I used to easily be able to articulate what I felt, thought, emoted. I could sit easly with a pen and paper, and then later in life with a keyboard and an internet connection. I could coin phrases and quip with the best of them. I could speak freely and with poetic license.
It was my outlet really. It was freeing and I was safe within the confines of my own mind, my own release of whatever I felt, good bad or indifferent. It was my thoughts, my feelings. I could spin them as I saw fit because I owned them. They were mine.
I haven't had writer's block persay. I haven't been uninspired or non-feeling. It's been none of that.
I've felt like a creative prisoner of sorts, too afraid of what my thoughts or feelings were going to evoke in other people. Afraid of the harsh criticisms that came along with me feeling one particular way or another. For my inate ability to seemingly overshare.
My life. My feelings. My ideas. Sqaundered beneath a need to make everyone else happy. To not ruffle feathers.
I have made so many mistakes in my life. I have done things I am not proud of. I have done things that have affected the lives of people I care about. And I will never not feel self-loathing about it. I will never not be haunted by actions I may have taken.
But I am learning. Life is a learning process. There is no manual for how to fix things. No step by step illustrated instruction booklet showing me which pieces go where to make things work smoothly. And what works for some doesn't work for others because each person is their own unique configuration of everything.
I used to be so jealous of a lot of my friends. Friends who finished college at the appropriate time. Who then went on for advanced degrees of sorts. Who got married and bought houses and had children, in that order.
I was a failure, the fuck up.
I started on the right track, immediately leaving for college right after high school. And I then transfered to another college with the intention of continuing on and on until I had whatever degrees I could get. And then I stopped.
I was working 2 jobs trying to keep my head afloat in my apartment. My roomate had moved out and I was there alone, at 20 trying to support myself and not go crawling back to my parents with my tail between my legs.
And then I got pregnant. I was now the single mom. The first of my friends to have a child.
I had horrible credit, I couldn't have been a homeowner if I tried. I had a car reposessed and I moved a couple of times to different apartments, and burned a lot of bridges with old landlords and bad debt.
I was a disaster of a person really. Poor judgement running rampant and just trying to figure out what the fuck to do with my life.
When my father died, nothing made sense any more. There was no more right in the world. And I feel into a deep dark hole.
There are so many regrets I have in my life. I know that people say you shouldn't have regrets and blah blah blah, but screw you I have them and plenty. I am not proud of my life.
I've been trying to remedy all of that. I am back in school, I have a decent job that isn't in retail (albeit after a horrible few years in worst economy ever and losing job after job), I have been in a relationship with the love of my life for almost 3 years, and I do not live in an aprtment. His name may be on the deed, but I still feel like a homeowner.
I am still a failure. All that I have tried to overcome, all that I have atempted to do to right whatever wrongs in my life I had committed is never enough. I live in the shadow of other people's expectations.
What I should have done, who I should have been. I have never claimed ot be perfect, or just or good. But being told I'm a bad person makes me feel even more inferior. Makes me want to break down.
When I'm hurt and upset, I of course lash out because anger looks tougher than fear and vulnerability. I say things I don't mean, I hurt the ones I love even more. It's a ridiculous thing really, it's defensive. 90% of the time I long to grab the words that fly out of my mouth before they ever hit the ears of the intended. I want to scoop them out of the air and swallow them back down.
The thoughts that stream through my head are so chaotic. So full of fear and worry. That I will never be enough. That maybe my life isn't worth living. That I'm a horrible person, that I'm a shitty mother. A bad friend.
I don't really feel as though I have friends anymore. No one I can confide in or talk to without judgement. I thought I used to have that. I was wrong. I was always being judged. I was the Fuck Up. Disaster. Trainwreck. Drama Queen.
Best to stay away as I was clearly contagious to them. Don't get too close or you too will ruin your life!
I don't know what to do. I don't know how to make my life make sense. How to make things ok. That's all I want. All I've ever wanted. To be happy. To spend my life with my bestfriend and love living happily ever after. I really can't do anything right.
All I can say is I'm sorry.
Sorry I ever hurt you.
Sorry for my life.