Life is Hard (Purging)

*Names have been changed to protect the identity of the people mentioned in this post.

Writing is supposed to be very therapeutic. It’s a way to purge yourself. I’ve spent weeks with so much bottled up inside me. There are days I just want to escape myself, but I can’t. So here I am, finally doing what I know to be true, which is writing is therapeutic. And right now I need this. So before you keep reading, know that I am about to purge the war that has been brewing inside me for weeks, even months. If you don’t want to read what is about to sound like a negative whine-fest; then please just stop now. Otherwise, sit back, relax, and maybe grab a bottle of wine before you continue on…

Today sucks. Today I hurt and I’m sick. I take my Methotrexate on Saturday evenings before I go to bed, in hopes to sleep through the worst of it. Then I spend my Sundays sick to my stomach, and feeling like I am drunk. It’s a fog I can’t break through. I know that come Sunday I will be grounded to the house because I can’t drive. If I can drive to church and back, I’m doing good. I don’t trust myself to maneuver a 5000 lb death trap. At least I recognize this and choose to stay home, but it still sucks. —- Having Lupus sucks butt, BIG TIME. I HATE feeling this way. I HATE being 36 years old and feeling like I am trapped in a broken, 100 year old body. I DO NOT enjoy this. AT ALL!

Another thing I hate about Lupus, is being judged. And generally I am one of those ‘No F**ks shall be given about what other people think’ kind of person, but sometimes it really does bother me. For example, my doctor gave me a handicap parking tag for when I hurt so bad I can’t hardly walk. Mornings are always the hardest and in the morning, I park in a handicap parking spot because some days, every step I take makes me want to just cry. I know people look at me and wonder why I do that. I’ve heard what people have said: “That’s just sheer laziness” and “Why the hell is she doing that? There’s nothing wrong with her” … And it’s not like it’s any of their F**KING business anyways, but the ignorance of the small minded that say that stupid S**t, pisses me off to no end. I mean seriously! I don’t enjoy this! I didn’t choose this!

Take the Lupus and mix it with my Introverted nature, I’ve become a hermit. Some days I think I should be living in a cave, in the dark, in the mountains, where there are no people. Since I’ve said the word Introvert, I’ll address that issue next…

Look, here’s the deal, it’s not that I don’t like people, it’s just that I like my alone time. I crave it. If you’re someone I care about, and I’m not keeping in touch with you every day, or even every week, it does NOT mean that I don’t care about you. It’s actually quite the opposite. I DO care, a lot. I think about my friends and family all the time. I pray for all of them, all of you. But keeping in contact exhausts me. Emotionally and physically. I am very sensitive, and I literally can feel and pick up on everything around me. Every person I come in contact with, even if it’s not physical, it doesn’t take me but a couple of seconds to be able to sense what the person is thinking and feeling. I am very in tune with people. I’ve heard the term ‘Empath’ and did some research on it. And if it’s a real thing, it’s totally me. So take that, and being an introvert, peopling can be very hard for me.

I am constantly torn between wanting to go out and do something, and wanting to stay in. If I could go out and do my thing, alone, and not have to interact with people unless I want to, then I’d be very happy… that’s a tall order of impossible though, isn’t it? I do have a couple of people that I enjoy spending time with. And when I do, I am always very thankful that I did because I do enjoy their company very much.

Sara, I love her to pieces, and we’re related, but I get tired of her comments about how “the highway runs both ways”. I know that. I wasn’t born yesterday. But that highway is very long. A three-hour drive doesn’t appeal to me. And I don’t feel good. It hurts to sit in a car that long. And then to have to people the whole time I’m there. I can’t escape to a quiet place when I need to. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her, and that I don’t care. But in my condition, I just can’t do it. Yes, I recognize that she makes a trip down here every so often. And yes, I recognize that it’s a lot for her, to pack up the kids and bring them here. And I yes, I do love it when I get to see her, but I also need her to understand how I’m feeling right now and why I am not going to get in my car and drive up there any time soon. It’s not personal, it’s just not going to happen. And meeting somewhere, halfway between here and there may sound fun to her, but to me, it sounds like a nightmare. I don’t want to spend the day in the middle of a crowded city full of people and chaos. And if I did, I want to be able escape when I’m ready. Not feel obligated to stay all day so that I don’t disappoint her. I just can’t do that all day. Physically and emotionally, I just can’t. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love her; but I’m different than she is and right now, I have to take care of me.

Then there is Jill. What bothers me about Jill is that she likes to talk, a lot. She wants me to call, all the time. But when I do, it’s not like we can chat for a little bit and hang up. No, it’s a few hours of her talking, and me listening, with a couple of “un-huhs” thrown in here and there on my part. And if I’m not saying much, then it’s assumed that something is wrong with me. The only thing wrong with me is that I don’t like talking on the phone. Not that much anyways. An occasional phone call, like once a month, and I’m good. It’s not personal, it’s just that I don’t have a lot to say, and talking on the phone exhausts me. Jill is very extroverted. She is like a social butterfly. I, on the hand, am the butterfly that wants to stay tucked away in the cocoon.

Cindy-if I get started on Cindy, I won’t stop. That is a whole book in itself. But her passive aggressive bullshit finally got on my last nerve. And her holier than thou, and fake sincerity makes me want to vomit all over her existence. I have tried and tried with that woman. I really have. Probably more so than she deserves. But you know what? I’m 36 years old and I choose not to try anymore. I don’t want to and I don’t have to. Good-bye Cindy.

