When I start writing

I always think of that quote by Ernest Hemingway. It says “there is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” A little outdated with the typewriter and somewhat morbid with the blood. It makes me feel better though, because the pressure of writing is taken off of me. No one has to be told how to bleed.

I think about how depression brings out the best in artists. It is arguable to say that without depression, their work lacks depth and relatability. I was given anti-depressants and they worked immediately and did their job well. Did my artistic ability go away? No. Not necessarily. Did it lack depth? You could say that.

I have been off of them for long enough to be able to notice the changes in my mind. I found my urge to bleed in front of my computer. To let all of these emotions drain through my finger tips and onto a blog that no one reads. However, when someone bleeds, it’s rather messy. That is how I feel; messy. My feelings feel messy. My head feels messy. I am no writer, but I do bleed.

I am someone who dislikes when I’m angry. Sadness, I can handle. Anger eats away at me and disables me. One day, I heard someone ask what part you play in your anger. I hated that. It’s not about me, it’s about that asshole that ruined my day. It’s not my fault. But after thinking about that question a little longer, I confronted the harsh truth. My anger is my fault. No one made me angry.

Now, this way of thinking is not for the weak of heart. It’s a hard truth to listen to. Now, every time I feel angry, I ask myself “what is it about myself that is making me angry?” Typically, there is something about myself that is contributing to the anger. Whether it is jealousy, misunderstanding, ego, judgement on my end, or lack of empathy. Although people do bad things that make me angry; at the end of the day, I am the one who controls my anger and how I let their actions effect me.

I am someone who gives a lot. Sometimes I give what I do not have. Ill get angry when it’s not reciprocated or appreciated. This is the most recent truth that I have come face to face with. I am the one who has decided to give. I am the one who chooses to give. I am the one who cares. That is what is important and that is why I do what I do. I feel that it is right and I feel like I need to contribute where I can. And giving is not about receiving or even recognition. That is not the purpose of giving. The purpose of giving is exactly that – GIVING. If you don’t agree with that, then you should really do some soul searching.

At the end of the day, I can go to sleep knowing that I gave what I could to who I could. I can’t tell you what the other end’s day looks like. That isn’t my burden to carry. Not everything deserves a reaction. You are more responsible for your happiness than you would like to think.

Amazon doesn’t offer overnight shipping on success

I sat down ready to write. I write when I don’t know exactly how I’m feeling and hopefully I’ll vomit some words onto the keyboard making some sense. I brought out my cheap LP laptop that I bought for instances where I can’t use my iPhone. I opened the browser and typed in wordpress.com – I waited for two seconds. I hit that refresh button. Still waiting. Now I’m starting to ask myself why it isn’t working. It finally loads. I hit “write” but it still takes a few seconds. Now I’m getting frustrated. I hit it about five times.

This is why I say we give up so often. We live in a world of “instant.” Our food is instant. We have fast food, instant pots, microwavable meals, meals delivered to our door. We have instant contact with anyone. You want to tell Kim K she’s looking mighty fine? You can direct message her and it will directly be put into her inbox. You want to see someone? FaceTime. You want to order something online and get it tomorrow? Overnight shipping. I’m guessing you get the point.

When we work for something we want and it doesn’t start to produce immediate results, we ask “why isn’t this working?” As if success has caught up with the times. Why isn’t my success as quick as my wifi? Why can’t I buy success like I can buy Instagram followers and likes? Better yet, success is preceded by mundane. Mundane is just not even in the picture. I mean, if you follow an Instagram influencer… mundane doesn’t exist.

They wake up to an all organic breakfast that consists of wheat toast, avocado, a small side of fruit, a glass of water, and a fair trade tea – all coming from the local farmers market. Except the water, the water came from France and a crystal is sitting at the bottom of it for good vibes. Then, they go to the gym for an hour which they get there by driving their gorgeous SUV of some sort. They just can’t live without their Apple watch.

Like c’mon. If you just live life like a normal person, it’s boring. It isn’t glamourous. We are doing something wrong because we don’t know how to take pictures like they do. We don’t go to festivals every week. We don’t have that many friends. What are we doing wrong?

Well, everything is a lie. Instant doesn’t work for grief, success, healing, etc. And life isn’t glamourous. Nor will it ever be. If you want success, you learn there is no way to buy it or get overnight shipping. It’s not glamourous. Success is filled with mundane.

There will always be wolves amongst the sheep

Man, oh man, am I glad that my computer remembered my password to this blog. I haven’t written in so long that I was pleasantly surprised my blog’s name. Casual Compositions. Nice. Anyway – I’m over here having a whole ass crisis. I started an Etsy business like every other stay at home mom. Little did I know, that starting this business would create an uproar inside of my head.

