It’s true. This life is not what I want, what I need. This Is not how this should play out. I am supposed to be happy. I am supposed to be fun. To be bold. When did I become this hollow shell of a person? How did this happen? I could blame it on a million things, but I think it’s my fault.
All my life I have lived for others. For my family, for my friends, for men. Never for myself. It’s funny really, how I’ve changed myself to fit into different molds. Not me. I think I might know who I am, maybe?
I am wild. I am fierce. I am honest. I am kind. I can be harsh. I am loud. I have passions. I love to laugh. Writing used to be my joy, and I’m trying to find it again. I am a wolf. I am beautiful. I love to drink. I love to cook. I love company. I love to read, paint, and dance. I am clumsy. I trip over my words. I am jealous. I am anxious. I am depressed.
I am so much more than I give myself credit for.
I have a purpose. I am supposed to love without fear, without regret. I am supposed to enjoy life. I am too young to be this bitter, to be this sad.
My life is not over. It’s only just begun.
I don’t know where to begin. It seems I only come here when my cup runneth over with sadness, fear, anxiety, and anger. I suppose it’s an outlet of sorts. A release that I no longer have in the real world. When is the last time I actually picked up a pen and put it to paper? I haven’t. Not in a very long time. I need to.
I have so many pent up thoughts, emotions, devastations. Maybe if I write them down, I can let go of them. I can start healing myself, repairing the broken pieces. Maybe I just need new glue.
I find it hard to let people love me, for fear that they will suddenly stop. It has become tiring for my boyfriend to constantly reassure me that he does in fact love me. My brain fights me every step of the way. It plants seeds of doubt in every corner of my mind. “He doesn’t love you. He is only with you for comfort, for safety.” “It’s not true! I am worthy! I love him and he loves me!” I always fight back angrily and try to win. I seldom ever do.
I guess I’m writing this because it’s been bottled in my mind for so long and this is the only way I know how to get it out. It’s much easier to type this, than to write it on paper. One day I might be able to be perfectly normal. To live without sadness or anger. To live without fear or anxiety.
One day I might become easier to love.
Today is not that day.
It’s been so long since I’ve been able to push out anything remotely coherent. I’ve started therapy to try and work out some issues, maybe she can fix this writers block I’ve seemed to carry for years. Why would anyone ever want to be a writer? The imaginative and creative process is such a fickle thing. It’s quite destructive. I feel like shit when I don’t write and I write like shit when I do write. It’s so turbulent in my head. I wish I could explain. Although, I’m not some special flower, there is someone out there who knows exactly what I feel. So anyway, I guess the point is that I wrote a tiny little blurb. It’s about love or something stupid like that. Enjoy. Or don’t.
Your kisses, they taste different. They no longer breathe a world of life into my soul. They no longer set fire upon my skin. I don’t feel it anymore. That spark, the ignite. This may not be a bad thing. They taste like a fresh morning, a new start. They taste like sunshine after a rain storm, clean and lovely. The fever is gone, the rush, the vivid flames. Now it’s replaced with a safeness, a comfort. Oh how I love the flavor of 2 am conversations, of waking up slowly to find each other under the sheets. It’s a new feeling, a new journey that I’m finding to be a delight. Please, kiss me more often, I crave that new sensation. Your kisses, they taste different.
When I kiss you, I taste the rain.
A thunderstorm rolling through the city.
There is lightning and the thunder.
There is the torrential downpour that accompanies the lights and sounds.
It’s a force of nature, sending those of us fleeing to the safety of indoors.
The trees drink of the rain.
The flowers sway in the wind.
Nature relishes in her own fury.
When I kiss you, I taste the rain.
Of gentle drizzles lightly covering the grass.
Of hail and wind. Of tornados, of hurricanes.
The flooding of rivers and creeks.
The puddles left on the side of the road.
When I kiss you, I taste the rain.
Today is Christmas. Normally a fun filled Holiday with lots of laughter and quality time. Today just felt like it was filled with soul crushing loneliness. My father wasn’t able to have Christmas with us due to being in the hospital, so that made everything really hard. My mom is feeling it to. It just felt so lifeless this year. Uninspiring at all. This last month has just been a storm of shit.
At this point, I would usually be wishing for the New Year to quickly wipe this slate clean, but not this time. It’s taking me twenty-four years to realize that this is as good as it gets. People die, people break up, fights happen, money gets tight, work sucks, holidays are no longer the best thing ever. If anyone told me this is what growing up would be like, I would’ve stayed young forever. Peter Pan would’ve been my best friend.
I’m not sure I want another year of this lack luster life. I want to change. I NEED to change. I don’t want to make resolutions, those never stick. I want to make life changes. Travel has definitely got to be in this new plan. Maybe even a new state to live in and explore. Weight loss is always on my list for any major life changing plans. I want to write my book. I’ve started but haven’t picked it up since. That is something I need to actually sit down and do. I want to be a writer? Well then I need to write, no matter what.
So many things. So many questions I keep asking myself. I have no idea how to answer them. I don’t have patience for any of this. I like instant results, as I’ve been raised in a “give me it right now” society. If I could just stay focused and get one thing done at a time, that would be great.
I suppose we shall see.
So this is me. This is my time to shine, right? This is my space where I can write freely, bare my soul and tell you all about how I can’t find the right moment to sit down and start writing the greatest story never told.
I always feel there should be an introduction of sorts. I should tell you a little bit about me, but no small amount of words with even begin to scratch the surface. How conceited does that make me sound? Terribly so, I know. It doesn’t matter. This blog is about me. It’s for me. I need a place to relieve tension. To hopefully pour some of these thoughts out of my mind. I feel as though I am going crazy sometimes. This will be an experiment, a tool to ease my soul. Do not feel like you should find something fantastic here. That probably will never happen. Sorry to disappoint. If anything, I hope I can help you find your way to becoming a better writer. Much better than myself.
That was all nonsense. I am nonsense.
My name is K-La. I generally go by Hollywood. I suppose it’s up to you to choose what you’d like to call me, but it’s really up to me as to what I shall respond to. I am a twenty-four year old aspiring writer. I’m aspiring but failing miserably, but we will see what happens in the end. After all, no great story gives up the ending at the beginning.
I’m a dreamer. I’m a lover of all. I give my heart away too easily and I feel too much. I grow much too attached to people, but I am ever so distant. I am a contradiction at best. I thrive on poetic movements, on beautiful music and soulful writings. I love reading and writing more than anything else. I am nothing more than another lost soul trying to find their way.
This is my blog. These are my ramblings. Be afraid, there be monsters in these waters.