Salisbury.Fake Weekly Update, writing

How Do People Do This?

I received the author copies of Daisy I ordered, and I opened the box a little too enthusiastically. Holding copies of my books in my hands is such a strange feeling. Strange because I think it might be pride, and I’ve never really allowed myself to feel that before. I did just find a typo in it, but ya know what? I don’t give a fuck. This book I put together entirely by myself, and I’m not perfect.

When I was first working on Fulcrum, I didn’t have a printer that functioned, so I asked my mother if I could use hers. She agreed, and I printed out around 70 pages of the first “real” draft of Fulcrum I felt was actually going somewhere. I was holding it in my hands, staring down at the words, and I kind of said to myself, “I wrote this.” Then, I smiled and I looked up at her and I said a little louder, “I wrote this!”

“And I printed it!”

Instant deflation. I couldn’t have one thing for myself. One of the few times I allowed myself to feel pride, and she ripped it away from me.

Not anymore, though. I’m trying to give myself the gift of being proud of myself for the things I accomplish, and typos or not, I am proud of Daisy. I know I wrote about how it was a struggle to get this one done, and I’m not trying to say it wasn’t, that the end product is overwriting (hah, get it?) the struggle to get here. But I think I figured out why it was such a challenge for me to finish this one.

Ellie’s story is deeply personal to me. Author inserts and all, setting that aside, I understood her character in a way I don’t understand the others I love dearly. I’ll never be a chosen one, bound by destiny to save the world like Frankie, but I have been an abused child. I still have this lingering feeling of “don’t tell people, they don’t need to know. Don’t tell them so they know what she’s really like. Let them love her as she wants to be seen.”

I still love my mom. I love her painfully. It’s painful because I see mothers behaving and being the way I wish mine had. I accept her as she is, I accept that we will never have what I need from her. But no one can ever say I don’t love her.

Maybe it’s because this is exactly a year after the last big holiday I saw her that I’m feeling really sentimental, and seeing a finished book about a character I actually was is unleashing grief I refuse to feel. Or maybe it’s the insomnia that’s got me by the balls, leaving me overly sensitive to big feelings because of sleep deprivation. I don’t know.

But what I do know is how very proud of myself I am for telling Ellie’s story, and giving her a place to exist in the world. I don’t ever promote my shit, much to the befuddlement of others, but I’m of the mind that my words will find those they’re meant to. Ellie is probably the truest character to my heart, and I feel kind of like a parent watching her kid go to school on the first day of kindergarten. Out into the world to become herself. Be what she wants to be.

I’m rambling. I’m tired. It’s a holiday, and I am grateful for you. Thank you for reading my wombles. Thank you for being part of the world at the same time as me, because you make it just as neato as I do.

Until next time, friends.

Salisbury.Fake Life, Uncategorized

Quiet Desperation

This post will contains personal feelings things so if you aren’t interested, please skip. I hope you are doing okay.

Spending too much time in my head is not always a bad thing, but usually it tends to get me into thought spider webs. I know that what I have is rare, a self-awareness to know exactly what I’m feeling and how to express it. Not everyone has this, which is fine, but it makes it challenging to present my real self to others because I get seen as emotional or moody, when all I am is trying to be honest. I hide so much of myself because I don’t want to be seen as “unstable.”

It’s less about stability and more about accepting the parts of myself I know are the truth. I am probably going to feel things on a different level than most of my friends, my family, and the potential partners I might have. I’ve said I’m okay with being alone, and mostly I am, but the reason I’m okay with being alone is I don’t want to feel like I have to constantly hide my feelings.

What I will say is I feel like I learned at such an intense level I should hide myself. I should keep myself tucked away because no one wants to see that. No one wants to be around that. No one knows how to handle such vivid and clear emotion. Anyone I do end up with “has their work cut out for them,” as I’ve been told a few times.

I’m not a lot to handle. I can be eager to express myself, which may come off as too much, but it goes back to my desire to be honest, and to be authentic. I hate saying that because it sounds so trite, but when you spend so long trying to be “normal,” or trying not to be “high maintenance,” you get kind of tired of it.

I don’t need to be maintained, I need to be understood.

And yes, sure, the “right person” will be able to, but it still sucks to put hope into something that ends up failing. Obviously, being vulnerable is awful. No one wants to do anything that will make them feel inferior or like what they feel is unworthy of mention.

But how are you going to know you’re worth something to yourself if you don’t at least try to prove yourself wrong?