It takes time
There’s a time when things change – when the words in your head from all of the silent voices (or intrusive thoughts) can just flow from your mind to your fingertips, allowing you to type out yet another page in a chapter of your life. The words collide with one another to make a thought – your thought – thus forming the story that maybe you were just meant to tell all along. You lacked a place to start when you desperately tried to create your ‘life story’ in a novel or journal to be saved for later and published in the future, but now you have that place; you have that starting point you lusted for in the beginning of this desire – this goal – and now you can finally create what you always wanted to create because you feel like the story might actually have a purpose.
Starting is always difficult, though. Finding the correct place in time is a struggle because there are so many events that could be used as said starting point, and whichever one you choose to use may or may not give the first impression of the entire written piece of art. Whether your words flow together so beautifully don’t matter much at all to you at this point, either, because no matter what you publish, you’ll still be judged anyway. Once you realize you will be judged no matter what you do or say, you realize you can technically write anything so you can at least have it for you. In the end, that is all that matters, right?
Ages ago, I wanted to write and publish a book – for all the wrong reasons. Lately (courtesy of my depression) I have been considering writing my ‘life story’, as lame as it may sound. I don’t know whether people would read it for sure or not, I know some would have a problem with it, and I know it would start a lot of family crap. But I need this for me, whether the people I want to support me actually support me or not. I need this for me because I need a way to express everything that is going on with me to the world without being accused or suspected of being a schizophrenic. I need this for me because I need a way to release everything without people thinking I am extremely crazy and me not receiving the chance to aware them of exactly what is going on. I doubt it will turn out to be a huge, tabloid-worthy book, but I can guarantee that those who read it will [hopefully] understand the world better. It is going to focus on my childhood and my depression, as well as the difficulties I have as far as being social and having a social life goes. If you have never felt depression, and you still haven’t by the time my book is published, you will know what it feels like after you read it. The whole being ‘uncensored’ thing will take place. I need this for me because I need people to listen; I need people to understand.
The problem I have with my life is that the people who matter to me don’t listen, and maybe it’s because they don’t even want to. It isn’t fair. I’ve chatted and vented to a few online friends who are LGBT1, and they decided to ‘joke’ around by saying my current state of depression was caused by something similar to the depression they had when they all came out to their parents/family/friends/etc., only I’m straight. For some reason, the three of them found that pretty. darn. hilarious. /hmf
- Like that matters any. ↩