Shattered

Image by WolfS♡ul via Flickr

You hold in your hands my heart, held together only by tape and glue – a battered soul’s poor attempt to repair its tattered being.  Faintly you hear the soft beating, the almost imperceptible pulsing of life.  It’s weathered a thousand storms that has raged against it, deadly winds that slashed endlessly, lightning strikes that tore through it – and still remained intact.  And, yet, in one single, solitary moment, you broke it – as easily as accidentally dropping a glass.  Now as you gaze incredulously at the pieces shattered across the floor, you reflect and wonder – you didn’t even know you held my heart until it crashed into a million pieces at your feet.

Words

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There are words that float through my head.  There are thoughts and dreams, hopes and fears, all jumbled in my mind.

I want to share them all with you.  I wish to unburden myself.  Maybe you’ll help me find clarity.

There are words I wish to say, long to say, words that eat away at my insides. I wish to share them all with you…yet, I fear that everything may not be enough. 

Perhaps I will bore you.

Perhaps you will find me lacking.

Perhaps…

what is my inspiration?

I’m determined to get back on the wagon this week – the Writing Workshop one.  I’ve missed writing regularly (or somewhat regularly) on my blog – and need to my life back to some sense of normalcy.  For me, that includes writing.

The workshop prompts were hard for me this week.  I’d already written about the friendship one several times – and I’m not feeling creative enough for the ‘reliving a moment in your life’. 

So, I decided to go with prompt number 4 – What inspires you to write?

I don’t remember the first time I wrote a poem, or a story, or anything.  I know that I have notebooks from my teenage years, all filled with poems – some happy, some sad.  I know that I kept a diary – which got me into trouble more times than I can count (note to self: if trying to hide something from the parents, don’t write about it and leave the writing in your room!).

I know why I write – to get the words out that are jumbled in my head, to find some peace – but what inspires me to do it?

I have no idea.

Is it maybe wanting to have one talent – one thing I’m good at – that inspires me to pick up the pen and scribble down my thoughts?

Is it a distant (and probably unrealizable) dream of wanting to have a book of my own – with my name on the front – for the world to read? 

Or wanting to be like the millions of authors whose books I devour – wanting to be special and known for something? 

I don’t know… All I know is, no matter what is my inspiration – writing is my escape – it’s a part of me – it’s something I have to do.

Sad week

You may have noticed I’ve been missing for the last little bit (or maybe not).  It’s been a tough couple of  weeks – my grandfather passed away, and well – I’m grieving.  Grieving the loss of a grandfather – and the loss of the baby again – because there’s nothing like a funeral to make you think of all the lives you’ve lost.   I hope to be back this week – I miss my outlet - my writing - to give me much needed rest. 

And then I blogged…

Image from Wikipedia

I’ve always loved to write.  My adolescence can be tracked through various poems and pieces and half-finished short stories.  It has always been my escape.  Give me a book or a notepad and pencil and I’m the happiest girl alive. 

But, I never really considered blogging.  I posted some pieces I wrote online, but I didn’t have a space where I would go and write on a regular basis.  It seemed too intimate, and I wasn’t ready for the world to discover the real me.

A couple years ago, a friend of mine started a blog and she convinced me to start one too.  It’s a testament to what was going on in my life at the time – my frustration with moving, etc.  But I still felt restricted.  I had a few readers, real-life friends, and I wasn’t ready to spill all my secrets.  They know me, yes, but I don’t feel we are close enough for them to see the inner workings of my mind and the musings of my heart.  In trying to keep things casual, I found it difficult to find new ideas for posts…

After watching Julie & Julia, I decided to start a new blog, one that chronicled my journey to domestication… The Undomestic Housewife was my own private journal, where I was free to be me, with no readers…

Which soon got depressing.  But, I didn’t know how to change it, so it went on and on for about 7 months…

And then I came across Writing Workshop… First I stumbled into Sleep is for the Weak’s… which led me to Mama Kat’s Losing It, and I was hooked.  Every week new prompts?  The option to link up and have others read my work? Anonymous others, who don’t live near me, who don’t have a clue who I am?  It seemed too good to be true.

