I make up excuses without even knowing I'm doing any such thing. My laptop is a piece of shit. I have to work in the morning. I'm too stressed. God, the technology has changed so much, wait, what the fuck, is that html?. Is that even a thing now?? My memory of everything is fuzzy in places and I can't do the ordeal any justice. I think I have to poop. God, that can't be normal, I should google whether or not that's normal. I've been doing this for months and the thought of what I should be doing, that I need to be writing and not just thinking about writing, is like a chipped tooth in the back of my mouth. I keep running my tongue over it, obsessively, wearing it down and I can't leave the fucking thing alone because it needs to be dealt with. I will never find any kind of peace until I do this. Everything is just a distraction and after my attention wanders back to where I know I'm supposed to focus it, I realize that a month has gone by. I resolve to commit to this and then I find something else that doesn't cause me anxiety and shame and rinse and repeat, three months have gone by.
My thoughts have been so dark and scary the past few weeks and I wake up every day asking myself the same, dipshit question: Why am I so incredibly depressed and unhappy? I know why. Everyone who cares about me knows why and we volley back and forth with me spewing all sorts of bullshit about how I think my estrogen is failing or maybe I need to try this herb, and, oh, shit! I need magnesium, fucking EVERYONE is low on magnesium according to WebMD and how we haven't all leapt to our deaths from an overpass or office window is mind boggling so that has to be it. That, and vitamin D. And the ones who care wearily listen to my latest theory on why everything tastes so gray and then they remind me: You're unhappy because you're not writing. I solemnly agree and go back to reading about the benefits of rubbing yak phlegm on your ear lobes.
The truth is, I'm terrified of this. I'm so afraid to show anyone the ugliness that resides in me. It's dormant, now, because I don't feed it veritable fuck tons of opiates any longer, but when it was in control, it was horrifying. Years ago, when I started this blog, I never once considered the consequences of what I was sharing. I didn't think about name searches for employment or potential lawsuits (still think you're a douche schooner, Brad Paisley!) or rabid haters affecting my life, my REAL life and my income. I didn't consider that this is basically a diary that anyone can read and for all eternity and no one is every really anonymous any longer. I've hurt so many people who didn't deserve to be hurt and I just don't want to carry that shit any longer. And then when Devon and V gave their blessing, I still hesitated. I was blown away when Chris encouraged this, as well, because if anyone has a right to despise me for eternity it's him. All lights are green and I guess the person I'm afraid of hurting now is me. I've done everything a person can do to demolish themselves, both spiritually and physically, and my God, I'm trying something new, trying to be kind to myself and do I really want to rip all of these band aids off and open myself up to the viciousness of anonymity, again? Can I withstand feeling like I've failed, again?
I don't want to. I want to find out that I have a huge trust fund and I can buy a monkey and an obscure island and frolic naked for the rest of my days. Ya know, with the monkey. I want to feel proud of who I am and look back and not wince at the absolute waste of potential. Unfortunately, I can't do the latter without walking straight through this. I've tried going around it, tried killing it, covering it up, Bedazzling the motherfucker to make it prettier, handing it off to someone else and and I'm absolutely certain of one thing and one thing only: the easy way and I are strangers and always will be and this is no different. If I died tomorrow, my greatest regret will be that I never finished this because I want my family to know why and how. I want them to know without a doubt that it was never a choice between them and my demons, that there was nothing they could have done differently and the failures were mine and mine alone.
I'll write and I'm holding myself accountable to do so at least once a week. I have no idea what might come out, if any of it will follow a pattern or if I'll be disjointed and rambling but I think that if I just stop procrastinating and write something, anything, it will take shape. I can hope for that and considering how little hope I've had lately, it's a start.
No matter how scary or difficult this may seem, YOU *are* worth it. Never forget that.
Oh, and it's Stevie, from CaughtintheXfire... :)
Glad to see you are trying to come back. I remember when I first read your blog and you were so "laugh out loud" funny. I hung in there during the dark times and learned that there are levels to depression and I wasn't even in fricking Pre-K with mine. I learned from you how heavy it can be, how dark it is, and how I felt so lucky while weeping that you were so unlucky.
I have tried to keep up with you along the way, but sometimes I just smooth lost you. I am working at filling in the blanks when that happened but I feel I am still missing alot.
Talk it out, write it down and share with your followers like you did before. We are there and we want to be there for you. Please post your thoughts like you used to do and be sure to link of FB for us.
So very glad you are back and ripping off the bandaids! We have missed you tremendously. I have tried keeping up with you, been following you for years. I have seem glimmers of the real you coming through. Keep pulling at those bandaids, and more of you will trickle out and through your keyboard, love you! Sandy
Live every day. Write what comes from it. Keep living. You are a beautiful soul and whatever you do and create from living the best you can in every moment will ultimately be beautiful and good.
You write like you're having a conversation with your readers. A lot of people think they do that, but you REALLY do that. I find myself wanting to talk to you, to answer your questions and share your thoughts and see what you think of mine. Everyone has regrets. Everyone. Everyone has something they don't want their closest and dearest to know. But hon, they were there with you. They know. They understand that YOU need this and they are telling you that's it's okay. Their bandaids are already off. Some might (and have :) ) say that it would just be airing dirty laundry, well, how the fuck else do you get the stink out? Cause wadding it up and stuffing it in the corner and pretending to ignore sure as hell doesn't . Selfishly? I want you to write because I want to read your blog and enjoy/cry/wail/commiserate/connect with you like I used to. Anonymously :) Don't feel you have to tell the whole story as a story. Just write. Talk about what you want to talk about with us. You don't owe us a damn thing and our curiosity is just that, ours. So as a long time reader and fan, please? Write.
Keep on truckin' Sugarbear. You are awesome.
I'm a long time fan but I've very rarely posted. I agree with the post above - your under no obligation to tell all the dirty deeds. Start with the here & now and see where it goes. You're putting too much pressure on yourself to tell it all at once - just start with today. Put fingers to keyboard and just write... about today and tomorrow - let the pains of yesterday come out as they will but you don't have to start there. I know you feel you need to tell it all to heal but there's no timeline here - start with baby steps to get back in the habit. Then tackle the big stuff. You got this.
Crystal, you are amazing. Laying yourself bare like this is incredibly, amazingly brave. Well done. I hope your writing helps you find some peace and happiness again.
I am sending you the best wishes and hopes for an anonymous trust fund xxxx
...don't waste it on a monkey though 😘
Crystal, we have known each other for more than a decade, although we have not met in person. I told you before that you're writing is a work of art. I share your frustration that it has not received the recognition I believe it deserves. I consider it a gift to me that you choose to write at all, and I have seen others express the same gratitude. In your own way, you speak to many of us, our doubts, misgivings, missed opportunities, lack of self-esteem, and that nagging fear that each of us will awaken one day to learn that the world has discovered us as the frauds we each know ourselves to be. You have given me the gift of your voice. I cannot read any of your essays without seeing or feeling things differently. If you never write another word, I will be forever grateful for your willingness to share your life with the multitude of us who face many of the challenges that you have faced. I wish there was a way I could express my gratitude to you other than by simply saying, "Thank you."
I need to work on that last part.
I’ve never met you, but I think of you often,
I hope you are doing ok.
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