unpublished, unedited. (01)

i suppose i suddenly imagined my struggles as a sea. while barely being able to stay afloat the water, i found fear in not knowing how soon i would tire from the waves moving me away from what i was pursuing. what could prevent me from drowning in such a beautiful thing? in the midst of fighting to survive, the rules had suddenly changed. just as i was barely able to tread water any longer, i was suddenly asked to climb the sea.

-- an impossible thought. i would have to teach my mind to adjust to an idea that seems purely unthinkable. i'm being asked to survive, and i don't know how.

(This was written on 7/1/08.)

c’est la vie.

i want to talk about realistic writing expectations, and how i don’t have any. i bite off more than i can chew, or adversely find underwhelming writing tasks to pursue. i edit, re-edit, and edit again just to be able to type a paragraph now, and by the time i'm ready to publish, i feel drained. i need to come back down to earth.

which leads me to a very strange announcement: i decided i’m writing a book. i know that doesn’t seem to add up at all, does it? but i really am writing a book, and i am not going to get excited about it. i’m actually giddy about it, to be honest. but if i get excited, i’ll love it too much, and the love will rush it and smother it to death. i need to work slowly. i need to put all of my thoughts back together again. i have to relive so much of my life to write these pages. i cannot hold myself to expectations or deadlines. if this takes me years to write, then c’est la vie. it will simply be done whenever i finish it.

so maybe i shouldn’t call it a book? maybe i should call it a creative writing project. whatever it should be called, it’s happening. and it isn’t being typed either! it’s already begun in notebooks that are scattered around my room (which may prove to be a fatal mistake later). but it’s better to write on paper for now at least, because when i type, it’s too tempting to hit the backspace.

so what is the book about?

love.

sometimes i still need you.

i’ve been trying to write, but nothing will come out.

my fingers touch the keys, and usually form no more than two sentences before i stop again in attempt to recollect my thoughts. my words have failed me at even the most simple of writing tasks. even now, i’ve been staring at a blog comment window, trying to type a response to a friend and my fingers won’t move. i don’t usually realize that i’ve stopped writing; that my mind has gone vacant at all until i suddenly come back down to earth, and realize that all i had been doing over the past 5 minutes was pick the grey nail polish from my fingernails.

i write a paragraph and stop cold. i’ve been staring at the cursor blinking for 4 minutes. how is it that i’ve got so much to say, and nothing at all? i recently started thinking about how easy it was to write when i was in love. i had so many thoughts then. i would hate to find that i can’t write while out of love, but i know it really just isn’t the same. before i fell in love, i could write so easily. i don’t understand why it can’t be that way again. i told someone that i’ve felt so happy and liberated since i’ve moved to Portland, but still feel a lingering sadness from losing him that doesn’t seem to be going away. she told me that maybe this will be my new normal. maybe i need to accept that i’ll always be somewhat wounded now, and that the things that happened to me will still have an affect on my life, even if it is only in the smallest of ways. but i wish it wouldn’t have taken away my writing, and my ability to focus when i read. i can read chapters of a book now, and not be able to tell you what i had just read if you had asked me.

i know moving was right. i know this is where i want to be. i know that i’m home now. but deep down, i know why this is happening. i know why this day has turned out this way. it was because the first thing i thought of when i opened my eyes this morning was you.

 

“she closes her eyes in ecstasy, but he’s tattooed his face across her eyelids.”

Day 11 — A Deceased person you wish you could talk to

Dear Aunt Sabrina,

I think you’d be confused as to why I chose to write you, but you have to know that I’ve been lucky enough not to lose anyone very close to me so far, and since you and I never met it seems fitting. This is one letter I wish I could get a reply from. I wish you could tell me what my dad was like before you died. I wonder what all of them were like. I wonder if they were any different at all, because I know problems existed far before you were gone. I wonder if you were the sunshine in the room. I wonder if you were anything like my sister and I. When I was a little girl I remember asking who you were when I saw your picture. My dad told me that you were his sister, but that you were in heaven now. No one really ever spoke of you, and they don’t even now. I know nothing about you besides how you died. I grew curious and searched for your name on the internet, and what saddened (and scared) me was that all that came up was the date of your death, and your social security number.

