I don’t know

It’s me again…just sitting here existing.  Honestly, I’ve been feeling down the past couple of days. This is a common occurrence for me so it probably gets annoying for people I talk to. Also, I say down because I haven’t officially been diagnosed with depression and I’m wary that I’m just adding to the overuse of the word. I’m also not saying sad because it’s more than that…it’s literally just down. That’s the best explanation without saying depressed.

I am also a bit stressed due to my graduate school work, but it’s my fault for waiting so long to finish it. Every thought that I have is my fault because I put it on myself – and then it makes me feel more down because I wasn’t mentally healthy. A cycle of emotional thoughts that makes it almost impossible to get out of. Anxiety is a bitch that you sometimes need to dig yourself out of for years, and each time there is a chance for concrete. It’s when you only get concrete and you don’t have a sledgehammer to drill that it becomes unbearable.

Rigth now, I feel like I continuously dig around that piece of rock, and get out of it, just to find another rock. I need a drill -but how does one get one? There are some people that are able to just….walk through life and leave their emotions for the night before they sleep. Their dreams are the things that emotionally regulate them.

Or maybe…there isn’t really anyone like that. Maybe everyone is just ready for a nap.

Writer’s conflict

Today I had an urge to write my story, but honestly I have no idea what I have already. I have written many things down and I need to re-type everything into one place in order to know exactly what needs to be done. It’s difficult to do that because there are so many stories sitting next to me.

Sometimes I think I should just start over, but then I realize how much effort I put into my writing, and that it is actually the skeleton. I have a skeleton of a novel that I’m trying to create organs and muscles. It’s hard to do that when the femur isn’t connected to the hip.

Maybe I don’t have the passion for this? Is that why I’m unable to finish my story? Is that what happens with motivation and laziness. Even though I have gone back to this constantly and over time and I seem to have a passion for it, maybe I actually don’t….maybe my brain is subconsciously telling me that every time my wrist hurts from typing, or I can’t find the next word in a sentence.

Maybe…this isn’t about motivation, but about finding the right passion.

That would be really sad though, because I’ve been wanting this since I was a child. I’ve been wanting to write for since I was eight years old. I was told by people that I needed to change my path because I’m not a good enough technical writer. My grammar needs work and my transitions need to be more fluid. Maybe all the non-constructive critique gets into my psyche at times and makes me stop writing. That is what’s happening now…

I just have to sit up – get my fingers on a writing instrument and ignore the thoughts that go through my mind. Ignore those insecurities that will always stay with me, and that probably stay with everyone. Listen to my favorite authors and just write – write – write.

That’s easy to say, but will I be able to do it?

Dreams

The first thing that I think when I hear the word “Dreams” is when I sleep. The dreams that explain my week, and can give me insight on my life. But these aren’t the dreams I should be focusing on…I should be focusing on other definition of dreams. Where I want to go in my life, and what I want to be. Those are the dreams I need to follow, but these dreams require more than just myself.

There are two major things I’ve always wanted to be in my life: An Author and A Mother. The mother part is easier but I wanted to be a young mother. Someone who had her first child at 19 or 20…but that didn’t happen. Now I’m in a part of my life where I feel I’m getting to old to be a mother, or that if it hasn’t happened now…then it won’t happen. Also, there is a thing about needing to find that man, or $30,000, to get pregnant.

The second one is easier to do by myself. A few years ago I went to a therapist because I need to learn to become motivated. One of the things she asked me was “How do we know when we’re done?” I responded with when I was able to write a novel. I was unable to afford the sessions after a while, because my insurance was gone, but I did learn a lot from it. I think one of the things I learned is how much I wanted to write for a living.

I remember as a child writing silly stories about a flower, and having an idea about a woman falling in love with her servant – but history made it difficult to be together. I had ideas in my head for years, and stories about all of these different people and places. At the same time I was having these stories I was getting told how difficult it would be to become a writer. How people will reject you over and over again, and it’s better to find a backup plan.  I was also told that I shouldn’t major in English by my guidance counselor while my Spanish teacher told me I should become a writer. That was confusing for a high schooler…and made me re-consider my dream.

