Writing, Where Are You?

I wrote a short story about the beginning of caring for my mom.  I looked for it today to reread and republish it here again.  However, like everything else in my life it has gone from me.  I thought I had kept a hard copy of it amongst my papers – it seems no is the answer.

I am heart-broken – again.

I want to scream and yell.  I want to cry myself sick.  I want to go on a bender (not really a bender just drink until I fall asleep).  There are only a few pieces I have written in my life.  The time, the energy, the creativity, the mind sweat, the vulnerability, the emotion of it all – GONE!  Like it never existed.  Like I never existed.  Like who I was before today – never happened.

For nearly five years I have lived in the same place, yet I have less than when I moved in.  I have less clothes, less possessions, less furnishings, less of everything.  It’s not about the things, but that’s what people do when they live somewhere – they make it a home.  They surround themselves with what they enjoy, what calms or excites them, or memories they’ve made.  But, even my memories are gone and missing too.  I have less memories than when I moved here.

Worse than a lack of things and possessions, I feel myself becoming dumber.  My mind is not expanding, becoming more knowledgable, or enlightened even.  My dyslexic mind which I’ve worked so hard all my life to learn things the way my mind works – to anticipate, to try to think faster than the next person just so I could keep up with the conversations and the world around me is simply gone.  As if I’ve been lobotomized.  As if both hemispheres are no longer communicating with each other.  Parts of my brain are gone entirely.

Who lives like this?  No one.  No one can live as if their life before today never happened.

I am just so devastated again.  My writing is not great, my grammar is not the best, I don’t follow or know all the writing/written formulas and so forth, but it was getting somewhere.  And, more than anything I did it for me.  I wrote because I decided to write.

This is what I found in my writing:

Just a note before I go.

It seems we don’t know how to end a day without arguing.  I know now why that is.  The time apart and separated from you cuts to the core of my soul with such an unhappy, unpleasant emptiness I find myself lashing out trying to be nearer to you.  For I do not truly exist when you are not by my side.  If today with grave cruelty came to be my last it is the heart of you I will hold onto for it can never be extinguished.  How grateful I am for every moment shared with you!  For the rest of the world is meaningless and pale while we are apart.

Til the end of time back again until the dawn of time.

I don’t even know who it was written for anymore.  I’m not sure I wrote it for anyone in particular.

I do know I held onto that belief of him, I believed was real.  Yet, these last few years have shown me it was not a shared belief.  Worse they were not real moments.

I would rather have died believing.


Left Of Me

I am just not the same anymore.

Who I used to be, who I wanted to be, the things I wanted to do and be in my life are all gone from me.

I used to be pretty – not in a traditional movie star or cover of a magazine sense – but, I used to be pretty from the inside out.  I see that now in photographs from my past.

I used to be overweight.  When I looked in the mirror I never understood the person who looked back at me because it never matched the image I held in my mind.  I may have been overweight, but I always saw myself – thin.

I used to have a light in my eyes.  My eyes used to be blue – a brilliant, bright Norwegian blue – just like everyone member of my father’s side of my family.  I’ve lost the color in my eyes they’ve turned dull and gray.  Perhaps it’s just health, malnutrition and stress.  Who knows, but my glow and lightness is gone.

It’s been years now.  My face is hard.  I hold my head like an animal defending itself from a never-ending attack.  My eyes hang and droop from an unspoken sadness unable to be shared or shaken from the heavy hurt.

It’s all-consuming.  I look uncomfortable in my own skin.  It feels as though I am wearing someone else’s overcoat so many sizes too large, unable to bend, and move, or breathe easy.

It is an unrecoverable loss.

Worse still, it feels as though the only reason for my existence is so other’s can watch me suffer.

I knew at my very best I have only ever been average, yet I still held a belief that there were things I could do without thinking.  Like breathing.  That belief that I held and could feel is gone.  Like an emotional landslide swept away.

I used to want to go to film school so I could write, direct, produce, and act in my own films because who else would hire me?  I had plans to go to FSU.  I even looked into going to a film school in Bath, England.

I used to dream of racing cars.

Nursing schools, visual merchandiser, buyer, masseuse, physical therapy, speech therapist the list goes on and on of vocations and directions I believed I could do well and should be my life.

The problem is I can no longer see a future, nor can I feel me anymore.

This is not a pity part.  I am not trying to be pathetic.  I am not looking for sympathy.  I guess, I am explaining.  I cannot be or play someone else’s idea of me and who they think I should be.

No one will ever be able to understand what it is like living this life on this side of me.  There is a great moat that surrounds and follows me wherever I go.  The distance it creates has deadend me from the inside.

