candycoatedmary - Tumblr blog

[candycoatedmary]

I’m so lucky

Hello.

It’s me. You might recognize me from my many online diary sites. 

Or not. I tried my damnedest to make them anonymous. On the off chance that you do know who I am and recognize my words.. get a fucking life dweeb and use those sleuthing skills for something productive you’re wasting your talents. 

Anyway. 

My heart is a crab apple never picked. Full of worms on the soil by the roots. Is that really sad though? I bet those worms are really happy in that apple. Moist and fed. The roots will also benefit from the nourishment that those billions of bacteria will turn that apple into. So Maybe it’s ok?  

Well, what would that apple have been if that apple had not fallen? What if it had been plucked when it was bright and shiny? Some kid up the tree plucks it and eats it? 

Eh. who cares.  I’

Should I delete everything I just wrote? Usually, that’s what I do.  I let out a stream of consciousness and delete it if I run out of steam before it’s something worth sharing.  He’s a thought though, no one gives a shit what I write. I just like doing it. 

You know.. as a kid, I was a fucking awesome writer for my age. I’ve been writing since I could hold a crayon. I can still remember the visuals in my little 5-year-old head as I wrote about a family loading up their covered wagon. I continued writing off and on through elementary but it really blew up in high school and I filled notebook after notebook with stories and journal entries and fantasies. Lots of people enjoyed it what I wrote. It was the only thing I felt confident about. I wrote out essays for Language Arts like it was nothing. They were easy and fun. 5 paragraphs, intro with 5 sentences 

how did I feel about the subject

3 factual sentences

reiterate the first sentence so that it sounds like an outro.

Then I wrote the 3 factual sentences again so that they were drawn out into 5 sentences each.. then the whole Intro paragraph again but with more opinions because now that my reader had the facts, I could introduce my perspective on it without seeming uninformed. It was amazing. 

It was so fucking easy. and fun. Like running full tilt at recess. So easy and so much fun. I miss my mind. 

You can not imagine the fucking hatred and rage that has been building up towards myself and the fucking bullies I knowingly KNOWLING let into my life and I let them tell me not to write. me. me not write. Jesus. and i let them. I thought I’d just pick it up later. That I’d always have this beautiful golden butterfly/glowing lunar moth keeping me safe from being completely worthless.

I never wanted to write professionally, I didn’t want deadlines and career stress to ruin what I loved. This art that I had was truly mine and it made me feel connected to my parents and all the geniuses that I idolized.  

Then some guy started paying attention to my lonely ass. I was a typical albeit emotionally neglected teenage girl. I thought I was fat. I thought I was so ugly, and stupid (yes, even with the hyper-confidence about writing I thought I was dull as sun-bleached plushies in the read window of grandmas Buick). I would expect that it has a lot to do with being afraid to find out that I’m not as good of a writer as I thought I was and having the general public tell me so. I don’t know man.

I was told to put my pen down by someone giving me attention, so I did. After we broke up, I picked it right up and things were pretty good. Although I had switched to a fully digital medium.  

Then I dated/married a computer nerd and he could get into any website I was posting on and read what I wrote. He said I wasn’t allowed to write there either. 

I tried to go to school. I wrote an essay about butterflies for an aptitude test. I don’t even remember what it was about.. the life cycle maybe. But I got a letter asking me to be on the school newspaper team. That was nice. I didn’t go. 

I wrote my husbands essays for school, they asked him to be on the school paper too. He said that his teachers said he should be in honors English, he told me to tone it down and make it more believable. 

Yeah. I edited my best friends college papers and my mother in laws work papers.. I don’t know what they were for. I just checked it for errors because her English wasn’t great.  Later after my divorce, I wrote my ex-sister in laws papers for English and they also asked her to be in honors classes and to join the school paper. 

Somehow, none of this meant anything to me. 

God. damn. s/he/me/it.

Whatever. 

I did eventually go to school for a quarter. I even passed Math. That was a first for me. I wasn’t allowed to take advanced English in school because I was in remedial math. The schedule wouldn’t work. 

Anyway, the essays didn’t pour out. The page requirements were horrifying.. I wrote so many essays and deleted them before I finally forced myself to settle and just print one out so I could turn it in.  My hardass college English professor asked me to join her Honors class. 

I didn’t.

I dropped out of school because I needed a job and no one wanted to hire me with such a crazy full-time schedule and I desperately needed a job because I needed rent so I could have a home. I didn’t have a goal in college anyway. I never had goals or career dreams so going to school was just so that I didn’t feel like uneducated trash. 

anyway. That’s how I stopped writing anything besides sporadic journal entries a few times a year. 

I had a real gift. I really did. I was touched by a muse and but I am grown from a dry neglected patch of dirt. I was a mistake and I never should have been born. but I was blessed for some reason. 

and I threw it away for some abusive assholes. But hey.. that’s what daddy issues do to a girl. I guess. 

I’m sure it’s a hundred percent my fault after a certain age. 

I am an empty Snickers wrapper. on the side of the road. 

My therapist said I should think positively.

I am a recycled snickers wrapper.  Now I’m just a housewife. I learned to cook and clean and do laundry and I don’t write but he doesn’t hurt me. Emotionally or physically. I have a home and a kitty and I don’t have to see my abusive ex-husband except when we meet to transfer my son from one house to another. He has full custody by the way.. He really fucked me over mentally. but that’s another problem for another day. I’ll write it out on mothers day. 

Won’t that be fun?