That One Time When I Was Sad as Hell...

Here's an old blog post from a blog I used to write with a friend because I STILL struggle with things to say (that I actually want to get into in terms of non-fiction) sooooo here's a little copy/paste action for ya. Disclaimer: Things are getting better these days. Don't cry for me Argentina. 

I struggle with non-fiction writing which is exactly why I'm a blogger. What? Right. It makes no sense but neither does life so just eat the cake Anna Mae and don't worry about it. Every week I ask friends sooooooo what do you think I should write about? And they say, "It must be Sunday night." Sigh. This is where I proceed to write about how I ask them for topic suggestions and they give me dozens to which I respond from the following pool of phrases:

No.
Hell no.
That's dumb.
I refuse to write about that.
If I read one more article about that I'm gonna finally jump so I'm definitely not gonna write about it. 
Yeah! I'll do that! ...well, no. Give me another suggestion.
And then sometimes they just get the blank stare.

I then planned to proceed by labelling myself a, " high maintenance friend" listing clear signs of such exhausting acquaintances. But the truth is my dear dear readers, I'm gonna be honest with you, both of you, I'm really not that much of a high maintenance friend and that's not what's on my heart anyway.

I've been going through a bit of a rough time. I hate to talk about it because it leaves me so vulnerable but it's hard for me to write about favorite sex positions or my top five worst dates when I'm going throuuuuugh it. I have a terrible poker face and am way too open for my own good. I can't help it yet always regret it. This may be a theme in my life.

Anywho... I guess my question for the day would be what exactly do you do when you have a problem that no one can fix, not even yourself and when people give you advice you simply envision punching them in the jaw. Its the only thing that makes you feel even slightly better.

Now, I got some advice from my two besties today that actually helped me a lot. The first told me..."don't react to temporary things as if they're permanent"  and the second told me to meditate and if I didn't it would be my loss. My besties tend to play good cop/bad cop without knowing it. They don't even know each other. But one will hold my hand while the other slaps my face. I love them. Anyway.

If you don't have awesome besties like me, hell even if you do, sometimes you just struggle with situations that seem impossible. You want help, you want things to change but then when someone tries to help you, it's not that you don't want the help, its just that you almost don't feel physically capable of accepting and applying the help.

When my friend initially told me to meditate my initial (internal) reaction was omg stfu I can't meditate! Its not gonna help. I'm too sad. I'm just gonna sit there and cry! I was defensive, irrational and emotional.

This post might be about depression.

Not to be so elusive, my big struggle in life is being a single mom. I am totes and legitimately not cut out for this job, although I do it well. I can't write about being a single mom because I think it just opens opportunity for generalized social commentary and lots of judgement from lots of different angles and the humanistic aspect is completely lost.

What the hell is this woman talking about?

I don't know but it was hard for me to come up with an arbitrary yet focused topic for the day. I guess I just needed to be honest with myself and give a little shout out to those of us who can feel utterly hopeless at times. Its not forever but when it is here...its a doozy, let me tell ya.

Soooooo. Ever get that feeling of hopelessness?  Like no one can help you, not even yourself? Like advice is nothing more than a dagger to the side? It's not but, does it ever feel that way? Like the person is undermining the severity of your situation with what sounds like canned, shallow cliches even if its not. Am I the best blogger ever??? Known for her focused precision??? Write a random comment or your favorite joke and we'll be besties for life.

Getting To Know You... Ok, Me.

I was once told the secret to success is obsessive, relentless persistence. I struggle not to call bullshit.

As a teenager, my dream was to be an actor and I didn’t really see it as a dream, more like, what was going to happen. I rejected my parents’ foolish talk of backup plans because backup plans were for non-believers and at fifteen years old, trust me, I believed in myself. I had the typical insecurities about boys, my weight, my skin, blah, blah, blah but when it came to my future, when it came to acting, well there was no question. I’d be an actress, I’d win an Oscar, and then I’d win another. Believing in my dream was the easy part. What I failed to realize was the work it would take to get there.

