I tend to write.
And then I stop. I run out of ideas and the things I want to write about I am unable to finish.
Does this make sense?
It’s hard to write what you feel.
My last post was actually bout my real life. The story that has broken me to pieces and although I know it’s a story I want to write down so I don’t forget, the emotions that come with writing it are overwhelming.
I took a break. But it longs to be written.
I thought about starting a notebook with the memories so that I can piece it together later. Like a therapy of sorts. Maybe I could finally lay him to rest if I get it out of my brain.
Memories haunt me every day. And I am tired of talking about it to my friends and family. I am tired of relieving the moments from the past that are crystal clear.
It would be easier to say, “You want to know what happened? Go to this link and find out so I don’t have to explain, yet again, why I am so fucked up.”
It’s a crutch.
This story. My life story.
I use it as a reason for putting my life on hold and not moving on. I use it as a way to avoid new moments. I use it as a way to push people away.
As much as I want to write about other things, this story is begging to be written. It’s like an itch that won’t stop twitching until I get it out.
All the moments. All the characters, (real people), are floating in my mind waiting to be written down.
I guess I need to suck it up and try.
But what if it sucks me in even worse? What if it makes me feel the heartache and helplessness all over again?
But that’s why we write, isn’t it? No one said it was easy and always happy. Writing is about bearing ones soul and expressing yourself through the written language that you are typically unable to speak in a given moment.
I want it out of me. And if that means writing it all down and ripping apart my soul, yet again…
So be it.