"Will I ever be where I want to be?"
"Will I ever see my name on the cover of a book?"
"Will the day ever come when I feel secure in a relationship again?"
"Will my health problems one day fade and I can feel as healthy as I did before they ever started?"
"Are we all just here to learn, but never to see our hearts desire?"
But then I stop and wonder; "Is my pessimism the result of life events, or was I born this way?"
I often have to wonder if a writer, a poet, a bard, a historian even, sees the world in negative terms, if it only comes to certain people? I would love to say I can hardly remember a time when I wasn't pessimistic, but what would be a lie. I can remember, once upon a great time ago, that I used to feel as if the world was at my fingertips, and if I could just run with what I had in my head, and be allowed to sit down and do nothing but what I loved, I'd see it accomplished, and I could feel happy in that knowledge. And I think that, in part, it does have a lot to do with my life.
My mother has always been supportive. Every time I wanted a new pad of paper to write in, or new pens because I loved the feel of all the possibilities, she'd get it for me. She'd leave me to write until the wee hours of the morning, because she knew my one desire, my one passion, was to have my head in the clouds, putting pen to paper, creating the most magical, the most insane, and the most unrealistic places anyone had ever seen. She knew that, even if I never graced the stage, if I never became famous on television, or in movies, I could at least imagine it, and for me, that was all I needed. Because then, I ALONE controlled the circumstances; I made the stories, the plots, the twists, the character biographies, the backstories, etc. I designed the houses, picked out all the clothes, had them marry or travel without hindrance, and I was so awash in what my brain cultivated, that I would go to bed feeling fulfilled, and I never felt the totality of life's darker moments. When they hit, I just put on my headphones, turned on some music, and became lost in their magic once again.
My father was less understanding. He's always been more of a realist, a worker, a person who doesn't take time to stop and daydream, who doesn't read for pleasure, or even to become lost in the story. He'll watch movies readily enough, but I don't think he has ever read a book cover to cover, and that FRIGHTENS me. I can halfway understand because at a young age he had kids, he was going to school for an actual career that would make him money, be in constant demand, put him in a position of never having to worry about finding a job because his credentials would always be sought after. His father was an attorney, and I guess he felt he had a lot to live up to. Before he was the age I am now, he already had 3 kids, and a step son. He had a lot of responsibility, and I know he wants us all to succeed, to be well off, to not have to want and scrape like he did before he became an engineer, but he doesn't take time to stop and smell the roses. He doesn't sit back and look at the clouds. I get my inquisitive and curious mind from both of them, but he stops just short of having a full deck of knowledge. He doesn't really go above and beyond finding out how something is; he doesn't study the history of how it all came to be, just the bare facts, and goes on his way. He's also the first to start conflict, but hates to get in the middle of it, or finish it. He pushes us all to our limits sometimes, and even though I love him, I just CANNOT UNDERSTAND being that lax about dreaming! I LOVE to dream! I love falling asleep JUST TO DREAM! I can't wait to see what mind has in store, or where the next idea will come from. I still sleep with a pad of paper and a pen close by just in case something happens. I guess what confuses me in his blatant inability to let someone have that!
Even now, as I'm doing YouTube, putting my stories out there, my creativity, he dedication to bringing beauty to the world, or even easing someone of their burdens, if only for 5 minutes, he jumps in and interrupts the flow.
Back in 2007, I started writing a novel called, "The Crowsgirl Chronicles". It started out as a love story to a man I thought would be in my life forever; who shared my frustrations, my passions, my interests, and was just as big a nerd as I was! I loved him, and I imagined us meeting one day. He brought out the nest in me, and he was the inspiration behind it all. I would stay up till 4am, sometimes 5am, just to get in that zone and bring this world I felt inside of me to life! It was amazing, and it STILL blows my mind to this day; everything I created, everything I built, just from my imagination. But when my father found out, he yelled at me, interrupted that flow, and I was so scared of his anger, the times I wrote became few and far between. Even though me and that man that inspired it no longer speak, literally not a word, he helped me to find the person I have wanted to be with, and I still thank him for helping me find Crowsgirl. She's still with me, 8 years and counting.
My last relationship has my questioning the sanctity of my stability in future relationships.
He was the model of the Crow I searched for; tall, long hair, rode a motorcycle, loved rock music, drove a cool car, dressed in jeans and a baggy T-shirt, and even though he smoked, he treated me like a queen, let me be myself, encouraged me, and I loved everything I got from him. But then, little by little, he became more demanding more hurtful when I wouldn't give in, more damaging because I wouldn't send him nudes, not even a tit pic, because it goes against everything I believe in. He made me uncomfortable in my own body, and in the end, I had to walk away.
Now, two months after I leave him because I'm fed up with his lies, his manipulation, his badgering and deception, I find myself attracted to someone; loving this person with my whole heart, and I'm scared.
I sometimes find myself having thoughts like his, and I wonder, is it because of the two years that I was around him, and I'm working through getting those out of my head, or have they been there all along? I have to stop myself a lot, re-read what I'm about to send to make sure his words don't leave my head, or his attitude rub off like it had started too a year ago, because the last thing I want to do is hurt her. I know she's strong, but I don't want to do that to someone when it was done to me. And I know we aren't official, hell, we don't even live in the same state, but to me, I stop before I do anything, and I ask myself how she might feel if I did that, how it would affect her, because I told her that I'd broken up with my ex when I did the first time, but I didn't tell her we'd gotten back together. So when it ended for the final time, and I slipped into depression, I was too scared to tell her.
Finally, I sat down, and I cried when I told her. I cried when I told all the ones I'd lied to about it. It damaged one relationship I had with a friend, and I wouldn't ever expect him to forgive me. I don't even really forgive myself, but Mel was completely understanding, and even though I was still ashamed, she held open her arms and her heart, and I haven't really wanted to leave.
I wish I could tell my family about all of this, well, almost all of them. My mom knows my feelings towards the same sex, my father either denies it or doesn't see it, thinking he had convinced me when I was 16 and first announced I was bisexual, that you could only be bisexual if you had sex with a girl, which was untrue, and my siblings, well, there are times I consider myself an only child. I'll go into more detail on that later, but only one, maybe two, would be accepting. God knows about the other. And truth be told, I don't rightly know which ones would be accepting. I'm just throwing a number out for good measure.
I don't know what the future is going to bring, but I want to put these ideas down in the hopes that someone can gain comfort knowing that someone, somewhere, in some plane of existence, is going through, or has gone through, the same thing they are currently facing.
And if you are one of those people, I'm here for you. We can do this together.
And truth be told, after watching Rory lose Joey to cancer, I don't want my family to ever wonder what went through my head, or how I felt. Because here is a record of my life, through my eyes, narrated by a confused (currently) 29 year old, and written down by a writer/poet at heart.
And, if you're reading this years from now, I love you, no matter what's happened, no matter where we are. I. Love. You.
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