I really think you can learn the most from trauma. Drastic measures produce drastic results, but would I wish it on even my worst enemy?
No, because most people don’t learn from it, and I do not condone torture of any sort for any reason.
I truly believe that the only reason a person does awful things is because they are in pain. If we could remove the pain then they would stop doing terrible things. And the catch 22? Trauma is usually responsible for that sort of pain. Thankfully I’m using it instead of the usual trauma using the victim.
Today, while mulling over what to respond to a note a received in July (or maybe even June) I learned something. My father liked to pinch my ass. It’s not an uncommon thing, but it made me EXTREMELY uncomfortable. I asked him to stop and he responded by saying “that’s how I show my love for you.” Forget what’s horribly wrong with that scenario, and realize that it’s important. How you show your love is a HUGE part of you. If you are not with someone who enjoys your methods, or is possibly traumatized by them, you can’t just change to suit them. No one will be happy.
I know there are the “5 love languages”, but that’s a very narrow view to me. The way people show love is as varied as they are. Some tease and some lavish. Some dote and some trust without question. Some talk incessantly and some touch constantly. There are so many little nuances that will be misunderstood, misconstrued, or just missed if that’s not how you feel love. It’s as important to feel it as it is to speak it. Love is a personal language that all participants must be fluent in, or the results could be disastrous.
I love the moon
But it has no inner light
And I think there’s more
Than just a dark sea in me
Yet the sun burns to bright
I must be a star
Far far away
Stretching out through the universe
When my father told me that there was no such thing as “the one” I was heart broken. Being of the Disney princess generation it was akin to telling a 3 year old the truth about Santa…by a bully. Yeah there’s a whole other story there, but that’s not this one. The point of this post is that, while he wasn’t exactly wrong, he’s also not right.
Every day we make connections, unless of course you lock yourself in your house and completely ignore social media. (I am only guilty of one of those things.) Sometimes we make hundreds of connections in one day. Over a year we make thousands whether we know it or not. Most of those connections will be dropped calls. Some will become friends and acquaintances. A few will set your soul on fire, and they will become forever lit beacons in your life.
And then there will be one.
It won’t be the one because it’s the only one. I’m sure there’s more than a few (maybe hundred or thousand) that will be capable. They will set all the appropriate pieces of your being on fire (soul, loins, something I haven’t thought of). They will be available to do it again and again. All the parts will fit. (Forgive the innuendo, though entirely meant). The one definitely exists.
Suck it bullies.
One thing I can thank my day job for is skill in dealing with “real-world” situations. We are basically predators so, often, interactions that do not involve friends we are comfortable are merely acts of posturing. The rules are: don’t apologize, don’t be completely honest, and, whatever you do, absolutely do not be vulnerable. It sucks…and this is not going to be one of those times for me.
While I’ve mostly given up my habitual need to apologize, I do crave honesty and vulnerability. These are part of the writer’s arsenal. Even in creating the truly fantastic, there is complete honesty. These stories contain our fantasies and, often, our closely held desires. Right now I’m just going to be honest: no fantasy involved.
I hate asking for help. If I don’t receive it then I’m pretty sure people hate me and think I’m nothing more than a leech. If I do receive it than I’m pretty sure (see the previous sentence), or they want something from me that’s awful and will later use this to their advantage because I’ve definitely fallen for the guilt trip before. I realize, rationally, this is rarely true, but I have to deal with anxiety so…brain often does it’s own thing. Sometimes you gotta be scared and do it anyway.
Above is a link to my GoFundMe page. I’m a multi-pronged planner. I am going to continue the search for an agent today, and find more places to submit my manuscript, but I’m also going to try to do this on my own. Did you know there is some chick who makes a living selling stories about fucking T-Rex (please note that ‘fucking’ is being used as a verb not an adjective here)?! It costs to do it on your own though, which leads me to do this scary thing and ask for help. If you feel like it…awesome! If not…that’s cool too.
Thank you for reading.
I turn forty in June. Science has yet to develop a way I might miss this deadline. Well…I could die. Let’s hope not. This is also not the deadline you were looking for (cue Jedi hands).
Forty got me thinking about all those things left I might regret on my death bed: A trip across the pond (the big one…either one…I’m leaning towards Atlantic) and publishing a book.
That’s kind of a short list. Does this mean something?
Anyway, with that in mind I set about making yet another deadline for myself: Finish editing by April 30th. If I do that I can hand it over to an editor and be prepared to publish in June. This time I didn’t tell anyone. Why torture myself more? I’m not as masochistic as I used to be…or maybe I am. It could have been a strange twisted need….psychological introspection.
The point of this post is its April 20th and I’m done. So…no more setting deadlines in public. I contacted an editor. I submitted my manuscript to a publishing company that requested it a while back. This is all pretty much a done deal.
I keep vacillating between “meh, whatever” and “OHMYFUCKINGGODDESSWHATAMIDOING?!” (because anxiety).
If Entangled refuses it (pretty certain they will) I will self publish in July. Why waste however much time on rejection from publishers when I can get it from the whole world all at once. ::grin:: So brace yourselves:
You can pay for my services
You can pay for my time
You can pay for a world of things I can do, but
I’m a fucking person and I’m not for sale!
I find myself in dark places
Open worlds and cramped spaces
Fear and lust and sorrow
Dread and hope tomorrow
I search in other faces
I try to walk in their paces
But I lose myself in their lyric
Their ivory towers vampiric
Worshipping painted idols
I see slaves proud of their bridles
I know that I cannot be found
In the grooves of well-traveled ground
To wander is truly the cost
When looking for things that are lost
And in the light I find only traces
But I find myself in dark places
How do I know I love you? You scare me. I could tell you it’s because I would die for you, which I would, but dying‘s easy. If I were dead I wouldn’t have to deal with this shit anymore, and, quite frankly, that doesn’t seem so bad. The reason you scare me is because you make me want to deal with the shit so, maybe, I’ll actually live here, not just exist here. I don’t know if you’ve got demons like mine, but they can be a bitch. So you scare me because you make me want to face my demons so maybe I won’t lose you in their masochistic self destructive frivolity…and that’s real.
Among the lights where I reside
He grasped the universe within my eyes
The brightness drew him to my side
But in the darkness he saw lies
Fascinated by my wrappings
They only prefaced our descent
Somehow he found me lacking
But he failed to see what I present
There’s always blackness between the stars
There’s always shadow in the day
So much more hides in the dark
But that is where he lost his way
He wasn’t meant to walk with me
And on my own I’ve done so well
It’s not an easy thing you see
And still I find on this I dwell
You’d think with worlds inside of you
It might be easy to be alone
With nothing outside to see me through
I fear at times I’ll come undone
Looking up to my reflection
I’ll ask the bodies time can’t reach
For one proficient in my affection
To navigate this stellar breach
And wonder if the stars are lonely
With so much emptiness around
But I can ever wonder only
While I seem tethered to the ground
Watch me softly heavenly forms
As I grapple with these scars
Finding words outside the norms
My conversations with the stars
Ponder broken glass
Where other’s see destruction
My tribe finds beauty