Slow Bleed

I've been in my head for an eternity. I see the world going on around me. I hear things around me. I can't seem to join the world. Writing is new to me. I've always thought I should write down what has happened to me in my life. "My life is a graphic novel." I truly know what it means now. There is a lot of pain, a dash of abuse, a sprinkle of lies, and even a little love. It is the perfect list of ingredients for a good story. It has everything a suitable book needs to stimulate that sick need inside all of us. I know my story isn't unique. I'm sure many people have gone through the same things I went through and am still going through.

Sometimes it feels like I'm the only one. I sit alone with my pain and anger. I'm shocked at the thoughts I have. I have to keep telling myself; those thoughts are just the anger coming out. It's just the resentment trying to escape after being locked up inside me for ages. Of course, outwardly, I smile. I smile because it's easier than saying, "I'm angry because I was born with poor health and was abused by my mother, and sexually abused by more than a few men in my family," when someone asks how I’m doing. So, I slap on a smile to avoid an uncomfortable conversation. It's easier.

"I'm fine." That is the canned answer I give daily. The truth is, I'm not okay. I sit, locked up with these bad memories and pain from my past life and present life. Am I whining? Who am I to complain? "Stop whining! Suck it up! You aren't the only one." The truth is, I have to write this out. It's poisoning me. It has been, my whole life, killing me slowly. I see this process as the equivalent of sucking the poison out of a wound. I have many.

I feel this could become a series of stories. There would have to be more than one because there is too much to say. Will people get bored? Who knows? I feel I'm writing for myself anyway. If it helps someone else not feel alone, then that is even better. At least some good would come of the events of my life. My stories are not going to be for the faint of heart. I suppose I should put a disclaimer up when I get into the meat of it. "This may trigger you." Not all my stories are horrible. There are some good memories. I have no reason not to share those.

That is one thing I’m learning in my later life, balance. Of course, I should know everything about balance, right? I am a Libra. The truth is, so many lights started coming on when I reached middle age. It feels as if I see the world through different eyes. Things are finally making sense. It feels like a cosmic joke. When you are in the middle of your life, you see things more clearly. You don’t have the answers when you are young and doing stupid things. Who am I kidding? I’m still doing stupid things. But in my defense, not as often. I don’t have all the answers, but things are more apparent.

I'm sure it shows very vividly to the actual writers reading this. I've not written anything of significance. I admire those who can sit down and let the words flow. My favorite quote about writing is from Red Smith. He said, "Writing is easy; you just open a vein and bleed." That's how it feels. For me, it's a slow bleed. I'm hoping the more I write; it will flow.