And that’s when The Undomestic Housewife really came to life.  That’s when it was transformed from a sad little blog to one with actual readers, and even a few subscribers. 

This month, on the 29^th is The Undomestic Housewife’s one-year anniversary.  In this time I’ve written 70 posts, most of which are more honest than anything I’ve ever written.  It has helped me to work through my grief after the miscarriage, to problem solve, to express myself honestly and not fearing judgment.  And it has helped me rediscover my love of writing, the relief I get when words spill on the page and stop jumbling up in my head.

When I first started, I just wanted a space to be me.  Now, I feel like I’ve joined a world of people who understand me, of mommy bloggers who don’t judge me or my opinions just because I’m not a mom.  I’ve met other bloggers, who though only friends in blog world, I feel for… I’ve cried for them when they are having tough times, and rejoiced for them when they are being blessed.

I may have started solo, but I’ feel like I’ve joined a community, one I appreciate exceedingly.  It’s not about the number of people who stop by my blog; it’s about the people who take a moment and leave a comment, who show me I’m not alone in my feelings… That is why I blog.

missing therapy

I’m still alive!  I feel like I’ve been gone forever.  The past couple weeks I’ve spent holed up at the office at the receptionist desk, working full-time instead of my normal part-time routine, and have not been able to write or check on any of my favorite blogs, or respond to any of the comments left for me.  I apologize dearly.

It’s funny what abstaining from writing does to my mood.  It’s been atrocious lately.  I haven’t had my outlet to vent, de-stress..  I feel bad for my poor husband, he doesn’t know what to do or say anymore.  He keeps asking me what’s wrong, what he can do… But, I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.  I feel…. down.  The littlest things make me cry.  And stupid things irritate me more than they should…  And I can’t always whine to AMP about them… He’s sensitive when I complain about his brother – who is driving me absolutely up the wall, as usual.  He’s always in the way.. His laptop is broken - so he’s spent all his time on the only other computer in the house (which is another reason I haven’t posted).  Then, tonight, just as AMP and I were going to watch a movie, he decides he’s going to switch to playing video games on the TV.  But, of course, I’m just being bitchy.  I’m a horrendous sister-in-law.  I’m mean.  I’m selfish.  I’m grumpy. 

In reality, I’m just exhausted.  I’m exhausted from getting up early every morning for the past 2 weeks and working all day doing one of my least favorite things, answering phones.  I’m exhausted from being sad – about the miscarriage, about all the pregnant people around me, about this ridiculous obsession desire to have a baby.  I’m tired of having my brother-in-law live with us.   I’m tired of having allergies and headaches.  I’m tired of renovating.  I’m tired of my inability to get to the gym – to be able to look the way I want.  I’m tired of being such a disorganized mess.  I’m tired of not being the perfect wife I want to be.  I’m tired of being the terrible daughter and sister – the one slowly being replaced by the new sister-in-law to be.  I’m tired of being grumpy.  I’m just tired.

I wish this was the kind of tired that I could just sleep off.  Go to bed tonight and sleep in till noon tomorrow, and wake up and be better – happier, less down.  I wish I could do it for AMP, because I’m tired of my mood making him sad.  Hopefully I snap out of this soon..  At the very least, I promise to make the next posts upbeat.. I just needed a moment…

Therapeutic Relief

I feel like I’m neglecting my writing. 

Perhaps that is because I have neglected it, horribly neglected it.

I used to write all the time.  Nothing very good, but yet, I still wrote.  Now, I seem to only write when I’m upset or frustrated or angry and need to vent my frustrations to someone who will not throw it back in my face later.

That’s the beauty of a notebook.  It accepts all your feelings, without offering any insincere platitudes. It doesn’t need you to censor your words.  It doesn’t have feelings that may be hurt.  It is the ultimate good listener. 

Often I find that writing helps me to sort through my feelings, to discover new ways to look at things, to calm me.  

Writing is my therapy.