The Hopeful Emo Kid

Poetry: my ‘new’ writing love

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I have always been into poetry for as long as I can remember it has always just Vibe with me. Moved me in ways that I guess is supposed too. But as a kid, young adult and hell, even as an adult feels like magic,

Edgar Allan Poe,

Robert Frost,

Harry Longfellow,

William Shakespeare,

Emily Dickens.

I’ve read all of the classics and all at a young age. I ate it all up, broke them down and try to dissect them as much as I could.

I used to Print out my favorite poems and tape them all over my bedroom wall.

Throw a dart at a classic famous poem/poet and it definitely had a place on my wall.

I carried poetry books with me everywhere I went (okay I still do that.)

I lived and breathe poetry.

But I never really wrote it. Sure, I would dapple in it, I wrote poetry in the sense that people kept journals or diaries.

When I was upset I would write down how I was feeling in a metaphorical way so it was easier to process.

But that’s all it was. I didn’t pay attention to structure, words or how they flowed. And I sure as hell didn’t show it to anyone.

It was just something to get the feelings out of my heart and off of my chest. And then to be locked away never to be seen again.

Over time I shifted my focus. As much as I love poetry. I was trying to write and publish novels. So I was reading books and spending free time reading up on writing novels.

And yet I still always carried a poetry book everywhere I went. I would pull out my old copy of ‘compilations of Robert Frost’ or ‘sonnets of William Shakespeare’ when I had to wait in waiting rooms Or wait around for people to show up.

It was such a calming thing. I would flip through the worn out pages and smelled the mildew basement old book smell.

Even if I didn’t read a single word. Just feeling the texture of the old pages and seeing the patterns of the poems was enough.

But over the last couple of years, I had switched jobs and the dread of that change was setting in. That I wasn’t cut out for it. That I was doomed to be stuck at another job that I despised with every cell in my body.

On top of that a lot of other parts of my life was bringing up complicated feelings and new insecurities that I never had before.

And I already have issues with my feelings so new ones that I didn’t really know how to handle it was getting to the point of affecting how I lived.

I felt the weight of all of it on my shoulder.

And that’s when I Started back up in writing my feels as poems again.

Writing my feelings,

worries,

doubts

anything and everything down.

I paid more attention to the details and how I wrote it. It was actually pretty good.

I started sharing my work. Showing and refining it, putting just as much work and attention to it as I do with novels.

For most of the year that’s all I have been writing.

Don’t get me wrong. I still LOVE writing novels and stories. It’s so much apart of who I am that not writing stories would be like deciding one day to stop eating forever.

But I feel comfortable with stories. I know what I’m doing. I feel so sure with it. Which isn’t a bad thing not at all.

But with writing poems. I’m get to explore new parts of my soul.

who I am as a person. I can feel my walls expanding as I grow as a person because of it. Exploring the ever growing being that is me.

It’s learning a new skill and there’s always something so thrilling about not knowing what the hell you’re doing.

And I get to fall in love with writing all over again.

As for where I’m going with my new love for writing poem, that’s yet to be determined. For now I’m just having fun exploring this new love for writing.

With this new chapter in my writing

So here’s just a small little poem I wrote, and hopefully you enjoy.

Until next time!

birthday blog update!

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So this is just going to be a small blog update because today is my 26th birthday!! And I just thought that I would share some thoughts that I have and hopes for the future.

I always have kind of mixed feelings about my birthday. I always get together with my family and friends. Which is great, any excuses that I have together with them I will take in a heartbeat.

But then I’m reminded that time is moving forward. even though I still feel like I’m in my early 20’s that I’m fastly approaching 30. and not that I think that I’m 30 is old but Birthdays just make me think that I should be farther ahead in life then I am. Sometimes I feel like I’m standing still.

I should have a house.

I should have a good paying job.

I should be less childish, I should be this, I should be that. Down the rabbit hole I go.

I shouldn’t watch cartoons, anime or play video games all day.