About three months ago, I decided to leave my part time job slingin’ coffee to sell vintage. I don’t know if people are lying to me when they say “wow, that’s so cool!” However, I do know, that I would absolutely lie to someone under the circumstances of them staring directly into eyes and me not wanting to break their creative spirit and drive. I recently made a Facebook page for my Etsy. I sent everyone on my friends list an invitation. I, very quickly, realized that this was equivalent to presenting a project in front of everyone from your 5th grade best friend’s grandma to your ex-boss who sent you a breast pump about two years ago.

I remember a conversation I had with my mom as soon as I started my business. I called, and with a very serious demeanor, I said: “mom, I have deep rooted trust issues.” What does my mother say? She said, in the most upbeat manner possible, “good for you!” Now, this was not the response I was expecting. I honestly didn’t even know where she was going with that. She explained to me that I’m smart enough and I have been through enough to understand that most people aren’t trustworthy. She gave me an example; if someone burns you, are you going to trust them? No, you’d be a fool.

At this point, I am thinking: the hardest part to cope with about my trust issues isn’t that I’m wrong… It’s that I’m right. When I send Facebook invites to my 8th grade Spanish teacher, I know he’s going to remember how I skipped class and would say something like “this is where skipping class gets you – Etsy.” When I post four to six photos on my Instagram, there are going to be people who will unfollow me because I am dreadfully annoying. There are going to be family members who think “there’s no way in hell that’s going to go anywhere” and that is going to be ok.

There is a question I always ask myself when I am putting a lot of work into something. “Would you still be doing this, if you never got any credit for doing it?” This really puts my motives into perspective. Are you doing it because you love it or because it looks good on you? Your success isn’t a sweater from H&M. Your success is for you. It is only for you.

 

 

 

 

 

We are what we have gone through

I’m almost 25.

In elementary school, I was told by Katherine that my breath stinks and no one wants to be my friend.

In junior high, I was sent an IM on AIM by Becca and she told me that I was pathetic. I was also sent a message by Mckenzie that I was too ugly, I was too pale, my clothes were ugly, and that everyone actually hated me.

In 8th grade, Jerika tried to get me kicked out. It didn’t work, but they guidance counselor told her children not to hang out with me. It spread through out my entire grade so I transferred schools.

In 10th grade, Jerika transferred to the school that I did and told everyone we were best friends.

In 12th grade, I was told that I looked like I had down syndrome by Josh. He was my boyfriend. He also lied about cheating on me to see me cry.

When I was 21, I had a boyfriend who forced me to have sex with him or he threatened to break up with me.

When I was 22, Taylor accused me of stealing her tattoo idea and bashed me on Facebook where others told me how I’m a bitch.

When I was 22, I had a boyfriend who told me I wasn’t successful enough to be his girlfriend.

When I was 23, I had a boyfriend cheat on me with his ex.

I’m 25 years old with my 4 month old son and my fiancĂ©. These moments still affect me. I cried in the kitchen holding my son today, because I felt like I wasn’t good enough for anyone. I don’t want friends, I don’t like people. This is because I don’t want to be rejected. We are what we have gone through. I am made out of what these people have done to me.

I dread the moment my son starts getting bullied and his heart broken.

I can tell myself that I am worth it. I can tell myself that they were hurt people themselves. I can tell myself that I am better than them. I can tell myself that I have loving people in my life now.

I can tell myself all of it, but those words can’t be taken back. They have done their damage.

Prove them wrong

Four years ago I moved to the Midwest from the East coast. Against all of the warnings that I wouldn’t make it by myself, I thrived. I made friends, I landed a wonderful full time job, and most importantly I found my partner and had my son. When things got hard, I was told to come home. I politely declined the offer.

Now, four years later, I have decided to move in with my parents. Not because I need them, but because they need me. Everyone is warning me that I will hate it and that I need to do what’s best for my family.

Well I am. I am doing what is best for my family.

My parents raised four children and did an unbelievable job. They did everything they could for their children. They have been married for 37 years. However, life is swallowing them whole. Despite all of the warnings, I know this is what I need to do.

I want my son to know kindness. I want my son to see what it means to love. I want my son to know that if you love someone, you take care of them no matter what.

I proved everyone wrong when I moved to the Midwest and now I will prove everyone wrong again. Because I live with my decisions and if someone else makes my decisions for me, well I would never be able to live with that.