting thrown around or whatever. Which is cool and all, we actually have a pretty great relationship, which actually really upsets me because I hate dating a lot, annnnd I really don’t like having a relationship that ISN’T complete shit because I might have to experience some kind of human type emotion or something about it at some point or something.  Sigh….

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Yup, I am not ashamed to admit that I’m much more comfortable having complete control over every aspect of my personal life and free time while pursuing my long-term commitment to my cat and PlayStation because it’s less stressful than meaningful human interaction.

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Oh, and also, I like the FREEEEEEDOM most of the time, soooo we’ll see how this “doing things I normally don’t like” phase works out for me.

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