I shouldn’t spend my time writing silly things. I should give up on that hopeless dream.

Every year I do this. Even since I turned 18. I think down the lines of should be’s, shouldn’t, and what ifs. And honestly, I don’t even want half of the things that I think that I should have as an adult.

But every year I also come to the same conclusion.

Sure, I rent an house.

Sure, I work a bottom end retail job.

Sure, I maybe kind of childish.

But I have a good life, I have a great family who I would be lost without and I have 4 nephews and a niece that I adore and love with every cell in my body.

And friends that make me laugh so hard that I can’t breathe. Even when I don’t feel like laughing at all.

I do things I enjoy no matter what people think of my hobbies and I take no shit from anyone.

All of these things make up who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without one of these things.

To have the things that I think that I need as a normal adult, I would have to give up the stuff that I do have and love. which just isn’t going to fly with me.

so, what started out as a panic mode of  ‘oh god, I’m adult now, what the hell do I do now?’

has turned into a moment of reflecting on the things I am thankful to have.

Reminding myself that I don’t want a boring ‘normal.’ Adult life. And that I really love my odd and crazy roller coaster that I call a life.

And to think about the things I do want for my future. Which will still include video games and cartoons 😉

before I go, I like to thank everyone who took the time to read my rambling thoughts and sticking with me this long! I love and appreciate all of you *heart*

Until next time!

self-doubt and anxiety: a writer’s burden.

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so, to go along with my last blog, and this weird ‘let’s talk about feelings and stuff.’ Thing I got going on. -for real don’t know where this is coming from. –

I thought that today we would talk about something that most people writers and non-writers a like feel at one point or another in their lives…or to be more realistic, all. Of. the. time. Self-doubt and anxiety.

These makes you feel alone, it makes you doubt not only what you can do but yourself as a person.

If this has happened to you, I hope that if you take anything out of this blog is that you are not alone. On that note I hope you enjoy.

 

Every writer has voices in their head. It’s how we’re able to write, It’s how we make the magic happen. however sometimes the voices tell you things, these kinds of voices whispers into your ear until they over take your thoughts and soon it’s the only voice in your head.

it speaks louder. Until it’s screaming at you. Things like ‘this sucks.’

‘no one is going to want to read this.’

Soon it even turns on you. ‘who would want to read what you wrote?’

‘this is worthless, you’re worthless.’

This goes on. until you are unable to see yourself in any other light. you start to feel like maybe, this is true.

It builds in your head, a deafening ringing that causes chaos in the deep workings of your mind, making your head feel two sizes smaller but your brain ten times bigger.

A building pressure that spreads to your throat making it hard to breath. Taking a deep breathe seems so out of the realm possibly. something that was once so easy, something that people around you do like it’s nothing, is something that you begin to struggle with. you struggle with basic human needs.

Soon the choking feeling turns into ropes that knot your stomach. Even without the choking feeling, the ropes and knots make it impossible to eat. And standing only makes it worst. The only thing it seems help is curl up into a small ball, to reflect how you feel.

The pressure pulls down onto your shoulders, weighting down on you, like if you were on the bottom of the sea. The weight wears on your body. Your knees, hips, shoulders, every nook and cranny. It pushes you down and makes you feel ten inches shorter.

When you’re busy with school, work, hobbies, family time or whatever. The voices are still, under the busyness of work, it’s the farthest from your mind as you study for that big exam. It’s quiet and calm as the smiles and laughter of friends and family drown it out.

But the moment you stop, the moment you try to sit and pour your blood, sweat and tears onto paper. The voices scream and ring at you as you try to break a piece of your soul to share with the world.

And the worst part is that because of those voices you are unable to talk about the dark sea that you are swimming through. You watch as the world around you. The people that you know and love look like they are floating on clouds, while you have rocks tried to your feet.

Soon, you start to avoid everything that is causing you to stress and panic, and writing has fallen over to the way side.

