I’m in love with writing, but sometimes I don’t know what to say. Before I make a post on here, I always say to myself, write your truth. This holds so much meaning to me because, growing up Mute, I never really told the truth. I pretended everything was fine when it wasn’t, and I swore I would never state my feelings. Though that’s a story for another day.
I’m in love with writing, and even though I don’t know what to write, I will write on.
That’s all we can do, isn’t it?
I am not perfect. None of us are, and yet we pretend to be perfect. On our Tinder profiles, our Facebooks and Instagrams. The highlight reels of others’ lives have haunted me for years.
When I was a child, I swore I would never tell the truth of how I felt. I swore to myself that I would tell no one of how fat my thighs felt and how miserable I felt and how I used to scream in my head for help from the darkness of my sorrow for some mind-reading stranger to hear and come help. But I broke that oath with myself, and let me tell you: it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.
Now I can be me. I’m still learning, still smoothing rough edges. But I am still me. The me that stands in front of a Michael Jackson music video, sobbing because I miss him. The me that is in love with kittens, can’t understand cruelty, and doesn’t know how to change a tire (or drive).
This is who I am, whether I want to be or not.
I used to hide who I was, who I am. But now I don’t. I have recently realized that the greatest disservice I can do myself is to pretend to be someone else.
The same goes for all of us. Why do we pretend to be perfect when perfection itself is ugly, and flaws – a tooth gap, a nasally voice, or any other perceived flaws – are what is truly beautiful.
Be beautiful. Be you.
I’ve always had a lot to say, and a worry that no one would be around to hear it. Having a chronic illness can be scary, especially since I’m going to turn 24 in a few months and my maximum life expectancy was eight days. Needless to say, I’ve always been worried about not being able to say all of the things that I want to say before I die. However, God has blessed me with this life, and I’m not going to waste it worrying.
So, who am I? I’ve always asked myself that, and I keep coming to one resounding answer: I am everything and I am nothing. Because a human personality, a human identity cannot be summed up with one turn, one phrase, one flick of the tongue. Because I am so much more than words on a page, and you are too. I would encourage anyone reading this to challenge what you’ve thought about yourself. Are you a test result, a grade average, a report card? Or are you so much more?
I have discovered in my short 24 years of living in this earth that while I am a writer and it is my job to describe what cannot be described, one can never truly describe the human soul. We cannot be summed up by mere words or expressions because we are so much more. We are made of stardust – the very essence of what made the sun itself. We are made of the same material, the same energy, and the same magic. If that isn’t wonderful, then I don’t know what is.
I like to challenge society, and so I will end on this note: dear reader, I am going to give you a challenge. Write down who you are. Every trait that you can think of, good or bad. The things you love about yourself, the things you hate about yourself. Anything that could describe you. Next? I want to crumple that paper up and throw it away. Shred it, burn it. Erase it from existence.
Because you are so much more than words on a paper.
I have always thought that sadness and sorrow is a type of beauty. I’ve always found beauty in tears. Why? Because it’s human. It is us being who we are. When we allow tears to slip out, we allow our true selves to show.
For the longest time, I didn’t know why I found beauty in the things I did, but I knew that these things were just naturally beautiful to me. Strange things like crying, tears and pain. The beauty I see is not the beauty that society has taught us to perceive, but a different type of beauty, something that doesn’t exist within this day-to-day spectrum.
I have always struggled to be who I am, but now I know that I am capable of being who I am.
And so are you.
Uninhibited, I am someone who speaks what I want and need. In these dark hills, I walk away from greed.
Unaffected, I am the one who keeps trying, because I’m not fond of life dying.
Unreal, I reach towards the stars, knowing that my fingertips reach far.
And understanding, to know that I know exactly where I’m landing.
In this world of terror and worry, I won’t allow it to steal my flurry of love and truth, honestly something I hold so dearly to my heart.
I want to be who I am, and I will be. Because the only person I can be is me.
These days together lately have been rough. But I find myself to be tough. Toughened by the challenges that lie in front of me, but not hardened by what they create of me.
I wish that I could’ve done better in the past, but what’s done is done. There’s nothing I can do but move on.
As I allow my face to turn towards the light with the sun to shine on my features, I will forever understand that I am one of those gentler creatures.
My bare feet grace the ground with their presence; soon being filled with the essence of truth and happiness. For I walk towards the light that lifts me, that of which brings my anxiety and depression away from me. And in these steady days, I will find peace in many different ways.
As I search for ways to help others and to bring happiness to myself, I find the book of my life upon a shelf. Upon the shelf of everything I ever needed; these words I say now which were created.
Bring forth the greatest happiness you can find, for I dance with joy and unwind. Filled with flower dust and the nectar of life, there’s nothing that should bring forth strife.
And in this broken soul, I find myself mended once more. My words flowing, flowing towards the shore.
Thinking myself to burnt out, the words no longer coming to my mind. I am not burnt out, but simply having to mine for the words that line my very thoughts. I never thought I would be filled with infinite possibilities; but with disabilities.
Nothing can stop me from dancing to the renegade’s song. On my own I am strong. I make my own path, take part in my own life. Making passageways through the labyrinths that are mine. Mine and mine only. To me, they are holy.
I love who I am for once, and I will never give up this chance to do so. To my own self-love, I will never say no.
To write is to become immortal. These scripted words upon this worn out page.
This is something I recently learned. I’m fascinated with writing and in love with it now more than ever.
I love to write because it helps me to understand myself, and how I’m feeling. Been recently I’ve been feeling a little burnt out. I apologize for that. Perhaps writing so much a day took it out of me! Either way, I feel exhausted. But one thing is for sure: I’ll never get tired of writing.
In lands far away, I see these lonely days stretch into months, years, infinity. There’s nothing I can do right now other than love myself. There’s nothing I can do but trust that it will get better.
And it will.
Trust is not something that comes easy to me, but something that fails to be. I find myself cynical of everything, questioning every word that every person says. I wonder if it’s the truth or if I’m being lied to; it’s something I’ve taught myself to do.
I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it yet. But it will come soon, I bet. The way that I’ll understand my true feelings about this world and its danger, and to let go of my anger. To be the adult I want and need to be, but to also take care of me.
So many things swirling around, it’s hard to find solid ground. It’s almost like I’m bound, destined to respond to these sounds.
Bold text and even more bold actions, I would love to be someone worth knowing with my fractions of everything that makes me who I am; a patchwork quilt of everything that makes up the organism that is ‘me’.
In these little lies, I search to find the truth among their lives. It seems tedious but wise, and I won’t ever fail to realize. These days are hard, but things will get better. That’s what tomorrows are for.
And as I’ve written these words on this blog the past few weeks, I’ve found myself happier and more at peace than I’ve ever been, thanks to the safety I feel within now to express myself in the ways that I need to; all in order to speak the truth to you.