Sometimes, my eyes are red and puffy from crying; from holding everything in. Sometimes there are dark circles under my eyes because of the insomnia that frequents my evenings. Sometimes, my eyes are the most beautiful color for no reason at all. I have this line on my forehead; drives me nuts. I used to hate my thick, long, curly hair, but now, I'm learning to manage it. I'm not girly, but I'm workin' on it. I'm tryin' to read more. I'm tryin' to write more.
Yet sometimes I look at myself and I see this truly pathetic piece of work. Inadequate. A girl holding in so much and yet, tells the world to talk about their problems when she doesn't even know where to begin herself. Someone who is trying to carry weight, but hides the bumps and bruises she gets from doing so.
I start a lot of dreams. And I do mean A LOT.
I'd like to think I'm blessed with the talent of writing, especially when I have a chance to get a thought in order. So I've tried writing several books........ Do you see any published yet? I always find something wrong; I'm my harshest critic. Why am I going to try to put something out there to help someone, to help the world, when it just doesn't feel right? Fact or fiction? Why should it matter? Because at the end of the day, what should matter, is that it mattered to someone. That something I wrote, that came from MY head, my heart that it all would somehow matter. My poetry? Gosh... I can't even begin to tell you where that's gone. It's def. not the same it was 4 years ago. Not to mention, I find ANYTHING I produce inadequate; yet I'm too scared to share. And handing something off to my friends doesn't exactly benefit because they're supposed to say it's good when really, they should be telling me what's wrong, what I can change. If it's fine, well then genuinely tell me.
School? The thought of NOT finishing, terrifies me. It's not for everyone else, it's for me, because in the long run, it's about the kids. I've learned that a college degree can take time; but I need to stop wasting it.
I'm def. scared of what people think; I've never fully admitted it, but there it is. Because all my life has been has been about pleasing someone and not doing something for me; for MY life.
In one of my blogs, I said I was going to get some writing out there. Well... four months into 2011, I have yet to try. TRY. That's all I can ask of myself. Because if I don't try, I'll never know.
I think in our lives there is always someone else we're trying to please instead of stepping out and being ourselves. I know that's my issue.
Joey died. He's gone. I have to learn something from that even with as much as I wish I could take it back. Wish I would have went instead of being "too tired" to save my best friend... to save my brother. It's not something we can simply just "get over" but it's def. something we can learn from. Moreso than knowing I'm not promised tomorrow, and any other time after. Life is truly a gift. What are we doing with it and who are we doing it for?
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