You wouldn’t think that writing your own story could be difficult. After all, you live it, it’s right there in front of you. And yet finding the loose thread to pull at the end of the day is hard.
I’m reading a book about how put my life on paper. One thing I came away with so far that seems pretty straightforward is to just tell your truth. Pick just one fact and tell it, as is.
My one true fact for today is: that I am afraid to find out what it is that keeps me from thinking clearly when I want to. I’m not talking about day-to-day activities or driving my car or anything. It’s an issue that comes up when I want to plumb the depths of my feelings. What if it’s some self-preservation mode or some underlying feelings that my brain just wants to pretend don’t exist? Sometimes it gets to the point that I completely zone out. I’ll sit down in my favorite red chair with every intention of writing something down… and nothing. Nothing comes. No words, no typing, nada. It’s like I dissociate and just glaze over.
I never really talk about it because unfortunately it’s a part of my life that I managed to shut off and replace with the pursuit of making a living, but for a long time art occupied most of my waking hours. Specifically drawing and painting. I was a creative person and those mediums allowed me to speak when I couldn’t do it with words. Now, those talents are dead inside of me. There is sadness when I can’t make my hands move the way they used to. I killed my gift for money.
Even if it is something that I’m not exceptional at, I see writing my blog as a creative outlet. When I can’t get the words out I become afraid that this little creative ember will go out too. Then I’ll be left with nothing. Just another case of self-sabotage.
Wide open space, wide open mind. I want to recall the clarity I felt standing there looking out at the expanse, all the time. How can I do it?
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