It's strange that one moment you go some place where you used to draw peace and excitement and a means to escape, and in that one small second, you realize that hallowed place no longer holds any meaning to you except the negative kind.
And this place doesn't even have to be a physical place. It can be a certain time of day at which you do a certain thing. It can be a state of mind you find yourself in when you stare too long at a wall. It can be a place on your laptop screen that you spend too much time exploring as if you actually live there. For me, it's the final example.
An online writing community. A place where fellow writers gather on the face of the internet, circle themselves around a certain plot, which one or more characters and them all interact and go about their fictional lives. I loved it. I admired some of the characters, was able to get along and laugh with the writers behind these made-up people, and was easily able to look past the ones who believed themselves better than all, when in fact they were just along the same lines. And then it all changed one bright morning. I can't even remember when exactly I signed into this community and was unable to locate that same feeling of excitement I used to draw just by catching up on everything that was happening. Perhaps it was the moment my naive eyes unknowingly locked on an actual R-rated scene before I released a shocked cry and wildly scrolled away from the words.
Writing. Using words to paint a vivid picture for the avid reader to look on later and feel that sense of excitement that the writer felt when initially painting. To form the emotion of anger, happiness, sadness, suspense, and any other feeling that can be drawn from such mysterious and wonderful things as words. And after reading that scene between two writers, with such detailed foulness, it tainted my definition of writing for a long while. I sat there before the books I had abandoned for the sake of this writing community. I frowned and scowled every time I returned to the community in order to keep my own characters active. And finally, almost all my writing muse was dried up, because each time I entered that community like a fool returning for more punishment, the writings, the conversations, the pictures would just get worse and worse. And me, the naive little girl, believed I could ignore it. After all, the world is like that, right? It has to be ignored, you can't make it go away. False. You can choose to space yourself from all that! And it took me far too long to realize it.
It pains me to leave that community. I built up three very deeply thought characters which I will have to abandon. I have made friendships that are bound not to be as strong as they would be if I didn't have to go. But I have priorities, even if they took a while to sort themselves out. My faith, my innocence, my absolute LOVE for writing-- all of these are being put on the line while I am a part of of this community with low morals. I never took part in any of what the other writers did, but it was painful enough, sickening enough, sinful enough to pass through and hold my nose while I scrolled on acting like nothing in the world was wrong. But it was. And it still is. And now comes the hard part. Telling the friends I am leaving. Silently putting to rest three characters I felt a connection to. And starting afresh somewhere else. Like in the pages of the book I have put on hold writing, in order to keep active on the constantly demanding community I used to draw excitement from until it almost controlled my life. It's all over. And now, I can finally start writing for myself. And for those readers who believe words are an art form, and respect them as much as I do.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Skimming the Surface
(Well this is full of ranting and probably doesn't nearly cover what I want to say, but maybe this is just the first in a series of rants. Either way, here it is...)
I felt like screaming. Like kicking something, or just slapping my hands to my face, curling into a ball and waiting for the earth to swallow me up. The only thing that kept me from doing all this was the fact that I was in public. It was strange, though, how a single picture can stab you in the gut and poison you with such emotion.
I think it was the way he was staring through the camera lens at me. It was just like in person, the way I would just occasionally catch him studying my face. I say those times were special because he barely looked at me; I mean really looked at me, the way I did him. Mostly I would find him staring off out of a window or across a room, and I would wonder where his mind had wandered, and why he couldn't take me with him. Did that idea ever cross his thoughts? That I wanted to be carried along on his wildest dreams? Or did he not want me there? Had I not gained his trust enough for something that special?
But all this isn't about looks, or times together, or why it all didn't work out. Though that does play a part. No. The following words address that strange phenomenon called heartbreak. And how it can sneak up on you at the oddest moments and in the strangest forms.
For me it was in the same coffee shop I had last seen him in. I was with a friend this time; a dear friend who I knew would rewrite the bittersweet and sour memories that I had lived in that place. I had cried right before him, closed the door to possibilities for the final time, and we had parted ways with strange farewells that were wrought with to be continued's that might not even follow through. Friends. I told him he'd always have one in me. And he said he'd wished it ended differently.
