When I was a baby I wanted to make friends with a goose, but the goose wasn’t interested. Despite the honks and hisses, I pursued.
The goose had it up to his neck with me.
I went crying back to my grandmother. She called me a ‘stupid ass’ and told me that’s what I get for trying to play with a goose. This might shock some people, that a grandmother would talk this way to a little person, but that was how it was in 1978. Of course, I didn’t like it then, but I get it now.
Geese are known to be mean which I didn’t know in the 70’s when I used to try to play with geese.
I still like them. I just have more respect for them.
So, I have always been an overthinker. Even when I was about six or seven and attended the awful Sullivan elementary school in Philadelphia (a lot of schools in Philly look more like prisons) confined to gloomy hallways and blinding classrooms, my mind was racing. It was dark and freaking gruesome like some medieval castle from a Dracula movie. All the kids were brats, the teachers were mean and that one time I threw up my recess Original Flavor Slim Jim in my favorite phonics book just about did it for me.
Somewhere along the way, I started to fret about this crap. Like, weird thoughts would just get in my mind and then they’d kind of just hang around like vagrant inhabitants of an abandoned building. There was a time when I thought if I dropped the milk cap on the floor that it was better for it to land open side down so dust wouldn’t get in the inside. You know, because mounds of dust fall from the air in split seconds just to cake the inside of milk caps.
I felt like a weirdo since I was small but since it was the ’70s, there was nothing that could or would be done about it. We weren’t rich, we didn’t live in New York City and mostly, no one noticed that I was weird. I just felt weird.
That is probably the number one reason I started writing… to get rid of the weirdness. Despite all my writing over the years (I once locked myself inside my apartment for a weekend with cigarettes, liquor, and a computer to write out one hundred and thirty poems in less than 48 hours) I have only been officially published once – one stinking poem. All my stuff gets rejected. Maybe it isn’t good enough, maybe it is too weird, maybe it just ‘isn’t a good fit.’
I don’t know.
Then, like yesterday into today, I get down on myself when those icky, negative thoughts of self-doubt inhabit my mind. Ugh. I cry and yell at myself. “Why am I wasting my time? I am just not good enough.”
I submitted a piece for an anthology about shame and it got rejected. Everything I submit gets rejected. Do I need to add a whole bunch of fluffy bullshit to my prose to get people interested? Do I need to be fake? I don’t want to be fake… being fake led me down a drunken path and I’m not doing it.
Anyway, since it was rejected, I will submit it somewhere else and see where it goes. And if it goes nowhere a couple more times, I’ll just post it here and let you all read it. I also submitted a query for the novel so I am waiting on word from that publisher.
Happy Friday everyone! Today is your day to shine.
Gosh, there were so many times I cried that it was my ‘last one.’ And I meant it every time I said it, for sure.
But the next day would come and after all the puking and the hangover and the shame, I would forget about the bad times and remember the good.
So there I went out the door, to the local bar to do it all over again. Only this time I swore it would be different. This time I would drink something else. After all, it wasn’t a drinking problem I had, it was a vodka problem I had. Oh, and maybe if I did some ‘other stuff’ while I drank, things would be better…
The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. So, in my defense, I was completely insane. What sane person would continue behavior that led to bad outcomes? How could anyone think I was in my right mind after puking my guts up in the bar bathroom and walking out and back over to the bar for another drink?
Traditional drunk. I was anything but.
I am still busy with school work! Midterms are next week. Philosophy class is going well and I am enjoying the discussions. My CIS (computer information systems) class is interesting. I know a lot about computers, but am learning more about Windows and Office 2016.
Hope everyone had an awesome weekend! I will see y’all around blog town. ❤
Sharing my story openly and honestly about living, surviving and thriving with Bipolar 1 Disorder and PTSD to increase awareness, educate, reduce stigma, prevent suicide, inspire, give hope and let God's love shine through me and touch you...