Wake up……Nothing, absulutly Nothing

Well it’s been awhile, i said i would write once a week but this is harder then i thought. I guess this is what they call writers block. Or maybe just plain fear. So many feelings are arising, it’s like reliving the past again. Stuffed away feelings arising, forgotten things.I seem to only be able to write a few lines at a time. Then nothing. My whole life seems to be at a stand still right now.You know that feeling like you just want to get on with it but nothing happens. Usually i’ve got everything ready in mij head to write, but now nothing. I have so many things that need to be done, but nothing gets done. Maybe i should stop pushing myself. But how? I find myself making excuses, visiting people, playing games, anything but write. What am i so scared of? My own feelings? They cant be as bad as they were when i was a child. Can they? There is only one way to find out and that is to feel it.  As i am now reliving puberty in my book there is alot of guilt and shame there….story of my life. Excuse the pun. I guess its feeling  like a teenager again with no selfesteem. Always feeling guilty and ashamed even when i hadn’t done anything wrong. I really don’t want to feel like that again. But i must acknowlege these feelings before i can move on. And thats the hard part. I have to realize that i’m an adult now, and that the past cant hurt me anymore. They are just feelings that have to leave my system before they weigh me down. Well thats not nothing! 

Wake Up…..My Journey-Raw Anger

Wake Up…..My Journey-Raw Anger

4-E1838577-873335-480                                                                          Hi there, I finally finished the first part of part one of my book. I can tell you it wasnt easy. Here i thought i had delt with everything….NOT. Going back in time is hard, but going back to the feelings of then is even harder. Things tend to pop up,  little words,big words, small feelings, big feelings, situations you had totally forgotten about. Its funny how the brain becomes selective in what you remember,i guess its a sort of self protection, till the time is right for you to remember….or not. Me being a person who thinks in pictures, the whole movie plays out infront of me. It can be quiet daunting. I begin to slowly understand how it is that my low self esteem started. How certain things said over and over again make me feel. I still have problems with that. Mostly its a trigger, a word and boom i get that old feeling of worthlessness again. I am glad to say thats not so often anymore. But when the movie is playing in my head while writing his book i¨m right back there again.

Writing about my mother i tend to refer to her as ¨HER¨ I used to call her mom but somehow i just cant write it down. I know this sounds funny but i love my mother. Since her passing i find i¨m closer to her then when she was alive. Maybe its because i understand her beter now. Not saying that what she did was right, but learning more about her life and being older mijself , it¨s easier giving it a place. But i notice there¨s still quiet abit of anger towards her.

One night the next door neighboor shows up at my door to complain about my dog barking. I say to him guess what ¨dogs bark¨ and slam the door in his face. That was the drop, i had had a bad day, and the last thing i needed was to be hasseled.  The anger started rising  as i walked down the hallway. Once in my living room i burst wide open. I pick up a cup of the table and smash it against the wall but still not satisfied. I scream out ¨leave me alone, just leave me alone!¨ I turn around grab my teapot and smash it down on the floor. The splinters fly through the room. Im crying now. Then something accurd to me, i use to yell that same thing at my mother while being abused. I just wanted her to leave me alone. Through the tears i manage to phone my neighboor who comes over to help me clean the mess. I look up at the ceiling and there are big chunks missing. I had thrown that teapot so hard that it had hit the ceiling. There was also a chunck missing out of my finger, which ment stitches. This was not anger but rage. By writing my first part of the book it finally occurred to me how angry i really was with her and at what she had done. I never knew a person could feel such raw anger, it was scary.

Ive had a few more angry moments, but not so bad as this. Im glad i let myself go, only next time ill try not to hurt myself in the process. Ive learned to chanel my anger in a differant way. Much beter. My neighboor stated to me that she was envies of me, that i would dare to show my raw anger. We have been taught to keep everything bottled up, not me, no more!