Writing is all about gaining freedom. It's about digging into what I feel at a very moment and expressing that. It's about getting to know who I am at my very core-- and about getting it out-- everything that traps me into a society-accepted drone-- and being my own person. Writing is about me being an artist and expressing it to the world-- to everyone-- to no one.
Writing is growing up. Writing is growing out, growing in-- digging deep into the fibers of my me-ness and slowly I can unabashedly accept who I am and what my place is in this very world. I have trouble sinking into myself sometimes-- perhaps I am afraid of what I'll see. Maybe it's not so much what I will see-- but what others will in turn see about me, the more open I become. And I do find that the more open I become, the less open I am to having closed-up people in my life-- people who aren't willing to share themselves with me, people who seem so completely unaffected by everything and everyone around them.
Really, what counts is to become comfortable with yourself-- because when you are starting to get comfortable with you-- that's when the world starts to make a little more sense and sometimes things are easier to take and you're generally more comfortable in the world.
I always thought that in order to understand myself and be comfortable with myself, I had to first mold myself into what I thought the world wanted me to be-- I had to become comfortable in the world, but beyond that-- almost invisible within it, so blended and conformed that I didn't make any waves. I am learning that it's quite the other way around-- first, I have to sink into myself deeply and completely and then-- the world will accept me for me. Why? Because I accept myself. This is a concept that-- even though I feel I have come a long way in the possibility of understanding-- I still struggle with more often than I'd like to admit.
So often when I am feeling terribly lonely or looked-over or forlorn or ignored or all of the above and more-- I look for someplace to point that finger of blame. And then I catch myself and I start to realize-- it's not the world's fault, it's my fault. And really it's not my fault either, it's just that I am trying to blame outer forces that I have no control over for something that I can't explain-- for feelings I am having-- for something I am not doing for myself-- for not taking care of myself.
And magically, I find that as soon as I start really taking care of myself again, I am okay and the world once again sees me for who I am. Funny how this works. But it is in fact a daily struggle, to search inside and bring out what is in all the time-- sometimes it's easier to just put on a mask and forget about it... just become a different shade of me-- someone else instead of answering to myself-- and of course, I always, always find that when I do this to myself I feel so hollow. Like someone else could just set up camp inside of me because I'm not here-- I'm somewhere else, somewhere in the throws of social prison.
And when I can slowly and bashfully crawl back into myself-- that's when I once again feel my freedom, that's when I am opened up and the world is my friend and I don't feel like I have to look through my phone book to find my very best friend-- because she's right here in front of me, she's right here, staring me in the eyes from the mirror-- and then, I am whole again. I am me and ME is a wonderful and alive and exciting place to be.
I have grown so much and I continue to grow and learn and make mistakes-- I continue to be human and to have my eyes opened and to accept and to say YES as often as possible, and all that I know is enough--
and I am enough, because
I am me.