I have made many promises in my life, mostly the ones that result in forgiveness. Forgiveness being the word that relates to how one might feel when I brake those promises. I’m trying to use words to mirk the true meaning of what I’m saying which is that I’m not very good at keeping the promises that I make, predominantly to myself.
A few months ago I made the decision to try and start up a blog. I told myself that I really wanted/needed to do something creative and healthy with my time. I said to myself that this is going to be the change that I am looking for. I’m going to write every day and post every week. This is my chance. I have to do this.
Since that time I wrote and published three times. And now here it is late January and I am feeling this overwhelming guilt about it. Every day I think about writing but I decide not too because I didn’t do it yesterday so how can I start now. I feel like I have already given up. If you remember from my first piece, that is not the point of this blog. It is not to get my word out to the masses or see if I can get anybody to read what I have to say. Rather, I just like to write and this gives me a means and motive.
But I still feel bad for not doing it. The pressure and obsession that I place on what I don’t do has me conceded to a couch and television set. I feel like I lack the energy to even open up my keyboard and just begin. I find that starting is actually the hardest thing to do. Inspiration, for me, comes after I write a few words down and go with it. Getting to that point, however, is like curing cancer – fucking hard. The more I think about it too, the more likely I am to not do it.
Then I find an urge to expel my bile of thoughts onto the page. I note everything that I’m feeling and wishing and obsessing about. I feel and breathe. I loose my demons, for a minute, and find distinction between me and them. For a time, relief fills my body and mind. Like good sex, we are at our most fertile, proud and confident state post orgasm. Also like sex, I wish I could do it more.
I can though. Without promise, I want to write more. I want to feel better. I want to use my energy for something healthy and not self-destructive. I know that I am very much like the tide and I ebb and flow. Sometimes I’ll be in such a state that attempting to do this will be too much, but it always comes back again. I don’t want to promise myself that I’m going to do this. Expectations for me are tests. They are stress inducing, fear facilitating, monsters which shut me down. For once in my life I want to decide what I want. I tend to judge what I do in comparison to the person that I think I should be. Where is the person that I want to be?
Until the next story, orgasm, word vomit thing. Once again, I thank you for reading and listening. We all have our own stories to tell and process and I wish you the best on the intentions that you put out to the world.