There’s a war inside of me
Do I cause new heartbreak to write new broken song
Do I push it down or let it run me
Right into the ground
I feel like I wouldn’t like me
If I met me
Well I can’t stop talking
For fear of listening to unwelcome sound
And you haven’t called me in weeks
And honestly it’s bringing me down
I feel like I wouldn’t like me if I met me
I feel like you wouldn’t like me if you met me
And don’t you worry, there’s still time
There’s nothing to live for
When I’m sleeping alone
And I wash the windows outside
In hopes that the glare
Will bring you around
Sunshine is days away
I won’t be saved, I know all the words
I can’t say that I’ll love you forever
I won’t say that I’ll love you forever
I have been browsing online for creative writing classes. I stumbled upon the OSU-OKC website, the school I wish to go back to when I can get around to paying off my damn bill. But my finances is not the point of this post, so I digress;
LOL is it bad that my first thought reading this was, “Oh no, well, mine is more like a cautionary tale.” I snickered. Truly!
I’m working on a volume right now. It’s about some core issues I struggle with, and the book is DARK. It’s poetry full of angst, regret, and sorrow. “My summer was saturated in death and mortality.” It reflects heavily in my dark volume.
Because my next thought made me chuckle, too. “Actually, my story of my life more so reminds me of the theme song to Lemony Snicket’s Unfortunate Series of Events XD
If you are interested in stories with happy endings, then you would be better off somewhere else. In this story, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning, and very few happy things in the middle.
My name is Lemony Snicket. It is my solemn duty to bring to light the sorry history of the Baudelaire children as it happened so many years ago.
But you in the audience have no such obligation, and I would advise all our viewers to turn away immediately and watch something more pleasant instead.
This story will be dreadful, melancholy and calamitous, a word which here means “dreadful and melancholy.” That is because not very many happy things happened in the lives of the Baudelaires.
Violet, Klaus and Sunny were intelligent children. Charming and resourceful, they had pleasant facial features, but they were extremely unlucky. Most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery and despair. I’m sorry to tell you this – but that’s how the story goes.
-Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events
There is something about writing dark material. So shameful to admit to being the author. Is it, though? So much of myself I feel I shouldn’t share… but then, the things that happen to me must surely happen to other people. I’m a wife who worries about her marriage. I’m a daughter affected by her mother’s drug abuse. I struggle with drugs. I’ve gone to therapy and should be going, still. I’m a member of the Al-Anon community on my better days.
I want to publish my dream blog about my experience with my sobriety. It’s also dark and personal. Like I said, everything I write is dark right now… it’s seeping out in my poetry and collage making. But do I have the balls to own my shit????????????
If my family ever read my dark volume, they wouldn’t be amused. I say some very hard things about my mother in particular. The book is about the despair of losing your identity.
I used to be a Native American woman. Now truthfully, I am a Mexican-Native-American. I never knew I was Mexican. Do I call myself hispanic, latino? IT’S SO FOREIGN TO ME. I reject my father’s label. My identity was different for twenty four years. My narrative was a different story without him. I never knew I was Mexican. I never learned the culture or the language. It’s going to be a weird book.
I imagined going to creative writing class and sharing my real self. I remember during the orientation for my dietitian class and one of my classmates was so remarkably honest. He said he struggled with substance abuse in the past and used his new lifestyle to commit to sobriety. I found myself wanting to share in that confession, but I could never.
Because you don’t want people to look at you sadly. They never know what to say. Their questions are annoying. I told someone during my sobriety I packed on the pounds and they unhelpfully remarked, “Oh, isn’t it the other way around? Get high on weed, get the munchies, get fat?” Well it wasn’t in my case genius way to make me feel like a failure.
I have a stupid eating problem. I have a moderate case of bulimia. I suffer from anxiety and depression. Cue this song:
And finally, one other quote reminds me of my life;