Besides life and second jobs? Nothing else really…except myself. The voice of doubt is forever going off in my head. Anxiousness. When this strikes I can’t sit still and I make a bazillion trips to the fridge. I walk aimlessly around the house. I channel surf and on the plus side I begin to clean my rather messy house. I even do dishes, but I just never seem to get to the bathroom.
Another problem is the amount of time I use trying to write a paragraph. I can use an hour. Then I get frustrated that I could have been doing something else. Then I get frustrated that is whole writing thing is a farce, and that maybe I should move on and forget it. And it all sort of spirals away from me. I will spend more time reeling it back together, before sitting down and picking up a pen.
I have recently begun thinking about a potential problem, well problems. How do I know I am done? Where do I send my finished stories? What format do I use? Where do I find the answer to this question?
Naps. I love my naps. I have been working on writing for a couple of hours, then napping, then getting up and begin writing again. I am much better at this.
Embarrassment. I have returned to my hometown and I find I don’t feel comfortable sharing my writing with anyone here. I feel out of place here. I have always felt out of place here. It is one of many reasons I moved away (I should write them all down and see how many there are). I feel embarrassed to share what I have written. I am embarrassed to find how critical I consider others. and the situation I have found here. I am embarrassed how little I have accomplished in writing. I have begun 20 stories at least, yet I have to finish one.
Feeling trapped. i feel trapped here. I feel trapped by money. I feel trapped by lack of activities here. I feel trapped by lack of friends. I feel trapped by not blending in. I feel I can’t go out to eat alone, or to the movies alone, or to the small events this place has, alone. I feel trapped by that. I feel trapped that all I can think about is leaving. And I feel trapped that I have an obligation to my father. Of course most responsibility leaves me feeling trapped. Though I don’t feel trapped by making this commitment to writing-in fact it is freeing. I feel trapped by life here.
Alone. I have been alone a long time. Yet until I moved back here I never felt loneliness. It leaves me scared and full of despair. It makes me question if I have made the right decisions. I know when I travel every aspect of life feels right. I know living in Portland feels right. Almost nothing about here feels right. Only looking after my father feels right; and I still feel trapped by that, which in turn leaves me feeling guilty.
Despair. I despair that I am stuck in this town until I die. While this town is great to raise a family, and is fairly safe-hell i still leave my front door unlocked and windows unbarred-it is no place for me. Yet I keep coming back to my father. For I despair to leave him here without family. There is no lesser of two despairs. He is in his 70’s and is a big rambling house and while he is the absent minded professor-by type and literally-I believe it to getting worse. But I am not sure, if it this is true. Perhaps I am seeing what is not really there. My grandfather on my mother’s side suffered Alzheimer’s and I was one of the first to give voice to this fact. Of course I was young and dismissed. Now I see similar things but not as severe as my grandfather. My dad has always been forgetful. I am not sure what to do, or say, or should I say anything. While our relationship is fairly good these days, it wasn’t always. I have never been his favorite son, that distinction goes to my brother. But he is on the coast, with a family, and new job, and isn’t here. My brother’s and I’s relationship has been rocky too. I am still peeved that he didn’t answer my pleas for help. I more or less insisted that he move here to help dad. That way I could move away and travel the world. It might have been selfish but I know if I travel everything will feel right again. And maybe in that rightness, the answer will come to me.
I am sure I have other blocks to creativity. I am sure I will touch upon all of this again. In fact I have been writing about the second job, and the situation with my dad. All I want at this point is to leave here. And the guilt of that desire is crushing my soul.
- Emotional and Mental Exhaustion (reflections2change.wordpress.com)
- Dialogue Between Despair And Hope (cordraycounseling.wordpress.com)
- Writing: The Art of Giving (justagirlandherpups.com)
- True Confessions: Ashamed of My Stories (gigigalt.com)