Do you know that I used to feel a connection to man I used to know in college.  I believed it would always be there.  To my great humiliation it has been turned into something ugly, to something more than it ever was.  It has been used against me.  As if believing in someone you once knew is a crime.  The truth is we could barely speak to each other.  When we did speak it usually turned hostile and violent.  Yet, there were times when we looked at each other and the rest of the world ceased to exist.  There were moments filled with so much that I held onto them.

What I understand now from these last few years, I was merely projecting a want or belief that simply was never true.

Perhaps it is this loss of belief that has caused such decay in my soul.  Unfortunately, there is so much to my life’s story one answer is not all of it.

Perhaps it has been this constant theme of three numbers, of people I do not know and have been forced to choose.  This ongoing contest of men’s ego’s that has torn me to pieces.

I cannot stand ego.  Ego is such a turn off.  Constantly stroking a man’s ego while I’m barely able to live and manage my everyday.

I wish I had never been on the monorail that day.  I wish I had never had a conversation with that stranger.  I wish I had never seen him or talked to him after that day.  I wish I never had to see or hear from him ever again.

No one else has to wear my shame.  No one else feels my hurt.

No one else understands what this feels like.

I don’t know how to plan, or prepare my future when everything I’ve known, understood about myself is gone.  Not the same anymore.

I went to my mother’s funeral more than a year ago.  The truth about her death I still do not know.  Her death was kept a secret from me for years.  This is such an emotionally charged event (I don’t know how else to say it) I’ve gone numb, or perhaps I am still in shock.  More likely, I’m unable to react because the truth is still hidden from me.

Then a month later, I gave my cats to my brother believing he was going to take care of them.  I still remember the hurricane we had last year.  Getting supplies and waiting through the weather in this house, I still had them in my mind’s eye as if they were living it with me because I believed they were going to be returned to me.  Only to learn that my brother mislead me, and he did not take care of them.  The destruction of this news sent me over a sharp cliff.

Loss, and loss, and loss, and loss, after loss, and loss and loss.  Loss of even the smallest things is still a loss.

I don’t know how to end this post.

Not Much Has Changed

I have said and shared more than once that Florida has great potential for the film and television industry.  There is no reason why there shouldn’t be more work shot in Florida.

However, from what I’ve experienced, as well as, from my understanding of the problems involved with productions – Florida has not grasped the possibilities for the future.  Florida makes decisions for the immediate need.  Florida as I have experienced it all these years is still a good o’l boy mentality with red neck mischief.

Florida should figure out making and creating decisions that could impact – for the better – the entire state what a difference it would make for every person for years, decades, and centuries to come.

There is no reason why Florida isn’t more accessible to Hollywood than California.  Except California has put money, planning, city engineering, planned communities, engineered roads, etc.  Florida takes the position of do it yourself.  There is no organization, no commitment to a future for every person for the years to come.

What I’ve experienced – Florida is slow.  It does not learn from the success of others and apply it with a purpose to the now.

I grew up in California, then my family moved to Oregon.  When I moved to Oregon (as a young child) I thought Oregon is years behind California.  The mentality of its people, fashion, politics, its view on the world, etc.

From Oregon my family moved to Florida when I was a teenager.  I was devastated by the move.  I was in culture shock for a very long time.  Florida was so far behind Oregon – it’s mentality, fashion, politics, it’s view on the world, etc. it was unbearable.

Shouldn’t come as a shock, I suppose, since Florida was the last state in the union to amend its state constitution giving women the right to vote – 1971, folks.  Can you believe that?  That is if my internet research can be believed.  Since my internet access has an undisclosed (unauthorised) governing upon it.

For me, it is quite literally painful to see possibility, potential, yet be stopped over and over and over again by stupidity, narrow-mindedness, and a failure to believe in the possibilities of human potential.

This writing for me is still an explanation, or reporting.  It is not the writing I started with, nor is it the writing that I have stored away in the recesses of my mind, but do to the confines of my current life I am unable to reach.

I am Florida.

I have great potential.  I have great possibility.  Yet, time and time and time again I have been stopped, blocked, locked in, physically hurt to stop me, and literally slammed into to keep me isolated, stuck, and a version of what someone else wants of me.  But, it is not me.

If I was able to live outside of this faked life – this unreal life I’ve been imprisoned in – if I was able to speak, to live with control over my body alone, without intruders in my body, in my place of residence, without games of control, without competition for my money and attention, where I could finally be free of 360, it would be the difference between California getting all the jobs and Florida finally being able to stand on its own legs.