When I grow up I want to be...

Didn't we all have dreams of grandure growing up. We knew we were going to do great things with our lives. I laid in bed thinking about my life. I suddenly felt disappointed in my accomplishments. So as the kids lay asleep, I lay crying about the life I thought I lost.

Days later  I realized why I was crying. Why it hurt me so much feel like I have more do with my life. Different dramatic events had taken place that had exhausted me emotionally. I don't vent to anyone except my laptop and I was so upset that I couldn't get out a single word let alone string together a sentence or two. There were a shit-load of things that needed to be done around the house. I was freaking broke and my significant other was doing his usual complaining about this and that and the kids seemed to need everything all at once and.... I was ready to explode!

This wasn't how it was supposed to be.

This is the short story of the realization I have come to: As a Black woman, a teen mom, an unwed mother, somebody's girlfriend-not wife and a self-repressed writer, there aren't many options I gave myself. I could blame society, sure. Racism, sexism, but I'm more than qualified for any job I apply for but at the tender age of 28 (plus 2-almost 3). I find myself, again, reevaluating my career move. Sure I make a decent living in a promising industry but failing to complete college as planned has left me holding the short straw when it comes to looking for a new job. That's my fault.

I choose to stay with a guy for over 11 years and allow the relationship to exist with no final destination of marriage in the travel plans. I'm hurt when I'm treated like the girlfriend despite assuming the role of wife. I didn't let him get the milk for free, I freely handed over the whole damn cow. That's my fault.

As a adolescent I indulged in a relationship with a controlling, manipulative person and despite getting out of an abusive relationship with my daughter in hand, it still haunts me. Control and manipulation is sill poising my life as he does this through my daughter and the court system and my emotional link to the pain of what I failed to provide for my daughter. While I can't control the actions of an idiotic man, I can control my reaction and it's effect on my life. I have not and that's my fault.

There are 24 hours in a day and that's not nearly enough time to do all the things that need to be done to run a home and devote a decent slot of time to writing. No matter how many different techniques and schedules I employ, I can't squeeze anymore hours out of the day. I tell myself I write just write on the weekends, then that's bumped for this or that. I will write for an hour in the mornings and then I'm running late each day. I will write at night, but there is no place to sit void of everyone else's mess and it's loud and after everyone is sleep I fall asleep in whatever spot I'm in because I'm so damn exhausted. Other writers can do. Other writers have the same 24 hours I do-so why can't I seem to get it done? The fact that I can't is my fault.

I had plenty of chances for success and many more stumbles and failures and this is what I needed to stand naked in front of and stare at. I did not make the most of every opportunity I was given. I didn't make the most of each day I was living. I fucked up-and the sight of it was so painful that I couldn't get out of bed for nearly the whole weekend.

Of course there are things I was proud of that I've accomplished. But there are even more things I'm regretful of, ashamed of (one being starting this sentence with 'but'-I am resisting not deleting it but then  I'm going to delete the whole blog post because I will rethink putting this out into the universe and then I will regret not having done so because I really have needed to get this out of my system). I don't like to show this side of myself or admit it exists-I'm the tough lil' chick-but the feel is deep ya'll. Bone deep.

What do you do when you feel you aren't good enough? Like you don't measure up as an adult.

I tell my daughter that we are all work in progress and as long as there is life left in you there is life left to be better and accomplish more. I have been telling myself that a lot lately. Time to be the woman I aspired to be.  There is still time to write the things I made excuses not to write. Time to finish college-change careers. Do the things I love doing so well that others can't take their eyes off me and wait for the tangible rewards to follow as a result (Maya Angelou). It's hard to decide what to do when you grow up when you feel like you've wasted so much of your grown up years waiting on life to begin. It's hard to let go of the life you thought you'd have and embrace the one you have been avoiding.

That weekend I mourned that life I thought I was supposed to have-the woman I thought I was supposed to be. I should have mourned her longer but the kids needed to be fed and the laundry needed to be done and they didn't care that I wasn't what I wanted to be-all they cared about was that I am there for them when it matters the most. Right now...

Do I have to get out bed today......

Last night I couldn't sleep, well for the past few months I haven't been able to sleep much. I could blame it on any number of things but the down and dirty reason is writers block....

 

Yea that's is pretty much how I have been feeling. I usually go through seasons where I write feverishly in consecutive all night stints for months, then in slow trickles of notes here and there, some revision of old stuff, then, nothing-literally nothing. I have to force myself to sit and just write something, anything becasue when I don't write the crazy comes out. Ya'll I mean really crazy-bad dreams, night sweats, shitty attitude, crying, overly emotional, can't eat, don't want to get out of bed kind of crazy. Even my kids know, 'ok, let's leave mommy alone so she can write the crazy away'. It's sad.

This blog was supposed to be a way to force me to write when I feel the block weighing down, but, well, it's a challenge. I'm always in search of methods and routines to try to keep myself from falling to that dark, dingy place writers go when they are blocked.

Go for long walks or runs....

Caffine...Alcohol....Junk food...Healthy food....

Cook...Bake...Clean...Paint...Draw...

Read a good book....Watch a good movie....Play a video game......Listen to music...

Take a nap...Take notes....Keep a journal...People watch......

Meditate...Have sex...Don't have sex...

I could go on and on. 

If you've never experienced writers block it's kind of like...the feeling of always having the word or phrase you're in search of on the tip of your tounge. Like trying to sit and write but a huge burning hole is in the place where your thoughts are-if you reach in just the right way you may be able to pull a thing or two out but what if you get burned and what if you grab the wrong thing and what if you make the fire worse and...it's like standing on the end of a cliff you've jumped off many times before, you know you can make it down but what if this one time you bust your head on the rocks or break your neck on the way down and become paralyzed and land on the bottom bleeding and wild animals come from nowhere and begin eating away at you lifeless body and you are awake watching them but you can't feel anything because you are paralyzed and all you can think about is why did I jump and try to write this stupid book that no one, not even your own mother even likes anyhow...ok that's a little dramatic but I think you get the point.

The scary part about writers block, well an artistic block of any kind, is learning about how painful it can be. I thought I was alone and insane until my boyfiriend got me a poetry book by Anne Sexton and I read about her blocks and demons and how eventually, in my opinion, that killed her via her taking her own life. Another one of my favorite poets and another poetry book my honey got for me was of Sylvia Plath. Yet, another amazing poet suffering from an emotional life with her own demons that led her to the same tragic suicidal end. (there seems to be a theme here, I think) I am terrified of this place. Even more afraid of the block then death itself. I mean, death is final, but bad writing or never having written anything worthwhile, is eternal. Feeling like you have something to say but nothing to say at the same time is pretty maddening. 

There is a tug of war between the intense emotions it takes to write and the burden of the build up of emotions when you can't find a way to get it out. It's soul searing at times. Manic and mellow, depressing and daring, euphoric and exhausting-all at the same time.

Sometimes I wish I could run from it-the urge to write-but other days I'm sure I couldn't live with out being able to do this. I wouldn't want to live if I couldn't write. So, writers block or writers bliss, I will take the seasons as they come and try to remind myself to look forward to the days when it flows through me as effortlessly as the stars twinkle...because tomorrow I must get out of bed and give it another try. 

Now that I've vented a lil' about my blocks-tell me your thoughts on writers block. What do you find helps you clear your mind when you feel stuck?