Deep down I've been ready for a while now, but something was holding me back. If I'm honest, I expected some kind of full on epiphany before I felt I was ready, before I made this move, but that's just not the case. Somehow, somewhy, this feels right tonight.So there you have it. I now feel ready to rejoin my world over at livejournal, so from now on I think I will be posting poetry regularly there again. This doesn't mean I'll be abandoning this blog though, oh no. This blog offers me so much as well, I'd be foolish to give it up. Once I get going again at lj, I'll probably post some favourites over here too for those of you unable to get at my lj, and just because I can :)
Over the past few days I've had conversations I've needed to have, and admitted things, things I'm scared of, things I'm feeling. One of the things I admitted, was that I was scared that what happened would cause me to lose my one true love, my first love; writing. Ever since I learnt how, I've written; short stories, poems, essays, novels, plays, movies. I've revelled in sentence structures, assonance, consonance, sounds and rhythms, patterns and so on; I’ve pored over essays, writing and re-writing, drafting and re-drafting them. And then, a few years ago, I fell deeply in love with poetry. My first attempts, young, simple and naive were, quite frankly, terrible, but then about 5 or 6 years ago I fell into a depression. It is only now being diagnosed. I think I’ve known all along. This depression however, seems to have spawned one good thing; my writing. Well, at least from my point of view the writing from recent years seems less like a 12 year old moaning about how cruel their parents are, and from the feedback I’ve had from others, it feels like I might be good at what I love. So, over the past two years I threw myself into writing. Over the past year, I’ve thrown myself and my writing on you lot on livejournal. Over the past 3 months, I’ve retreated. It’s clear to me why.
All I will say is this; something happened to me in the early hours of New Year’s Day, 2009 – something that I would not wish on my worst enemy – and I have been struggling since. For the first month afterwards I threw myself back into ‘normality’, which possibly in my case was not the best thing to do. In recent months, I have found myself spiralling further back into a depression I never even clambered out from, and struggled to cope.
Part of why I feel ready now is that after the conversations I had just two nights ago, I have decided that I am not going to let anyone destroy me, apart from me. The only person who I am going to let grind me down, make me cry, make me give up on everything, is me. And I’m not ready to do that just yet. So I’m fighting back. I have to, I have no choice, because I want to live again.
This is perhaps more than you need to know, perhaps more than I need to say, but I feel in another way that I need to say this. I’m not sure why.
Part of the repercussions of the events of NY’sD meant that I abandoned my writing for that first month; I did not pick up a pen and put it to paper once – I could not. My usually un-silence-able mind had fallen silent, had nothing to say. Then, slowly, it started murmuring, then, towards the end of January, after another few hours of crying in bed, my heart burned through my fingers and I knew I was ready. My head started screaming again, and I had never been so glad to hear the thousands of words all fighting to be written down first, brawling in my brain once more.
And so, I won the first battle, but since then I realised I was still losing the war, of course. I had not posted anything real since the 19th December (apart from a piece of prose written as college coursework that I sort of threw at you almost out of desperation; I think I was trying to show myself what I needed to start doing again). That realisation scared me, but what scared me more was the thought of posting again. And then that broke my heart. I didn’t want to be scared of doing what I’ve always done; writing things and feeling that warmth in the heart when someone else likes it, or when it touches someone, means something to them.
So now, after weeks of promising you I would be back, I am coming home.
He will not win the war he started.
Like I said, he will not win this war he started.