But no. The story wasn't over yet. I kept my distance because I didn't know how to react. It was strange that I still wanted to talk to him. That I had to train myself to not check my email in case he had sent me a hello message. It was odd that even with all he had dragged me through, through all I had put up with silently, good times run over by bad times.... I admitted to myself I missed him. I missed the innocent happiness we shared before it all went wrong and I woke up from the dream with tears in my eyes. I promised myself I would talk to him the moment I was ready again, just like he said he would give me time to. And on the very morning I even considered the possibility of rejoining the thread of communication, the horrors of Facebook slapped me full across the cheek over breakfast.
"In a Relationship"? What? Not a week after he had told me he would wait a lifetime. Not five days after that moment in Starbucks when we had said goodbye and he wished it had turned out better. I remember just staring at my sister as she relayed the strange tidings that had been posted on the news feed for everyone to read. But only me unable to comprehend. I didn't expect him to be heartbroken over the end of 'us', I didn't want him to curl into a ball and wither away due to the pain I had loaded on him. I just thought words held more weight than just things to be said-- no, typed. Because more often than not those were the conversations we held. Staring through a screen at one another's thoughts, never hearing our voices actually speak them. But when he actually said the words "This will probably only settle in next week," and "I only want to make sure you're okay and you don't blame yourself for how this ended," I just-- was blind. They were words, nothing more. And now looking back on the moment, after the tears and-- yes maybe a little heartbreak, I'm able to smile and perhaps even laugh. At my shear insolence over everything!
Girls, seriously, do we rely on men's good opinion so much that we fail to see how foolish we can appear in the sight of them? I've been played, duped, taken for the fool that perhaps I was! Yet still I feel that pang in my heart when I happen across a picture or a message I saved from my time with him. We let our hearts play tricks on our minds and see what we want to see so often that we fail to realize we deserve so much more. This is by NO MEANS an attack on any man who feels offended by the content of this mindless rant. Especially it is not meant to target that unfortunate man I am addressing in the third person. Take this as one of the many rambling thought-processes I take in order to heal from something that bothers or troubles or hurts me. I think it's a common human flaw, the acceptance of the love we think we deserve. But more often than not, that love we're accepting with a relenting sigh doesn't near reach the level in which God sees you. The love God has provided without a thanks, because you don't see it --how special you are-- yourself. So the world spins on, with discontented lovers who wish to one day become that old married couple who bickers with smiles and aren't afraid to hold hands in public. The thing we forget is-- that stage takes time, we just sometimes aren't willing to seek the rare gem out. Most of us are able to see past this initial self-doubt and wait around countless years for that soul that fits to yours like a near-perfect puzzle piece. But that other percentage of our population is simply not willing to go the extra miles (however long those miles be, sailing alone) in order to finally find that fate we call "the one". But, I suppose with this last heartbreak, I'm one step closer.
So I should thank you, dear Question Mark (you shall remain anonymous simply because the situation is between you and me and not the whole of whoever shall read this). You have taught me lesson over lesson without even knowing. How to carry myself, how to swallow pride, how to stand up for something I believe in, and most important, what I deserve when it comes to the matters of the heart. I was broken when we parted, I cried rivers over you, but now I shrug off the cloak that I have been carrying around for far too long now. I wish you luck with that special girl you found while passing time with me. I cherish the time we shared before everything dimmed into reality. And thanks to you I'm finally able to hold my head up and look to the future. Love will find me, as it will find all of us sooner or later. But for now, there's no shame in being "on your lonesome". Because maybe on your lonesome is how you decide what you're willing to wait for.
I felt like screaming. Like kicking something, or just slapping my hands to my face, curling into a ball and waiting for the earth to swallow me up. The only thing that kept me from doing all this was the fact that I was in public. It was strange, though, how a single picture can stab you in the gut and poison you with such emotion.
I think it was the way he was staring through the camera lens at me. It was just like in person, the way I would just occasionally catch him studying my face. I say those times were special because he barely looked at me; I mean really looked at me, the way I did him. Mostly I would find him staring off out of a window or across a room, and I would wonder where his mind had wandered, and why he couldn't take me with him. Did that idea ever cross his thoughts? That I wanted to be carried along on his wildest dreams? Or did he not want me there? Had I not gained his trust enough for something that special?
