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Just. Keep. Writing.

It's that easy right? Just keep writing.

By Brendan Published 2 years ago 10 min read
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Or is it really that easy? I graduated from college with an English Degree in the summer of 2019. A feat, that I'd always dreamed of, but was never quite sure I'd gather the courage to accomplish. Everyone always preached about "realistic", and "successful" careers, yet I'd always had a love of books and enjoyed writing by lamplight in my leather journal. I found myself in college, the year 2012 and 2 years into my degree, because that's what you're supposed to do, go to college...right?

I didn't know what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go, but here was my choice, the final choice. Do I pursue a degree that I really didn't want? Do I follow my heart into a degree that was notoriously difficult to be successful in? I chose writing...right? Wrong. I dropped out and found myself fixing airplanes instead. I kept reading, I kept writing and I always found solace in the words.

2016 I found myself married...and happy? It wasn't a feeling that I had really expected. Up until now I had led a life that normally led to disappointment. My feelings of doubt about the life choices I had made slowly subsided as we settled into our routine and married life took hold. We were making a life together. I was more content than I had been in a very long time.

For once, I found real confidence in my stride, and contentment. I found myself back in College, pursuing the degree that I'd always wanted. I was working full time, and going to school full time. I attacked my degree with a vigor! I was reading and writing my assignments any chance I had. On the weekends I did schoolwork instead of going out with our friends. I was fully committed to achieving my dream.

As the assignments got longer and more difficult, work conveniently got MUCH more busy. I was having to stay later, work harder, and dedicate all of my free time to school. All throughout, my wife had been extremely supportive of my dream. We set aside time to go out on dates and lay on the couch to binge our favorite shows(assignments permitting). The balancing act I'd been playing was finally starting to take its toll though.

I finally ran into what I had feared would happen; writer's block. It was on an assignment that I was truly excited about, yet I couldn't muster the creative wizardry I'd been hoping for. I'd sit at my desk, fingers on the keyboard and wait for the magic to happen. The magic never came. I reached out to one of my Professor's for advice. She gave me the best, yet simplest piece of advice that I had ever received.

Just. Keep. Writing.

Because it's just that easy right? It wasn't the sagely advice I'd been expecting, but it was something. Turns out, it's not easy, but it works...sometimes. I sat at my desk and I just, wrote. It wasn't anything great, and honestly, I was criticizing myself the entire time but it was something. After what felt like eons of writing(it wasn't), I got an idea.

My fingers immediately started their work, and what do you know? They had magically typed out close to 3 chapters worth of story. It needed some editing, but it was actually pretty good. I continued to follow this advice up until I finally graduated, and with Suma Cum Laude Honors! For being the quiet kid with "potential" that was barely able to graduate High School, I was pretty damn proud of myself.

My supportive wife took me out for a celebratory weekend and I showed her all the appreciation I could muster for being so supportive. Life was good. I kept writing, but I set aside extra time for her since she had been extraordinarily supportive . Along with graduating I'd also received several awards, a position promotion, and a real promotion at work. I'd been VERY busy.

Work calmed down, the wife was happy and life was good. Too good.

You know that deep pit you get in your stomach when something is off? It just doesn't feel right, because everything is too right? It was an unwelcomed guest that had decided to inhabit my body. I tried to expel it. I avoided looking for things, because that's when you find things. Life was good right now, for the first time in EVER, and I didn't want it to end.

It was the end of 2019 when my wife approached me. She had been waiting until I finished my degree(thoughtful, I know) to tell me she was no longer happy. Some "things" had happened that had led her to some life changing realizations. She wasn't happy, and hadn't been able to live life fully. There it was. The thing. The thing I'd been dreading. I suggested counseling, but she didn't want to. Instead she agreed to work on things that she wasn't happy with. I tried my best, dedicated my free time to her, and cut back as much as I could at work.

I was stressed, and needed to write, but there it was. That, fucking writer's block, again. I sat there, pen and paper. I tried scribbling words. I couldn't. I might as well have been a statue. I tried to move, I tried to write.

Just. Keep. Writing.

I needed that release SO bad, but I just couldn't.

2020 and the pandemic hit. That was the death knell for my marriage. Quarantine, masks, bars and restaurants closed. She grew restless, and we started fighting about stupid shit that she never wanted to talk about. I felt alone, on an island with someone else on it. Except, that person wanted to be on a different island. It was almost unbearable to watch, as she slowly faded away and I finally woke up alone.

The weird thing about a divorce, is that, I don't think anyone could ever truly prepare you for it. Especially that first day. Rolling over to that warm spot where your person was, except instead of being warm, it's cold and empty. I will never forget that feeling. I laid there, and stared at that spot for what seemed like an eternity.

