The more beautiful, amazingly crafted, intelligent novels I read, the more inadequate I feel to in any way attempt to become a writer. That poorly constructed sentence should really be evidence enough.
I have recently been worried that there aren't enough beautiful things in the world to wonder over, and there aren't enough complex emotions to explore, and that all of the stories have been told again and again, and there is nothing worth writing any more. But what it actually is, is that I'm blind.
My narrow view of the world, through this lense that only cares about validation in the form of the approval of men, is making me bored with life. But the world is full of a million things a hundred times more interesting and more important than romantic everlasting love. There is love in all its other forms, there is the feeling of connectedness and belonging to the web of family or society, there is isolation. There are so many feelings that I am completely unaware of. Its like out of all the flavours the world has to offer I've only tasted sugar and vinegar.
I have a friend that's a chef, well friend, ex lover whom I hate, whatever, and he introduced me to all these different spices to cook with and how to mix them together. My life is enriched. I want to find this in the real world, find the tumeric and paprika that I know I'm missing out on.
Turning 24 soon, means that I've already experienced most of the emotions I'm ever going to feel. I've had anxiety which means I experienced ridiculous amounts of panic and fear, I've experienced the confusion of the sudden onset of depression, through which I felt numb, detached and like nothing would ever ground me, where self harm was my only relief, I've been massively and intensely heart broken, I've felt a relief to know what it was to be sad over something tangible rather than the ellusive highschool mental illness, I found that it didn't make it easier, but made it make more sense, I've experienced the depths of depression where at random points I would fall on the floor crying, I've been betrayed and lied to, I've experienced insane jealousy and murderous cravings of revenge, I've been pulled into a spiral of self hatred and and of taking the heart breaker back, which made less and less sense until it was a confusing self destructive love hate torture I would subject myself to, I've experienced being convinced that I would never be happy ever again as long as they remained together, I've experienced cutting ties and the slow process of healing, I've experienced waking up one day to be surprised that I had a whole day happy, I've experienced someone else saving me, I've experienced feeling loved and cared for by my family, I've felt desired by men, I've felt rejected by men, embarrassed, ashamed, guilty, sinful, achieved, excited, overwhelmed, in awe, thirsty, quenched, lost, found.
I haven't experienced grief, no one super close to me has ever died, I've never experienced childbirth or the loss of a child or the joy of having a child, I've never experienced feeling secure in a relationship, or the feeling of someone else loving me, but I have experienced the happiness that comes about with love, and the grief that comes with it being unrequited, and the healthy solid feeling of a proper breakup rather than a cycle of destructive confusion and best friends.
I want to write about what makes life beautiful, and right now I can't see what that is, Because everything beautiful is tainted with death and grief and ugly. Children die, and poverty exists at the same time as multibillionaires, and lovers leave, and your body deteriorates, ever growing closer to death, and the world is polluted and the bees are dying and the love I show other people is wasted and does nothing to help anyone and nothing is new or special or magical anymore, its been shone with the light of cynicism and mistrust.
Happy endings come down to connections and belonging. They love each other, they find their family, whatever they won meant that those people they know get that thing they wanted, they made a difference to someone.
I don't know about my connections. Even from my family I feel detached. A friend attempted suicide for the 2nd or 3rd time and I couldn't feel anything for it, its happened so often (a few times with other friends) with no resulting death. Do I believe in God anymore, well I believe but do I know him anymore, am I in any kind of relationship with him, is He really all that is missing from my lack of connection to the world. Jesus, why did I leave you for mortal men? Mortal men suck, and you have undeserved, unending, unfathomably large amounts of love for me. Sex is a powerful deceiver in that it gives me exactly what I want for about two seconds (or 20 minutes), I get to feel connected and close with someone, and my presence makes a difference to someone. You can't give me that type of connection, you can't even hug me. Your love is better, but different, why do I still crave the lesser?
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