Before you wouldn’t think about going even an hour without writing. But under the lock of this paralyzing force, you go hours, days. Hell, maybe even weeks without picking up a pen. Or tapping words out.

But that doesn’t stop the voices, it only helps quiets them for a moment. But it doesn’t last long.

At night you are left with only the voices. You toss and turn, unable to sleep but you don’t have the energy to do anything but lay there.

So, there are you, lying in bed as the events of the day plays back in your mind. All the things you would have said or done differently,

It plays all the things you may or may not have fucked up. Things that shouldn’t matter, suddenly feel like 1000 bricks on your back. grinding you down to nothing.

Nothing seems to help, you no longer have a voice in your head, only these new ones are there. that break you down. Nothing seems to be able to stop it. you fester on everything with no hope of ending the feelings or sleeping.

you don’t know when it started but you soon go on auto pilot, going through the day feeling nothing at all but the black cloud over you.

Fake smiles and laughs are getting you through your day time life. night time is spent in solitude, with no motivation other than staring at the wall. Eating is throw at of the window, and you can’t even think about writing.

This takes days, months. Years maybe it’s something that’s been with for most of your live.

The scary thing is You don’t see yourself get to this point. one day you’re fine and then the next you’re fighting with yourself to get out of bed.

Writers live in a world of feelings and what ifs but in this kind of state, your trapped in a purgatory of feeling too much and not enough at the same time. A contend war raging inside of your chest. and you drown in the things that could happen and things that would never happen in a billion years.

It’s hard to break away from this, it’s something that will follow you for the rest of your life, you go through spells where you can break away from the dark. Getting to a point where you can write and live without worrying. With the sun shining against your skin, a sensation you aren’t used to feeling, like you’re normal for once.

But then, after a while, the storm clouds come back. Looming over you, bringing the darkness with it.

How do you fight it? How does one break away from the clouds and get to the sun when the world is so dark? Well, that’s different for everyone. Different reasons to walk through the dark to get to the sun. but something that helps? Writing. Bearing everything to the world.

Something that was part of the problem, being part of what saves you? Crazy talk I know.

but writing is a part of you, it’s in your DNA, it’s build inside every cell of your being. At some point it made you happy, even if it isn’t at the moment.

Writing, hell, anything that you like that might bring you happiness. All of those things are like a flashlight when the sun goes down. Sometimes the batteries are low and flicker. But other times they shine bright, splitting the darkness in two.

Doing the things you love. Being with the people you love. These are somethings to help, but if you really can’t pull out of the dark then it’s best to talk to a doctor. Or reach out to someone.

Because no one should spend their days, feeling the way that you do when you’re trapped in self-doubt, depression and anxiety. And you are so much better than the way these things make you feel.

Well there you have it lovable kiddos. That’s enough feeling sharing for one day.

Until next time!

why I started a blog.

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So this week is going to be a little different. I’ve spent the last week and a half writing blog posts about different things. I wrote like three different blogs. Or rather I tried, but I ended up getting what I had outlined on the page but not being able to write much more that.

And while I’m a big support of the ‘write until you write yourself out of the block.’ I’m also a big believer in the ‘if you aren’t feeling it, then move on.’ too.

So, in the midst of all of that, I thought. hey why not tell everyone why I wanted to start a blog and just talk about all of that.

So because of what we are talking about. This isn’t going to be formatted the way my other blogs are. it’s not going to be a list kind of style that my blogs take form in.

This is just an honest and open confession of my soul, which not going to lie, isn’t going to be all that easy for me but what the hell. life begins at the end of one’s comfort zone, right? so on that note let’s get started.

So, I guess to start, I should start at the beginning of it all.

I’ve been making up stories for longer than I can remember, it’s been a part of me, and who I am as a person.

writing is my way of dealing with things that stress me out, makes me sad, angry and anything else in between. Writing helped me face not only my fears but thoughts and feelings that I didn’t know I was having until I put them onto paper.

