Saturday, March 22, 2014
Create
I just want to ask you if you remember the story I told you. A made up parable about an old man and some tasks? I can't remember if I made it up, if it was even clever and I want to be reminded. It's the last time I remember being creative and I need to know if it was mine. If I came up with it maybe I can relearn that ability. The last time you gave me any good advice you asked me to never stop writing. I haven't written a real world since. I can't hear the music in my words and lack the sense of pleasure you need to make sentences harmonize. Everything has been too bland. When I lost my virginity I was told I was no longer special. "Welcome to the world, you're are no better than the worst just like anybody." Sometimes I let the thought that I gave away my art then too cross my mind. I could no longer create worthy things because I chose to give away what made my value. I worry this and wonder if I can be a born again creative. Listening to classical music and praying to literature and art. I want to know if my words sound the same to the ones who would know. Is my voice hollow. I try to find something to grasp and find emptiness. I want to know if this is something I can fix.
Adoration
Orignal BS post: (03/22/2014)
I am having a lot of fun falling in love with myself. I started writing myself love letters in my own personal shorthand. They are always filled with awe and encouragement. Both words of wisdom and pride. It got me in the habit of looking for things about myself that I could notice and share later. "Look how you shake your kips when you order "Sex on the Beach!" what a dork... it's so adorable!!" Or " I didn't know how nervous you'd feel trying to leave a hotel room by yourself in new places. I am so proud of you overs coming that to experience life! You are brave." It's given me a focus on myself that I haven't felt in awhile. Positive observations of myself as well as supportive concern replaces internal reprimanding. It's given me a lot of time to consider and reason why I make the choices I do, and what I need to do for the future. I no longer make myself promises I won't keep. It helps my will power and it helps me accept what is done. Of course I sometimes disappoint myself or surprise myself but it's helping me solve simple problems and see myself as someone who can take care of myself. It's a work in progress.. The more I learn about myself the better my ability to love.
Edit: (09/18/2017)
this whole post is a lie. I never did any of this. And I can't remember if I wrote this as a creative writing exercise in bullshit or if I wanted people to think I was a ray of fucking sunshine and positivity. What people? Who would care? Why did I? What I do know is that I did not ever write positive stupid-head-ass notes of support and adoration for myself. ever.
This reminds me of another random lie that has become family faction through the years.
My family has a few favorite stories they love to share about how much I hated my brother when he was brought home.
To illustrate let's play two truths and a lie.
1). I was given a doll and told it was "my baby" just like my new brother. After making the connection to the real garrett I started beating the shit out of the doll.
2). Baby bro was in his room and I tried to use a straw to suck the air out of the room.
3). My mom found me once "rocking" the new born so hard that he was rolling from one side of the crib to the other. *ba-dah ba-dah boom* *screaming baby* *ba-dah ba-dah boom*
Two of these stories are to the best of my knowledge true. I am not expected to remember any of them, which is good cause I don't remember having a childhood let alone hating my brother, ever. But one of these stories that gets told over and over is definitely a lie.
What I think has happened:
In middle school I had a friend whose little sister locked her in a closet and tried to suck the air out in an attempt to murder her. Cause she really did hate her. I remember my friends telling me the story, I thought it was great. It was one of those great stories that reminded me why I didn't want a sister. So sometime in 5th grade I must have mentioned this story in a way that gave me credit for this mastermind straw-plot. I dunno why. I guess I lie. I don't remember the lie but my parent's eventually started including it in there stories. I never corrected them. They have told it so many times they have started recalling it as if it had really happened and they remember it.
Crazy.
TLDR: Reality is an illusion. Memory is corruptible. I am a liar.
I am having a lot of fun falling in love with myself. I started writing myself love letters in my own personal shorthand. They are always filled with awe and encouragement. Both words of wisdom and pride. It got me in the habit of looking for things about myself that I could notice and share later. "Look how you shake your kips when you order "Sex on the Beach!" what a dork... it's so adorable!!" Or " I didn't know how nervous you'd feel trying to leave a hotel room by yourself in new places. I am so proud of you overs coming that to experience life! You are brave." It's given me a focus on myself that I haven't felt in awhile. Positive observations of myself as well as supportive concern replaces internal reprimanding. It's given me a lot of time to consider and reason why I make the choices I do, and what I need to do for the future. I no longer make myself promises I won't keep. It helps my will power and it helps me accept what is done. Of course I sometimes disappoint myself or surprise myself but it's helping me solve simple problems and see myself as someone who can take care of myself. It's a work in progress.. The more I learn about myself the better my ability to love.
Edit: (09/18/2017)
this whole post is a lie. I never did any of this. And I can't remember if I wrote this as a creative writing exercise in bullshit or if I wanted people to think I was a ray of fucking sunshine and positivity. What people? Who would care? Why did I? What I do know is that I did not ever write positive stupid-head-ass notes of support and adoration for myself. ever.
This reminds me of another random lie that has become family faction through the years.
My family has a few favorite stories they love to share about how much I hated my brother when he was brought home.
To illustrate let's play two truths and a lie.
1). I was given a doll and told it was "my baby" just like my new brother. After making the connection to the real garrett I started beating the shit out of the doll.
2). Baby bro was in his room and I tried to use a straw to suck the air out of the room.
3). My mom found me once "rocking" the new born so hard that he was rolling from one side of the crib to the other. *ba-dah ba-dah boom* *screaming baby* *ba-dah ba-dah boom*
Two of these stories are to the best of my knowledge true. I am not expected to remember any of them, which is good cause I don't remember having a childhood let alone hating my brother, ever. But one of these stories that gets told over and over is definitely a lie.
What I think has happened:
In middle school I had a friend whose little sister locked her in a closet and tried to suck the air out in an attempt to murder her. Cause she really did hate her. I remember my friends telling me the story, I thought it was great. It was one of those great stories that reminded me why I didn't want a sister. So sometime in 5th grade I must have mentioned this story in a way that gave me credit for this mastermind straw-plot. I dunno why. I guess I lie. I don't remember the lie but my parent's eventually started including it in there stories. I never corrected them. They have told it so many times they have started recalling it as if it had really happened and they remember it.
Crazy.
TLDR: Reality is an illusion. Memory is corruptible. I am a liar.
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