Saturday, December 21, 2013
In previous blogs, I have written about why I write. I write because I like to write and have fun writing even if I am writing for my eyes only.
As I look at some of my very early writings, I am reminded that I write to vent, to put down on paper the raw emotions that other people don’t want to hear. I am not sure how old I was when I wrote this note. It’s possible I was revealing a dual personality of some sort as half of the writing is in cursive and the other half isn’t. I am guessing that I was about ten. I’m copying it verbatim, which also demonstrates my problems with writing, but that’s a different story.
“Do not come in the monsters room she is in the most unbearable situation hating herself for she is a loose temperd, a little beast. And so on I think these are true statements.” I signed this as an official document and then added a p.s in cursive:
“P.s. Mother I love you and I complain to much you wont havto slick (which is probably stick) with me because Iam leaving tomorrow after school so if you don’t mind will you write a note for me?
The beast, pest, (something that I can’t make out), monster, Susan”
I wish I had actually written a journal back then to figure out what set me off; it didn’t take me much. Not getting my way would send me into a furious temper trantrum. I sometimes scared myself when I seemed to not have any control over my outbursts.
I have lived a life of an emotional roller coaster, though I have had more lows than highs. I have never been one to get crazy excited about anything. I don’t remember screaming out when I bowled my first 300. I might have given a slight fist pump to accent my accomplishment, but I don’t know how to be demonstrative. I suppose I don’t like to draw attention to myself, and this would true for those lows as well.
Basically for the last forty years or so, I write to give my emotions a place to live and be accepted for who they are and not fear being shamed or being squelched. For the most part, my journal has been a place that I’ve been able to write things that I wanted to say to someone, like when I get angry and it’s a place where I can safely lose control and let it all out without causing harm to anything or anyone. I wish I could say that I have always had the control to say things just to myself. My mouth has gotten me into more trouble than I can count, especially when my sarcastic editor chooses to stay home.
Writing online has not been a friend to this loose cannon. I lost my last job because of saying something on Facebook that I shouldn’t have said. At least I shouldn’t have shared my anger on such a public forum. Some lessons in life are harder to learn than others.
Earlier today I was reading a blog, “what we lost with ned vizzini” by Stephanie Wardrop that inspired me to look at my darker side and embrace all of my emotions when I write and be willing to share, especially when I know that there are people out there that may think that depression and anger are unique only to them.
Trepidation creeps in as I think about future posts. What if I say the wrong thing? Well, taking Robin Roberts’ advice, for now I’ll trust in the present and just see what happens. Life is a journey and writing is my map.