Finding that backup plan became the rest of my life. I wanted to be a teacher, midwife, youtuber, veterinarian…etc. etc. I would still write on the sidelines, but it never became full time. My motivation was to find a foundation for the mother I wanted to be. To find a job that I semi-liked in order to find a man that would get me my first dream. Every couple of times a year I would start to realize how sad I was, and how I wasn’t focusing on what I really wanted to do…and write. Then I would go back to my backup plan, because it was so hard to see the future.

It’s scary to follow those dreams that are not always stable. Those dreams that need other people to make it happen. A writer needs an audience to get anywhere and the only way to do that is through patience, motivation, determination, and doing it all even though there will be rejection and negativity. I’m getting there…again.

Organization and the brain?

Right before I started writing this I organized my music files. I moved, listened, and deleted the music so it was exactly how I wanted it in my phone. That way I can listen to the music I love every now and then.

So…Rarely.

It’s one of the things I really enjoy doing , but I honestly never do it. But when I do organize books, movies, music, folders, paper I have such a blast that I’ll do it until it is exactly right. I could do it for hours if I wanted to…but I rarely think of it. I think doing that on a regular basis would keep me motivated.

But why don’t I think of it?

It could be laziness, which is valid, but doesn’t laziness have to do with not doing something you were planning on doing it? Isn’t it one of those “Oh, I don’t feel like it today”.  It’s not like I stopped myself from doing it, I just didn’t think about it at the time…or maybe that’s our brain. Maybe laziness changes the way the brain works and stops you from thinking about how those post-its don’t line up, or the painting on the wall isn’t completely straight…or how your clothes aren’t stacked up in colors.

I decided to look up the difference between OCD and laziness. I chose to compare the two because in my mind OCD can be a compulsive need to organize and keep things aligned, while laziness doesn’t. Also, OCD is a disorder that has been researched and you can actually find scientific information.

My little research in the past five or ten minute led me to believe that serotonin plays a role in organization vs. laziness. So, I suppose the reason I am feeling joy when I am organizing things is because my serotonin levels are in balance at the time. But the reason I forget to do it, or don’t think about it, is because my serotonin levels are normally out of whack and in abundance.

Maybe I’m on to something?

Who knows…

Misunderstanding friendships? I don’t even know….

Last night I lost, who a thought, was a good friend. We would have intense discussions that could lead into arguments. We would group up and game together on a regular basis, and I thought we had fun doing it. We had the same kind of humor, dry and sarcastic, which resulted in some pretty fun conversations.

Apparently….he always hated me and he had “suffered for too long” (his words) being around me, and he was done with it.

I’m trying so very hard to understand what I did wrong and when I did it. The only time I can think of I apologized and tried to fix it. I explained to him exactly what happened and that I didn’t mean to isolate him or anything, but apparently it didn’t matter. He was already done with me.

I’m not a terrible person. I have my negative moments and I can be a bitch at times, but I would never ridicule or hurt someone on purpose. If someone asked me to stop doing a certain thing, I will stop. If someone tells me that I’m being mean, I will stop. If someone tells me that I’m hurting them, I will stop. I will look at what I did wrong and fix it so that it won’t happen again.

It’s weird how friendships can be good until they’re not. In my perspective, he would sometimes look down on me for my ‘ignorance of topics’ and suggest I’m stupid. However, in his perspective I was the one that was looking down on him. I was the one that was blocking his sunlight and making it horrible to be around.

Perspectives are different, and the only way to really understand the other’s perspective is to learn about it. I can sit here and contemplate why he feels a certain way, but I will never know unless he tells me. I will never know unless someone else shows me what I did wrong.  You can’t know something you don’t know.

I’m not going to stress about it anymore. I’m not going to let it eat at me or make me cry again…I’m not going to try to figure it out, because honestly there is nothing I can do to fix it.

Sometimes people are just not meant to be in each other’s life…