My biggest distraction was sex, maybe not sex but, this longing to experience everything, especially love and intimacy. I was raised by two strict, Caribbean parents that kept me on the shortest leash possible so I put all of my energy into breaking free. The energy was misplaced to say the least. Instead of focusing on goals that would propel me forward, I looked for adventure that would let me escape, even if only for a moment.

So, I went out and I got me some! First kiss at fifteen, first real boyfriend at sixteen, virginity lost at sixteen and then boom, first baby born at seventeen. For most, the dreaming would stop there but luckily for me, my teenage delusion was strong. I thought, “A kid? That’s alright, now I’ll just have a sidekick to accompany me to the top!” (In all honesty, I was freaking the fuck out…I could write about one hundred posts about being sixteen and pregnant and they’d all be filled with pure horror… but I still knew I’d reach my goal, simply because I wanted to).

Life marched on. My relationship ended, another began and boy did I just KNOW that this one was it! My childlike sense of invincibility didn’t dissipate until I was well into adulthood. It wasn’t until my second baby came along at twenty-three that I knew my dream was dead. Of course I could still do everything necessary to become an actress but to me that meant being a bad mother, putting my needs before theirs and that wasn’t an option, not then, not now, not ever.

I experienced a deep depression after my second son was born. It wasn’t post-partum; it had nothing to do with having a baby (in fact my second child has always given me a sense of peace…another blog for another day) but soon after having him I realized that I put my greatest dream to rest in order to fight for this picture of a family that wasn’t going to happen. My relationship with his father crumbled in as much of a whirlwind as it was created and the one thing I had a passion for was no longer a viable life choice. Depression doesn’t begin to describe the darkness of that time. I was in my mid-twenties, two kids, on my own, at a daily funeral for any hope for the future.

I learned to stop dreaming. In fact, I avoided it. I didn’t set goals; hell, I didn’t even make to-do lists. The real, tangible option of failure was too overwhelming. I can’t fail if I don’t try. That was my mastered motto. I worked a day job, I focused on my kids and I cringed any time anyone asked me about a five-year plan. I’d protect my heart by never wanting anything again. As long as my kids were okay, screw any personal desires. That mess just got me in trouble anyway.

But.

That can only last for so long. I’m creative. I’m driven. I’m hard working. I knew as a teenager that I was meant to shine. At that age it was this naïve sense of invincibility, the feeling that life would happen the way I wanted it to just because I wanted it to and nothing bad would happen to me or get in my way because well, nothing ever had before.

The perfect recipe for failure: Naivety+Talent+Entitlement.

But the tables have turned.   Now I’m in a place where I’m not itching to shine but to share, share my stories, my experiences and oh hell, shine a little bit too, to be an unapologetic and fearless writer. Remember what it felt like to be fearless? God, I envy children. I’m terrified because this time I’m enlightened to the possibility of failure. Failure is likely. I know I have the work ethic and the resilience to make my dreams come true, but now I’m scared, scared that even if I do work my ass off the dream may still not come true. I hear the teachings that I can do anything, any fucking thing I put my mind to and my gut reaction is, “Yeah, maybe”. I doubt because I’ve lost a dream before, a dream that I loved more than anything in this world.

But the thing is…I didn’t put the work into that dream. I got distracted. Life kicking me in the ass? Ninety percent of those flesh wounds were self-inflicted. Maybe I can try again and do it differently this time. Maybe this time I can stay focused and make it happen.

So here I am, taking a leap of faith. I want to be a writer. I still want to act but I’ll wait for my babies to be full-grown before I pursue that again. They still come first. But in the meantime, I want to write and write and write. I wrote a novel that I love and am excited to put out into the world. I’m going to share some of it here along with my other writings. My stories are short and sweet and dirty and sometimes bizarre. I like them and hope you will too. I need to combine my teenage assuredness with my adult work ethic and make this happen. Do I believe that my dreams will come true if I’m obsessively, relentlessly persistent? Is that really the secret to success? I guess there’s only one way to find out.