Writing was just like breathing for me. The feeling of my fingers gentle hitting the keyboard. The feeling of the wood of a pencil or the grip of a pen as they glide across paper so easily, all of this like taking a deep breath after holding it for far too long.

It started with a story and a notebook, and then many more after. Many that were written, many that were just planed and dreamt. but I never ran out of idea, and for the most part the passion or drive to write them.

I spent many nights that I wouldn’t sleep in made-up lands of underlining truths and darkness within. writing got me through many times where sleep was far from my reach and when my thoughts free fell and bounced off my anxieties of the day.

But the more I learned about writing, the more I tried to refine it and started taking it more serious, it wasn’t just a coping thing, it always had been a passion. It was in my blood from day one. But it was starting to become what I wanted to do for the rest of my life.

So I started to write a story like many others that I wrote before it, then I edited it, and rewrote it, and repeat countless times until I had a finished a short story. And so I tried to punish it. With no luck of course. But that was okay, It was my first shot.

I went back to it. Got an idea, wrote, edited, rewrite, edit, tried to get published. Over and over again, day in and out for years. The pressure that I was starting to put on myself felt like the world was on my shoulders, and even though writing destress me before, was starting to cause its own fair share.

Writing was starting to feel like an endless sea, and I was trying to swim to land that was just out of reach.

I loved writing but, some days when the sea was too big. I would start prioritizing other things over writing, things like work, friends and Family.

But of course, writing was such a big part of what made me who I am. So I started to choose writing over sleeping when I would get into my mood of skipping. And while this had gotten better over the years, I still get into this mood occasionally and fall back into the same bad habit.

Not only but then a couple of years ago I had a job that took everything from me, mental, physical and emotionally. I fell into a dark spot, being a good mix sad and angry all of the time.

and writing was only frustrating to me because even when I tried to get words outs, I just stared at the page, unable to get anything out of me, even my own feelings.

but the sadness, anger and frustrate only added fuel to the fire and made me feel like I was sinking into the sea, falling into the dark depths of it all.

And all of that made it even harder for me to write and all of this set me back in my goals with writing. Luckily, I have gotten out of that job and I’m in a much better place in life.

But so this all bring me back to the title of this blog. Why I started to up a blog? Well it goes back to how writing was an endless sea for me. I started to feel like I was doomed to swim forever in my endeavors with trying to become a published author. In the middle of all of this I was still trying to learn all I could about writing and there was a recurring theme.

every author tuber/blogger/anything and everything I read online said one that. ‘start up a blog/vlog. Get yourself out there for everyone to see! Why would someone buy a book from someone they have never heard of nor cared anything about them?’ And after talking about it with one of my sisters, who’s a web designer and blogger she set me up with this blog!

And oh my god guys. Screw why everyone says to make a blog or vlog, make it because it’s something that you can complete in a short amount of time and after the fact you have something that you can point at and be like ‘it’s done, it’s complained and I’m really fucking proud of it.” The feeling of standing on rocks in the middle of the sea is enough reason for me to feel accomplished and better about this whole thing.

But that being said, it’s been really great to meet people because of this blog. And it’s been really rewarding to try and help other people who are struggling with the same things I was (and still am) and to make everyone who reads my blog feel less alone in their journey.

I know it may feel like you are the only one traveling down a lonely road in the dark but there’s billions of people on that long, hard road, we’re never truly alone and I know as much anyone else could, all you have to do it reach out your hand and turn on a light.

So there you have it lovable kiddos. This is why I’m blogging. Not to make money, not to get fans and follower to buy a book that I might never even put on out. Pretty much the only reason is because I wanted to feel like I’m accomplishing something and to do the one thing that I have loved to do pretty much since I started breathing.

I would love to hear about anything anyone of you would like to talk about. To high five and cheer in your success in the writing world or in life, swear out loud over your frustrates or be there during the low moments. make sure to connect with me in the comments/twitter/facebook/whatever. I’m always willing to talk.

Until next time!