Sunday, August 6, 2017

And Me, I am Here.



Open Blogger. Read last post. Decided to write. Type. Type. Erase. Type. Erase. 3 Paragraphs. Deletes one. Draft. 1 month passes.

Open Blogger. Decided to Write. Type. Erase. Type. Type. Draft. 1 month passes. 

Open Blogger. Decide to Write. Type. Type. 3 Paragraphs. Photo. Draft. 1 month passes. 

This has been my cycle since at least march. While going through cosmetology school I had zero to no time to even think about blogging. And then I graduated and got my license. Score. I can blog again. and then, type..type..erase..draft. It's been a constant cycle of no motivation to me being a perfectionist to me so wrapped up on the words I felt needed to be said perfectly in a sentence held together by the perfect grammar that I was so imperfect at in high school. I, consumed by needing to be the perfect blogger with all the amazing photos that I take with my $600 camera. I consumed by needing to open my blogger with a already planned out topic to write about. DIY. Do it yourself, I made a homemade scrub out of ingredients from my kitchen - false, I couldn't make a pinterest craft if my life depended on it. I, consumed with the thought of buying all the new high end makeup so I could write the best review in the world. Type. Type. Erase. Type. Photo. Draft. Deletes Draft. Forgets about the topic. Closes Blog. 6 Months passed. 1 year passed and I can count the amount of posts on one hand. 

Writing became tiring. I have forgotten that 14 year old girl sitting in her room with wide eyes on the world of connecting through words on a page. Forgotten that 16 year old who just had her heart broke for the first time crying onto her keyboard as she searches for words that she cannot find in a song. Forgotten that 17 year old spilling her tears and heart ache on to the never ending post of a blog who was 3 years old but lived so young. Forgotten that 19 year old so wrapped up in saving someone wrapped up in a pill of lies while she spilled the words of "you matter" and "how can I help," from the tips of her fingers. Forgotten that 20year old who just met a boy who little did she knew would change her world so she told the secrets to a pen that wouldn't tell anyone but a paper that would get ripped up and thrown in the trash a day later.  Forgotten the 21 year old whose broken friendship was dealt with by spilling blood, shaken hands, throat so swollen from choking on tears that only felt weightless when typing on a keyboard. Forgotten the 23 year old excited about marrying the love of her life and wrote down every single butterfly zooming around her heart so she didn't forget a thing. Forgotten. 

12:50am. Speedracer is on his back, hands folded over his chest as he snores because his head isn't on his pillow. The dog pushing against my legs for comfort as he cuddles to get out of the way of the fan pointed towards the bed. and Me...I'm Here. Hello old Friend, I almost didn't recognize you. 


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