Maybe
Maybe I try too hard to write about the things I know.
Maybe I don't realize all the things I do know.
Maybe I pretend to know more than I do.
Maybe I am afraid to learn new things to write about.
Maybe there is a perverse security in writing about the traumatic events.
Maybe I don't want the pain to go away.
Maybe my writing would be better if I wrote about something new, something else.
Maybe it would just be different.
Maybe I should stop thinking and just write.
***
As a writer, I often find myself getting too caught up in the "brain" part of writing. I know that there isn't enough space on my bookshelves for all of my books, and yet I still want to be surrounded by them. I want to be wrapped in a cocoon of words. Nothing can penetrate the fierce shield I have created with language.
And yet, it is those things that are without language that I cling to the hardest. It is those pre-verbal experiences, the sights and sounds and smells that I had no words for when they existed, and now cannot express except through emotion. I know them when they happen, though. The smell of Copenhagen (smokeless tobacco) makes me gag. Lever 2000 makes me vomit and hold my breath. When a man walks behind me I become scared he will attack me. I want to be impressive and desirable and wanted, because if I am not then I see no point in existing.
Okay. It isn't always that serious. But it is hard to find worth when self-worth is based on being useful to someone else.
It just hurts, my chest cavity, like my heart is ripping and hands are shredding my lungs. Each movement, each act of being, takes so much work that I am exhausted after a short amount of time ... I do not understand it.
People tell me I am good at "hiding" it, that they would never guess all the things I have gone through and all the secrets I hide. I am glad for that. Most often I do not need sympathy or pity or someone else's guilt.
Unfortunately, there are days that I just want someone to hold me and comfort me and tell me that everything will be alright.
On those days, I write.
Maybe I don't realize all the things I do know.
Maybe I pretend to know more than I do.
Maybe I am afraid to learn new things to write about.
Maybe there is a perverse security in writing about the traumatic events.
Maybe I don't want the pain to go away.
Maybe my writing would be better if I wrote about something new, something else.
Maybe it would just be different.
Maybe I should stop thinking and just write.
***
As a writer, I often find myself getting too caught up in the "brain" part of writing. I know that there isn't enough space on my bookshelves for all of my books, and yet I still want to be surrounded by them. I want to be wrapped in a cocoon of words. Nothing can penetrate the fierce shield I have created with language.
And yet, it is those things that are without language that I cling to the hardest. It is those pre-verbal experiences, the sights and sounds and smells that I had no words for when they existed, and now cannot express except through emotion. I know them when they happen, though. The smell of Copenhagen (smokeless tobacco) makes me gag. Lever 2000 makes me vomit and hold my breath. When a man walks behind me I become scared he will attack me. I want to be impressive and desirable and wanted, because if I am not then I see no point in existing.
Okay. It isn't always that serious. But it is hard to find worth when self-worth is based on being useful to someone else.
It just hurts, my chest cavity, like my heart is ripping and hands are shredding my lungs. Each movement, each act of being, takes so much work that I am exhausted after a short amount of time ... I do not understand it.
People tell me I am good at "hiding" it, that they would never guess all the things I have gone through and all the secrets I hide. I am glad for that. Most often I do not need sympathy or pity or someone else's guilt.
Unfortunately, there are days that I just want someone to hold me and comfort me and tell me that everything will be alright.
On those days, I write.
posted by dancing willow* at 7:11 PM
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