Melanie…I miss her so much. I miss talking to her. I know she has a family now, and I know life gets busy. I get it, I really do. But it’s been months, since I’ve seen or had a full conversation with her. And I admit, I feel like I was put in the backburner. Even the texting is far and few between. I won’t go into the dynamics of this relationship, or the hurt I am starting to feel, but if she reads this I hope she knows how I much I do love her, and miss her.

Next up, my writing. Where do I even begin on this one? I love to write, I really do. But lately, I am struggling with it. I am writing my 3rd book and it’s tough. I love this story, and I have it all outlined, and I know exactly how I’m going to drive it home…. But I’m having trouble writing it. I know I need to. In fact, I have that inner voice screaming at me to sit down and write. It’s always there, burning from the inside out. Authors and writers, you know exactly what I’m talking about. But am I stuck in such a funk right now? I have a couple of ideas, but I still feel like something is missing.

Writing is hard people! Okay, wait… I take that back. ‘After you have written the story’ THAT is hard people! Lol…. Seriously. And I’m not talking about the editing and book cover design and etc. All of that takes work, but it’s just tedious in my opinion. What I’m talking about is the marketing, getting the book out there, getting people to read it…. And then, keeping up on social media. Engaging your readers. Oh, and did I mention marketing in all that? ‘If you write it, they will come.’ NOPE. Not even true. Being an Indie Author is both hard, and at times disappointing and discouraging. For those of you that do this, you know exactly what I’m talking about. And being extremely Introverted just adds to the stress of having to keep up with it all. I wish so badly that I could land a publishing contact with a major publishing house and let them worry about the hard stuff. If I didn’t work a full time job, and actually had the time to invest the way that I need to, to be successful, that would definitely help. But even that isn’t a guarantee. I know it can take years before your work is really out there and well known. But even after those years pass, it is still not a guarantee that you’ll ever amount to anything. I know many authors feel this way. And many ask themselves why do they keep writing when the return is very minimal. I know I do. God knows I have wanted to throw my hands up many times and say “Screw It”. Why don’t I? Good question… It’s because I can’t. Because deep down inside me, there is something that pulls and pushes at me to write. It’s part of who I am. It’s part of who all of us, that are writers, are. We can’t put it into words, but we know we have to write, just like we have to breathe, to live. I both love and hate this about myself.

Life is hard people. It really is. But I know most of you know this. It’s hard being a mother, raising a family, working full time, trying to write in my spare time (what is spare time?!), and balancing all of it so that I don’t go insane. Then having Lupus on top of that? Gahhh! I just want to scream! I’m stressed and tired. So very tired. And I know I sound like I’m giving myself a pity party right now, but I have also gone so long keeping all this bottled up inside. I needed to just get it out. And writing is the what works best for me. I want to be happy. I want to enjoy life. I know life isn’t perfect and it’s full of trials and tribulations; and I know that things could always be worse, and so on. And don’t get me wrong, I have many blessings to be thankful for, and I do thank God for those blessings every day. But right now, I’m stuck in a total funk and don’t know how to pull myself out of it. I’m just tired of all the bullshit and drama. And now…..

Now I’m tired of writing this. I feel like I’ve put a lot out here. I have mostly purged the things that I have kept bottled up inside for some time now. I feel some relief. There are a few other things I wish that I could say out loud, but we all have demons that truly are best kept hidden away where only we get to see and deal with them.

Now that that’s over, I need to work on my novel. But I put so much energy into writing this, I don’t have the energy to write that. *Facepalm* Life is hard……

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Sacrifice ~

(For a dear friend, you know who you are…please don’t lose yourself…)

Free to be himself but wanting to be accepted
Yearning for a man’s touch
He has tasted that fruit
For that is who he truly is

Afraid of societal norms
Pretending to be someone he’s not
Only not to hurt the one that he loves
For she has loved him and accepted him
They call each other their own

But when he is taken by slumber
And his soul finally rests
His heart turns to another
And his soul reaches out
But not for her

Copyright ©2016 –ND White

His Far Away Angel ~

She smiles
He chuckles
A beautiful sight
A humbling sound
Neither to be seen or heard
Only to be felt, through the words on the pages

Secrets shared
A connection unbroken
Tied by depth and uncertainty
Things he won’t say out loud
But to her he bears all
Whispering to her soul
She has become his angel in the dark

Her wings have opened
For few she lets in
His soul speaks to her
She answers
Unjudged
Raw Honesty
Opening up completely
Unable to pull away

A bond between two souls
Separated by distance
Brought together by raging winds
Imperfections of both
Beautifully entwined
Destined to clash together ~

Copyright ©2016 –ND White

Beautiful Tragedy ~

Come out and play.
Not now, maybe not ever.
Not ever? But you have already, so many times.
I can’t, I shouldn’t.
But you can, and you should.
But why?
Because you need to.
Who says?
You do. You say it all the time.
You’re wrong.
Am I?
Yes
No my dear, you’re just in denial.
No….
Yes.
Explain, please.
It consumes you. Every thought you have while awake, then it haunts your dreams.
Go on…
Without it you’ll break. But it will break you.
No it won’t. It promised.
But it already has.
No! Stop it. You’re wrong…
I’m not wrong. Your soul is shattered. Piece by broken piece, you bleed as its words slice through you. An illusion full of venomous lies that keeps you trapped by a beautiful tragedy…
That is becoming you.

Copyright ©2016 –ND White