Sometimes I wonder if I've become the worst version of myself. If I've become the person I hate most in others. It's definitely a scary thought.
I hurt others because I or someone I love was hurt by someone else. It's a perpetual cycle. I am asked to forgive y my religion. Yet when I am hurting or someone close to me is hurting, all I want is to become the worst version of myself in order to inflict that pain back into the world regardless of the casualty count.
Through hardship am I supposed to learn to be stronger? At the moment, all I want to learn is how to properly wield a nightstick to I can beat the hell out of someone. Isn't that such a scary thought? Violence begets violence. I don't remember where I heard or read these words, but I do understand the truth in them.
Ultimately, all I want is to live a quiet life. Teach. Write. Eat. Watch a movie. Occasionally change the color of my hair or go shopping. Cuddle with my cats at the end of the day. Is that too much to ask? Why does the universe have to throw despicable people my way? The kind of people that will really bring the homicidal maniac out of you. The Devil has more compassion that this person I write about. The kind of person so villainous, readers will not believe it possible should I write him into a book. Life is truly stranger than fiction. Writers are still good people and good people can not concoct the worst of the worst that we encounter on a daily basis.
Sitting and doing nothing seems more painful than facing the consequences of action. Yet, I find myself trapped. The good in me hates conflict. I would rather go to the hospital and willingly submit to needles in my arm than face conflict. Only because I know myself. I know the monster I keep at bay. Letting her out will produce a crater a mile wide and the type of fallout that sent the dinosaurs into extinction.
And so, I pray. Because what else is there for me to do? I pray for strength. I pray for patience. Above all, I pray for the common sense not to become the person I truly hate the most. The person who scares me. The person capable of hurting others without remorse. Becoming that person does not mean I ease the pain inside or the hurt inflicted. Honestly, I believe it will only lead to more pain.
Depression is a sneaky bitch. You don't know you have it until you wake up one day and you realize you've disconnected from things that make you happy. For me, that's writing. I haven't written a new thing since I broke my foot back in April.
Now, I'm mobile. A limp once in a while. But what I haven't gone back to is what I say I love most in the world. I feel it most since it's NaNo and I'm not doing anything. Nada. I thought I would, but in the end, I didn't.
I thought I was doing okay. I was functioning. Waking up in the morning. Going to work. Helping my mother with whatever she needed. But I wasn't writing.
A part of it stems from all the rejection I received this year. Don't get me wrong, so many great things have happened as well. Can't share all of them yet, which is killing me, by the way. But the rejections sting worse recently. Because of the depression. I've sunken to a low place I haven't been in a while.
Which is why I've decided to step back. Take stock of myself. Find who I am again. Learn about what I want to say. Only then can I begin to find my way back to my writing.
What's been a real eyeopener for me is Jada Pinkett Smith's series Red Table Talk, wherein she gets into real conversations with her daughter and mother and a guest. There is so much enlightenment in that show that I have to hit myself in the head (metaphorically) just to wake myself up and listen. Some episodes I had to watch over and over again because there is so much to learn. I definitely recommend that you watch it. Just go to Facebook, if you have an account, and search Red Table Talk.
I wanted to end the year writing, but it's looking like that's not going to happen. I have several edits I need to perform, so I'll focus on that. I leave all the new stuff for next year.