Writing, as it Relates to Me

I want to share something with you.

I want to share my perception of the thing that saved me from the dark halls through which, until recently, I was being forced to traverse. See, for the longest time I felt as if I’d been carrying a curse, as I walked through things as mundane as the local mall I’d occasionally pass a mother and child and, with something as simple as a short glance at a purse, I’d need a moment to sit down and stare at the ground  and just get lost in thought as my eyes locked in on my shoes seeing the eight little letters that make up the word “converse”. And as in thought, I was immersed, I’d notice the Mom and child fade away from my peripheral vision as the scene in my head was dispersed as instead I looked up and recognized how diverse this whole room was. Something which made me wonder why, despite my attempts to be rid of my curse, was my focus still so combative and stubbornly perverse? Why had my eyes, as if by some magnetism, drifted toward this mother and child, as images of the nurse from the fourth floor of the ICU and of the hearse I never wanted to follow behind began darting through my brain as if I’m now being coerced into this seat where I could at last allow my burdening thoughts to intersperse?

Yes, I would like to share my perception of this most wonderful of creations.

I wish there was a more intimate way to share these times where I just, simply, sit down. Times, whether it’s on the ground at the dog park, or in a seat on a patio bar downtown, or a high table at Jonathan’s, where I can usually be found after a long day of work as I diligently add to my writing background. I wish there was a way for more people to be around when these beautiful moments, which are so rarely found, sweep over us as the most profound thoughts come at us; endlessly inbound as we take the simple and start to expound. It is these moments that instill awe and confound, metaphorically providing the sensation of living a whole life afflicted by deafness as we now, at last, hear our very first sound.

Its something that I wish we all would do more often.

And by that, I mean share. Because the life that I lived before words were my ware was one for which, now, I just really don’t care. I was shallow, I was selfish, I was fake and unfair, and I now, here in hindsight, even hate my old hair. See, there’s one thing I promise; I emphatically swear. So much weight can be lifted, when you open and share. And while yes, the things I write are written with intentional flair, this sentiment I’m typing is as real as a prayer. Get the weight off of your shoulders, and you no longer care for stares, as everyone around you knows precisely the wonderfully flawed thing that so courageously stands there. There are no more secrets, no more lies, no more burdens that you bare, and the only thing you’re donned with is that gown of truth that you wear.

Its like that feeling you get when you’ve been walking through a scorching hot zoo all day long and everyone’s been like “let’s look at this, and this, and that, and this,” when all you really want is a freaking sip of water as you finally finish walking through the African safari exhibit and at last arrive at the centrally located walkway of mist, which leads into the food court and you now can finally order the largest water of your life.

In other words, you feel refreshed.

And that’s the feeling I want to share, which I mentioned before. I don’t think its necessary to explain what I was like before I began to write because not only was I a bore, but I’ve actually already covered it so instead let’s look forward and consider the things that the future has in store. Because the one thing I want to make abundantly clear, as my depressingly sad thoughts turn to into long awaited cheer, is that the very thing I’m doing has quite literally saved my life from what would have undoubtedly veered in the worst direction I could steer had I not, through my tears, come to the realization that I feared which I had been so afraid was awaiting, unavoidably near. So yes, I should pay homage to that which put my life back in gear and that is this: writing.

Words. Words have saved me.

Words have saved me, you see, because despite all the pain and the malice which have coursed through me for so long, a certain sense of liberty has manifested recently that, honestly, I can’t explain as I sit here with her picture, with my dog, and with my thoughts; which, inexplicably, seem to finally be set free. And while I don’t fully understand why my brain has allowed me to take this unfamiliar, seemingly carefree approach as of late, I don’t want to do anything that might cause it to flee, because it’s a sensation for which I’ve been waiting every hour, every week; a feeling that could be described as the long-awaited blossoming of green leaves which at last expose themselves after patiently waiting through a brutal winter that for so long tormented their sad, barren tree.

I want this feeling to last forever.

Yet I know that this, sadly, is an impossibility. But that won’t keep me from constantly, aggressively grasping my life as I force it forward; as I refuse to let anything slow my pace. There is not a thing in this world that will keep me from storming the castle that I see before me. No, I will recruit each and every fiber within me, arming with fire whatever soldiers I need to ascertain that I have an adequately sized force and undefeatable army through which I can destroy with impunity anything that dares stand in defiance of me and the alliance that I have created which now stands beside me.

Arm me with words, and I will destroy anything that gets in my way.

Because words, you see, are the infinite expanse on which we can set sail; for they make up this deep, endless sea of possibility that, in all actuality, contains the only vessel that boasts the capability and the necessary degree of sheer diversity upon which I can pen things such as Continuity, or my poetry, or anything else that I might hear or see that I think needs to be recorded, holding full culpability for the thoughts that I think, the sounds that I hear, or the sights that I see. It is only through words that I can fully express myself.

And that, my friends, is writing; as it relates to me.


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