Writer’s block: having explained the same feeling in so many forms that there is no new thing to say about it. Some days I don’t want to be vulnerable. I don’t want to tell anyone my stories, thoughts, and precious moments, because it’s exhasuting. Sometimes I want the story to be told to me. I want to sit silently as I resonate with word after word. So that’s what I did, with myself.
The following is a chronicle of selected journal entry’s over 2018. Every month I selected my most significant entry in hopes to hear the story I’ve been telling myself all along.
1/10/18
Dear Diary,
Venting in a diary is absolute over any other form. Here I surrender to black ink, with hopes that the motion of pen to paper will sort some things out. The downfall: everything you, think, share, and feel is recorded. In a simple way it’s picturesque, a look inside the private world of Elizabeth. But, if anyone ever does read this, by my permission or from sane curiosity, I hope they’d know me better. I hope they’d take my words with grace and empathy knowing that everything makes more sense from a distance. But this is ‘I’ in the present moment. This is ‘I’ not knowing what tomorrow holds. So please read with refinement, and revere at the courage it takes to be vulnerable here in this place as pure solitude pushes you from one state of mind toward another.
2/11/18
Dear Diary,
I’m starting to struggle with how to write in this journal. Do I want to it to be an account of my life or an account of my thoughts? Or are they one in the same? Writing about the actions of the day lacks satisfaction. But I realize there is value in putting my thoughts into context.
But this leads to a more pressing question: WHO AM I WRITING FOR?
The answer is simple; I am writing for myself.
But which self? The self whose pencil is on this paper and sitting on the creaky front porch of the cottage; or, the self that is moved on from this spot? Am I talking to the girl that is looking back wondering where I went wrong or right? We lose so much of the day-to-day when we reflect on our life. We tend to remember our prime and blemishing moments, but there is plenty of ordinary that exists between the two. Preserving the in between moments right here in this space could mean the difference between one path and another.
3/12/18
Dear Diary,
“Love is really nothing but a dream that keeps waking me.”
I wake up everyday and love is what motivates me. I want to become someone worthy of his love. I want to be worthy of the love I give. My heart has been broken by friends and loves alike. The reason for their leaving is almost always the same. It was them or I, and I chose me. It wasn’t personal against them, it was simply personal. Is this fair? The answer seems simple, no, it reeks of selfishness. But if it’s so simple why does it feel so complex? How can I trust logic when it has virtually zero control over the impulsive nature of emotion?
4/18/18
Heading toward the truth’s I know:
- Love is apart of me, it always has been; this is a strength.
- We all have so much in common, but you will never be fully understood by anyone until you understand yourself.
- There’s never a perfect time, and the perfect time is never when you expect.
- A lesson is only learned when applied.
- Anything deep-fried you’ll probably like.
- All ages hold power, but being young is an art.
- You are only as good as you are to others.
- Surrender to your path, then never again surrender.
- There are people that feed your soul and others that will drain it for all its worth. Be wise.
- LIVE AND LET LIVE.
5/26/18
Dear Diary,
“We passed ‘the end’ so we chase forever.” Something inside me is shifting I feel as though my projection has been changed. I just don’t know in what way. The season is breaking. I went on a walk this morning; I left a piece of me in the leaves. This feeling is all I know; the chaos I create, creating me, the only constant is my questioning. This afternoon I dropped the vase he gave me off the fire escape. I scurried down and tossed the pieces to the dumpster, didn’t think twice. But the whole climb up the stairs, behind the numbness, I felt the sting.
6/14/18
Dear Diary,
I must be kind to myself. If I’m afraid to talk to me, to whom can I turn? I keep my life busy and chaotic with romance because I’m afraid. I’m afraid to face myself. I feel a power within me to speak and write. But I have an even greater desire to soothe. I have found over the years soothing words have a transcending affect. When you touch a parcel of pain that is not your own and somehow find a way to purge it clean, it gives someone a slight yet telling taste of true love. But I tend to hurl this energy into relationships. My feelings precede me, my desire to be adored. I’m sure it exists within us all. I just think others have better learned to hide it.
7/7/18
Dear Diary,
I’m in this eclectic rustic charming library. The books have aged with cedar logs and there are spring doors that sway both ways. The smell is the second best I’ve ever smelled (my cottage is the first). Today is a new day, but a familiar feeling follows. It’s difficult to face truth; to look it in the face and in the mirror. If you are only just discovering a truth it can feel as though you were previously living a lie. The fact of the matter is I think we are always lying to ourselves. There is a constant inner dialogue that anaylzes your life from a completely subjective viewpoint. When I discover a fault in one of theses humans I love, I will visit the ends of the Earth in my journey of justification. Am I also justifying my own erratic behavior? Sometimes my heart aches and the pages call. I don’t know what I’ll get in the echo.
8/15/18
Dear Diary,
You cannot force understanding; not for yourself or anyone else. I am so thankful for each day alone because it means the universe requires no other teacher but her and I. What if I really wrote about the things that scare me? Like being in love with someone you don’t see or hear. Craving a key to a mind not yet known, just frequently tasted. I am no longer settling for anything less than a connection you can feel down to your bones, as it takes root through your toes to keep you from floating away. The kind of love that only takes one kiss to ignite you and eternity to hush out the flame. It’s the desire and craving that only comes when you know feelings like this are rare. Sometimes I think we are bound to mess them up out of sheer nervousness. I want someone unafraid to approach my heart and command the timidity to melt. Where can I find room to grow in this narrative?
9/4/18
Dear Diary,
I am determined to tell this story, not because it’s another dreamy love story, but because I realize it’s all been one story. My love story with myself. The utter acceptance that grows stronger after each rejection or threat to run. I find great strength in spitting swords from my lips. Invisibly sharp, honest, and real. There is no how to guide in figuring out your destiny. Elizabeth, there is no Prince Charming! Chances are my life will never feel completely stable. But it can feel whole. My life can still be something I’m proud of regardless of the characters that find their way in my plot. There is no man here to save me now, and even if he’s coming, no dignified woman would seek security in someone while chasing true love. She will be relentlessly opening doors to her passions, and purpose. She will choose everyday to be whole. She will not be taken from herself.
to be continued…