Words. Stuff. Things.
Thoughts. Feelings. More words.
I haven’t been able to write.
It’s what I do. It’s how I keep
myself from being committed. It’s how I
moderate the anger and the crazy. It’s
how I make sense of the senseless.
I. WRITE. I haven’t been able to write in a very long
time. For two weeks. More than two weeks, actually. Since I wrote my 101st blog
post. You know, the one about how I
write to keep my sanity? So, guess
what. I can’t write. Therefore, I have no outlet. Thus making me talk like a crazy person. Further, making me angry and hateful and
resentful. I can’t write. And people have noticed. They keep saying things like “why can’t you
write?” Or “Where’s Inner Peas
been?” Or “I know you aren’t out of
material.” Huh. Then WHY CAN’T I WRITE?!?!?!! WHY??????????
So, I guess, by now, you have figured out that I’m suffering
from some sort of subconscious roadblock
that is keeping me from a bearing my soul in a profanity laced tirade. It’s gotta be a confidence issue. It’s been effecting my everything. On Monday, I had lunch with my bestie. It sucked.
It provided me with no insight or outlook or reprieve. And our lunchtime is all about insight and
outlook and reprieve. All I walked away
with is a feeling of self-loathing. Because I had nothing nice to say about
anything. Then, I made an “amazing
person” post on Facebook that night. I
posted it. I deleted it. I posted it again. I hid it from the world. It’s an amazing person. Amazing people don’t get deleted from my
timeline. Then I got hissed at. Then I got yelled at. Twice this week. I’m a grown up. Without a counterpart. I don’t get yelled at anymore. Especially for trying to help. Then, yesterday morning, my six year old told
me he’s too sick to go to school. My kid
is never too sick to go to school. He
fights with me when he is actually sick about going to school. So, what’s going on there? Why does he suddenly not want to go to
school? OMG!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!!!???!!!! Why is my confidence evaporating, like water
in a kettle? Why is my child losing his
confidence in his awesomeness like my self esteem rubbed off on him? Why is nobody at peas with who they are. What the fuck is going on in my house???
Well, this is what I came up with. These are the answers to the burning
questions in my soul…I’m stifled. I’m
stagnated. I’m stunted. I’m suffocated. I know what you are thinking, “Oh…Poor
Angela. We all feel so sorry for
you.” But that’s not the point I’m
trying to make. I’m not looking for
sympathy. I’m not even looking for
empathy. Hell, apathy would be better
than nothing. And apathy IS
nothing. Anyway, the stifled, stagnated,
stunted, suffocated feeling is something I did to myself. It happened when I conceded to putting my
head down and just towing the line. The
same shit that I hate in other people. That’s
what I did to myself. Just to pay the
bills. Just to grow a healthy
child. Just to stop the bleeding wounds
that came second to beating my head against a wall. A wall that was never going to move.
Two weeks, or so, ago.
I wrote my 101st blog post.
About writing and how it frees me and how it saved me. And right now, I have nothing. Nothing positive or insightful to say. Nothing that I can scream about publicly,
without losing my job anyway. But this
is the point. I always say what I feel.
I always call out assholes. I always
reveal my deepest, darkest secrets here.
And I couldn’t for the last two weeks.
Yes. I understand that two weeks
of silence may be a solace to others.
But to me, two weeks of silence is a fucking prison. A mental prison. Only I didn’t kill, maim or rape anyone. So, for the last two weeks, I’ve been locked
up in my own mental SUPERMAX. San
Quentin. Angola. North Branch.
You aint got nothing on me. I can
punish myself for being a productive member of society, more than any hardened criminal
could every do, while sitting amongst cinder block walls, making amends with
their creator, while reading the bible.
Well, then I remembered, I didn’t kill anyone. I didn’t disfigure anyone. I didn’t sexually assault anyone. I don’t have human body parts in my freezer. I don’t have innocent hostages tied up in my
basement because I have been deprived of attention my whole life. I realized the only reason that I have to be
hateful to myself is myself. So, I went
outside and I looked to the sky. I
raised my arms above my head and said “it’s OK.” As the tears rolled down my face, I
laughed. I couldn’t do anything
else. I can’t write. I can’t smile. I can’t talk shit. So, what then? You laugh.
A lot. At all of that shit. Then you pick yourself up, you rub your cheeks when they hurt from smiling
too much.
Tomorrow night, we will discuss cubic zirconium. I'm back, bitches. Stay tuned...
-Inner Peas
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