I took as much vacation time as work would allow, and spent my days thinking about everything I possibly I could've done to prevent this. I faked a smile once I had to go back to work, but I was dead inside. Dead as any living person could be. I picked up beer on my way home one day and, Ohhhhh the beer. I spent most of my free time just trying to forget how miserable I was, but there's nothing like a massive hangover to remind you that you're still you.

She had been staying at a hotel for a while, then stayed with some friends until she could find her own place. It had been a few months, and I thought I was on the road to recovery. I was working out, drinking less, and had settled into a routine that kept me distracted enough to not CONSTANTLY be thinking about it, but then, then it happened.

We had 2 dogs that we raised together since they were puppies. They were absolutely the best of friends. I'd bought one, and she'd bought the other. I trained them both, fed them both, took them for walks and played fetch with them in the yard, while she watched, of course. He was my dog.

She had finally gotten her own place and was going to pick up some of her stuff from the house, which was fine, until it wasn't. I opened the door, and was only greeted by one dog. I looked over to where both beds were supposed to be, but there was only one. I looked down at my dog's wagging tail, absently pet his head, and just stared at where the bed was supposed to be. He looked at me, looked at the spot, looked back at me, and did laps around the house, sniffing, and searching for his best friend.

I don't know exactly how to describe that feeling. I couldn't move, I couldn't blink, and the only reason I could breathe was because my body made me. I was so consumed in utter, and abject loss, that I didn't even notice that she had taken all the furniture, until a few hours later when I could finally move. She even took the bed. I had to sleep on a camping blow up mattress that night. As I laid on the slowly deflating blow up mattress, I felt myself falling back into the darkness that I had just clawed my way out of.

Fortunately, she left my computer AND the computer chair. I know, thoughtful, right? Now, I absolutely HAD to write. I needed to get all of this emotion onto paper, or else it was going to violently explode out of me. The only problem was that...my foot warmer was missing. When I would write for school, both of the dogs were always there. One on my feet, and one at my side. They'd nuzzle me for some pets every once in a while, and I'd scratch their heads before continuing the assignment.

Just. Keep. Writing.

I couldn't. Again. All I could think about was how she had taken everything from me. My house looked like it had been robbed, my beloved dog was gone, the one person that I had trusted with my life was methodically dismantling it, AND I couldn't even. Fucking. Write. About. It.

Something inside me snapped. I yelled at nothing, screamed at nothing, cried at everything, and cursed at nothing. It was just me, a blank word document, my only dog, and a whole lot of empty house.

I was crumbling, from the inside out. I knew it too. I watched myself, like it was an out of body experience, as I made reckless decisions, drank way too much beer, and attempted to be the Atlas that held my mind together. None of it worked. I attempted dating, which didn't help either.

Finally I just decided that I needed time to heal. It had been a little over a year since she left, surely I'd be close to fine...surely? I became a recluse(still am), and stayed in to game with my friends rather than exposing myself to the outside world. I had dared to hope that for once in my life happiness was a real possibility but that had been an illusion. Why give the world another chance to lay me even lower?

I know, I know, that's not the right way to approach healing, but you know what? It's not the same for everybody. My medicine has been time with myself, and my thoughts. I managed to stop drinking for 75 days straight, I'm back at the gym, I'm no longer completely depressed(just sometimes), and I'm finally coming to terms with myself and where I'm at in life at almost 32 years old.

It's now been a year and seven months since I woke up alone. I've walked some hard roads in my life, I've been constantly left behind by people, and an afterthought for most. There's been a lot of good in it too, though. I've seen a lot of places, met a lot of wonderful people, and seen some wonderful things. I've cried, I've laughed, I've hurt, and I've loved. Unfortunately, all of it is a part of this thing that we call life.

It's been a while since I've been able to really, truly smile, but I'm almost there. It's a new chapter, and it's only taken me almost 2 years to get there, but I'm finally, almost there. I can feel the need for a change. I can feel a "sense" of hope growing within me. I know I have a place to be. Where? Who knows. When? Hopefully soon, but what matters; I'm finally writing this story. The last time I was able to write was in September of 2019, but I'm here, writing, and that's what matters.

Just. Keep. Writing.

That phrase has kept me going. I knew that when I could finally put words down, there was going to be a change. What kind of change? Something better hopefully, but I do know that almost anywhere is better than where I just was. Life can suck, I know that intimately, but I think it's important to remember that no matter how shitty things get, above all else, YOU always matter.

If you made it this far, thank you for reading my story. I hope that you were able to glean something from it. It helped me, and maybe it can help you.

Just. Keep. Writing.

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About the Creator

Brendan

Is a lost soul who has finally been able to pick up the Pen again.

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