I’ve found myself challenged a lot lately. In regards to my writing, finding that I may in fact be something of a poet. I stumble with that description. Like I said, it’s nothing I’d ever have seriously considered were it not for my fun with rhymes on Twitter. But I am so loving it. Letting loose these little pants of steam, making words dance to my tune — sometimes a tune only I can hear, but still. The feedback I’ve gotten has been tremendous. I’ll admit to doing a little basking from time to time when I find that a piece I wrote has been retweeted several times over. That makes me glow.
Not sure if I have it in me to tackle the longer poetry. Seems like every time I try I just want to tear my fingers off for failing me. But, I shall persevere. Something to look forward to, perhaps.
Regarding my other venture, the steamy, smutty short I posted – oh that one has caused me no end of anxiety, I’ll be honest. While I’ve gotten great feedback from it I don’t want to be known as that kind of writer. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. In fact, it’s something I’d be delighted to find in a novel. A nice surprise. And I’ll also admit to perusing the writers at Literotica.com. 😉
But sex isn’t my story. Though it may play a supporting role at times, it’s not the story I want to tell. It’s not how I want to touch people. I’ve been told my writing can be emotionally moving. That’s what I want to hear. That I’ve made someone feel something (not just in their nether regions), that I’ve left them with something they didn’t have before, a new insight, or… Well, in time, maybe you’ll see.
As far as my life goes, every day is a challenge. Not many people know the extent to which I deal with anxiety. It has limited so many aspects of my life in frustrating and painful ways. And has made me feel so ashamed and so worthless. It is a very tender subject – even writing about it here, right now, makes me want to lean on the ol’ Backspace key and never mention it again. But that wouldn’t be very honest of me, now would it? So, even when it hurts, I’ll keep trying, keep pushing. C’est la vie, pain.
Another challenge I deal with on a daily basis is worrying about my mother’s health. I won’t go into details, but this last year has really worn her down. She has been ill off and on, and with such increasing frequency and ferocity that I’ve come to dread every sniffle sneeze and cough. Every pain, every ache. I know it’s just going to get worse, it’s inevitable. And though we have family, I can’t count on them for support. I can’t even look to my brother. I’ve long accepted that it’s my job, my purpose in life, to be there for my mother. It’s why fate hasn’t granted me a husband and family of my own. At this point I’ve gone too far down this road to even think of turning away. I wish things were different, and I’m scared as hell that I won’t be good enough, strong enough. But I try.
With respect to others, I know my life isn’t all that bad. I have a home, plenty of food, a few new friends whose company I enjoy. I have people who love me and care for me and even a couple who support me. I have so many things to be grateful for, and I am. When life’s challenges bring me to a grinding halt, I do my best to deal with them head-on. Or at least find a way to circumnavigate them.
Anyway. That’s a glimpse into my sometimes sad little head. I haven’t even touched on my alcohol dependance or the men in my life. Quite challenging aspects indeed. Maybe next time.
Thanks for reading.