my brain gewp.

i used to write to escape reality.

it was the one place i could disappear to at any time. as lonely as it sounds, it was sometimes easier to let my laptop or a piece of paper soak up all of my tear-sodden words. i didn't crave the comfort of a human being, i didn't crave a hug or empty, reassuring words. i preferred the bite of reality, the cold slap. i liked my pain to be real and not hushed by someone telling me it was going to be okay when nothing ever was. it was an odd sort of comfort, i suppose.

i somehow transformed these waves of misery into poetry or stories. they were always about a girl who falls in love only to be hurt quite badly. the majority of them, anyway. not that i had been in love that many times, but i associated that hurt feeling with a lot of things. friends that betrayed me, growing distant from someone out of the blue. those types of things. i had no idea what love really felt like at that point in my life, after all.(i always assumed it was a very painful thing.)
sometimes i wrote about my father and what i remember about my childhood. sometimes i wrote about my past disgust for myself. i wrote about a lot of painful things, but it always gave me relief.

these days, i open up a blank document and stare at it after typing a few sentences. the only thing i have been able to write is this post right here. i have been (ever so slowly) working on the last part of my short story, but the inspiration comes in short bursts and i have to type frantically until it fades away. it's becoming a long process, to say the least.

i want to join nanowrimo and write a short story next month, but this lack of inspiration and creativity has stunted me. i want to write so many things but i can never find the words.

lindsay.

he is all i want to write about. i try to see if i can write something that isn't him, a completely different concept or idea, and i come up with stories but he is in all of them. his hat. his cat, Tzar. gelato from our first date. so many things. i find myself getting lost in lame-o plot lines because all i want to write about is him and i don't feel strongly for anything else i come up with.
anytime i become upset, i don't open up a blank document and type it all away, i tell him. everything that i want to say, i say to him. even if i can't word it properly because sometimes i feel like i just can't communicate with my mouth that well, i say it.

he has filled my reality with so much joy and excitement that there is no reason for me to escape. i understand writing isn't always a form of escape and it's a way of expressing creativity, but it wasn't like that for me in the past.

i guess it's a bit sad that this post is the only thing i have been able to consistently write in awhile, but i don't find it sad at all. it's actually a very happy thing.