But all this isn't about looks, or times together, or why it all didn't work out. Though that does play a part. No. The following words address that strange phenomenon called heartbreak. And how it can sneak up on you at the oddest moments and in the strangest forms.
For me it was in the same coffee shop I had last seen him in. I was with a friend this time; a dear friend who I knew would rewrite the bittersweet and sour memories that I had lived in that place. I had cried right before him, closed the door to possibilities for the final time, and we had parted ways with strange farewells that were wrought with to be continued's that might not even follow through. Friends. I told him he'd always have one in me. And he said he'd wished it ended differently.
But no. The story wasn't over yet. I kept my distance because I didn't know how to react. It was strange that I still wanted to talk to him. That I had to train myself to not check my email in case he had sent me a hello message. It was odd that even with all he had dragged me through, through all I had put up with silently, good times run over by bad times.... I admitted to myself I missed him. I missed the innocent happiness we shared before it all went wrong and I woke up from the dream with tears in my eyes. I promised myself I would talk to him the moment I was ready again, just like he said he would give me time to. And on the very morning I even considered the possibility of rejoining the thread of communication, the horrors of Facebook slapped me full across the cheek over breakfast.
"In a Relationship"? What? Not a week after he had told me he would wait a lifetime. Not five days after that moment in Starbucks when we had said goodbye and he wished it had turned out better. I remember just staring at my sister as she relayed the strange tidings that had been posted on the news feed for everyone to read. But only me unable to comprehend. I didn't expect him to be heartbroken over the end of 'us', I didn't want him to curl into a ball and wither away due to the pain I had loaded on him. I just thought words held more weight than just things to be said-- no, typed. Because more often than not those were the conversations we held. Staring through a screen at one another's thoughts, never hearing our voices actually speak them. But when he actually said the words "This will probably only settle in next week," and "I only want to make sure you're okay and you don't blame yourself for how this ended," I just-- was blind. They were words, nothing more. And now looking back on the moment, after the tears and-- yes maybe a little heartbreak, I'm able to smile and perhaps even laugh. At my shear insolence over everything!
Girls, seriously, do we rely on men's good opinion so much that we fail to see how foolish we can appear in the sight of them? I've been played, duped, taken for the fool that perhaps I was! Yet still I feel that pang in my heart when I happen across a picture or a message I saved from my time with him. We let our hearts play tricks on our minds and see what we want to see so often that we fail to realize we deserve so much more. This is by NO MEANS an attack on any man who feels offended by the content of this mindless rant. Especially it is not meant to target that unfortunate man I am addressing in the third person. Take this as one of the many rambling thought-processes I take in order to heal from something that bothers or troubles or hurts me. I think it's a common human flaw, the acceptance of the love we think we deserve. But more often than not, that love we're accepting with a relenting sigh doesn't near reach the level in which God sees you. The love God has provided without a thanks, because you don't see it --how special you are-- yourself. So the world spins on, with discontented lovers who wish to one day become that old married couple who bickers with smiles and aren't afraid to hold hands in public. The thing we forget is-- that stage takes time, we just sometimes aren't willing to seek the rare gem out. Most of us are able to see past this initial self-doubt and wait around countless years for that soul that fits to yours like a near-perfect puzzle piece. But that other percentage of our population is simply not willing to go the extra miles (however long those miles be, sailing alone) in order to finally find that fate we call "the one". But, I suppose with this last heartbreak, I'm one step closer.
So I should thank you, dear Question Mark (you shall remain anonymous simply because the situation is between you and me and not the whole of whoever shall read this). You have taught me lesson over lesson without even knowing. How to carry myself, how to swallow pride, how to stand up for something I believe in, and most important, what I deserve when it comes to the matters of the heart. I was broken when we parted, I cried rivers over you, but now I shrug off the cloak that I have been carrying around for far too long now. I wish you luck with that special girl you found while passing time with me. I cherish the time we shared before everything dimmed into reality. And thanks to you I'm finally able to hold my head up and look to the future. Love will find me, as it will find all of us sooner or later. But for now, there's no shame in being "on your lonesome". Because maybe on your lonesome is how you decide what you're willing to wait for.
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