Even if they don’t speak of you, the lack of your presence can still be felt. I don’t know if they realize it, but every year at the time of your death they’re always unhappy. Maybe it’s an unspoken understanding between them, but I can’t help but to think that maybe they just feel safer in their denial. If you had been my sister you would have been in my thoughts every day. I can’t believe I’ve been on this earth just a few years longer than you have, now. When I think of you, you remind me of how fragile life is, and I still wonder what it would’ve been like if you were still here. I think my dad does too.

Goodnight, Sabrina.

Day 7 — Your Ex-boyfriend

(I know, I've skipped a few days. I've decided to write whichever letter feels most fitting to write about at the moment. I'll get back to the others when the timing is right. But tonight this letter is for him. I thought about writing this letter for months. I've written the pages over and over in my head. I was always so hesitant to write it all out; I've had so much to say. I've edited, shortened, and rewritten completely. This is the first letter that has felt right.)





To My Ex-Lover,

I think of you less and less every day. Everything you made me feel is past tense now. Nearly three years, and the only thing you managed to teach me is that love fails. I don't crave your company any longer. I loved who you were, but who you are now is something I would never desire. What ended us was your denial, and what began your relationship with her was lies. I don't expect you to ever find your way back to the person you were. Enjoy.

Sincerely,
Bunny.

Day 2 — Your Crush

Dear Crush:

I would get butterflies when you texted me, and stammer over my words when you'd call. I hope you never noticed, but I secretly wish you did. I'm sorry that I'm talking in past tense, but I think you know what that means. My butterflies are flying away. But I'm not sad at all. I get the idea that there will be more like you that start strong and quickly fade, but I find that exciting.

I love the movie nights, the coffee dates, the flirtatious conversations, the hugs that last longer each time, and feeling giddy when my phone lights up and it's you. You don't need to be the love of my life. You don't need to last forever. I'm not afraid of where this goes because a crush isn't capable of breaking my heart. I just like this feeling because it makes me feel alive.

But to anyone who may have a crush on me now (or those future boys I've yet to meet), I will say this: any guy I know would tell you in a heartbeat that before you realize it, you'll be falling for me.

So if you're ready for late night conversations and spontaneous beach trips, maybe you should take a chance. I'm an amazing girl. You just have to get to know me.

Day 1 — Your Best Friend

I told myself I'd start this project on July 1st, but July has somehow swept me away in its first 5 days.

I'm both excited and terrified to do this project. I feel as though it'll be much like ripping off bandaids and picking scabs. (Gross, I'm sorry.) I'm torn between ideas of how healing is supposed to work now. I'm not sure if it's simply time that heals all wounds, or if it's attempting anything that promises incite closure, or if venting and expressing your emotions to people you trust somehow helps nurse your thoughts back to health.

Regardless, I'll try my best to write one letter every day, and I'll try my best to write the letter assigned to that specific day, but I can't promise. Some people who have taken on this project have written such lighthearted letters (which I adore and envy), and although I'm sure some of mine might be too, some of the topics are such heavy thoughts to bear. Regardless, I know I will finish this project. So here it comes.


Day 1 — Your Best Friend

Dear Best Friend,

I've chosen to write this letter in a manner that keeps you anonymous. That's because I've chosen to write to every best friend: The ones that exist now, the ones that only existed then. The ones I speak to once a day, and the ones I speak to once a month. This is for you. I want to tell you that I wouldn't have made it here without you. The times you drove me around the city until I could finally bring myself to stop crying, the times you came over at 2 a.m. just to listen to music in my room, the times you've answered my phone calls and spoke to me for hours whether I was laughing or crying. Sometimes I feel that you've never stopped loving me unconditionally. It's almost surreal.

We dream, we swim, we laugh, we sing, we cry, we dance. We stay awake to see sunrises, we climb water towers, we complete each other's sentences, we go on road trips, fishing trips, camping trips, we stay in bed all day. I feel like I belong in the world when you're with me. You look at me and I know you understand me whether or not I've spoken any words at all.

I want to apologize if I've ever hurt you. I want to apologize to you for sometimes not answering my phone, and I want to apologize to you for sometimes answering my phone at all; this has been my hardest year, and I know I haven't always made for the happiest conversation, or the best company. I know all you've ever done is try to take care of me. I promise my distance is only ever an attempt at burdening you less.

Please never doubt what you mean to me. You've made my life so much easier to bear. Some days you were all that brought me out of bed in the morning. Some nights you were the only reason I could fall asleep. Even if it didn't last, I still think of our memories fondly.

Thank you for being here now, and being here then.