dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

Conversations with my mother.

"Hello Baby, " she says by way of greeting as soon as the call connects.

That's a loaded greeting. "How's life treating you?" she asks this same question in different ways each work, but the unspoken undertones are always the same.

Have you been eating well?

Have you found someone that makes you feel less lonely?

Is it cold?

Do you feel sick?

Do you need money?

Sometimes I swear I can hear a tiny echo, "Do you want to come home?"

Silence.

A breath in, a breath out -

"I am fine, life is constant." I answer, packing as much nonchalance as I can muster into this one response.

The "constant" is an old overused inside joke whose punchline neither of us can remember, a joke that has been thoroughly milked for its zing. 

When I do say it, it means something different each time too.

One day it means, I haven't eaten well, but I have drunk lots of yogurt, and that's about as healthy as I'll be in a while.

Some days I mean to say, another love interest I was pining after didn't work out in the end. But don't worry about me, I am busy enough with moving on, I can barely feel the loud silence in my bed.

On other days, I want to tell her that I would really love it if she could ask me to come home, I want to tell her that I miss her cooking, I miss bickering with her because we always get cabin fever a few days into staying together.

Today I want to tell her how much I craved being held in a hug by her, how I miss the distinct scent of her - a hint of Blue lady perfume, wood smoke and faint feminine sweat.

I say none of this, instead I compress it all into one single sentence - "Life is constant"

I want to be mad that neither of us ever push further than this, but I never could gather the emotional bandwidth to speculate how it might go.

I choose cowardice and silent resentment instead, with myself and with her resignation.

Once the greetings are out of the way, we politely chat about this and that.

Our conversations are as perfunctory as a newspaper bulletin board on a Saturday morning. Often leaving me feeling even more distant than the 360 kms between us.

We never could figure out how to be perfectly vulnerable with each other, on my part because she's prone to worrying, as I assume all mothers are (a secret update to their systems when they give birth in hospital no less. I've done the research, I have statistics) and I know better than to unburden onto someone already drowning under the weight of 99 other problems.

And also because our weekly calls quickly became punctuated by follow up calls from my older sisters who have undoubtedly been put to the task without their consent.

I resent having to act mildly annoyed that she would put them to the task, while secretly, I cherish the opportunity to bond with my siblings, even if only to mock our mother's flare for drama.

I dream of us being able to hold better conversations some day.

I dream of being asked, "How are you really?"

I dream of responding earnestly, "I am tired, but it makes all the difference that you asked."

I dream for better conversations with my mother.

©️dianewritesstuff

#Conversations_with_my_mother

[dianewritesstuff]

Until you, I realise that I never had to get over anyone before.

Quit haunting all my waking thoughts

[dianewritesstuff]

.......I would write about you alot more than i should.....

[dianewritesstuff]

Who am I,

If not constantly setting my soul on fire

To ignite yours?

[dianewritesstuff]

📍Rjoandefossen Waterfall, Norway 🇳🇴

[dianewritesstuff]

All my life,  I've been plagued by imposter syndrome.

Sometimes, it chips away at my confidence

Other times, it chips away at my self worth

Most times, it just makes me reproachful.

I've doubted myself every step of the way through school

I've doubted myself through every relationship

I guess that explains while I've always had one foot out the door before I even had time to sit for one conversation

The feeling I resonated with most each time was, I'll leave them before they have a chance to leave me or hurt me

I've had to fight away feelings of inadequacy each time, with each friendship

And the inevitable feeling of realising that I could walk a mile over hot coals for people that wouldn't even notice me once they found better options

I went to engineering school for four years, passed with a mark that would knock someone out the park

And yet, the title "engineer" sits heavy on my tongue like a foreign language

I went back to school in hopes of learning how to wear my collar with pride

All I learnt there was a dream is not the same thing as a life.

Yet still, writer is the only title that comes easy to me

I guess it's because writing, is truly the only time I don't have to hide from anything

It's the free pass i give myself to be fully bare and let my mistakes shine

It's my story and I get to choose how it unfolds

It's my messes and I get to choose how close I cut it

It's my world, whether real or imagined and I get to choose what stays and what goes

Imposter syndrome is an unwanted guest at the party that is my life

But each time i sit, with pen in hand

I'm finally sure that it could try to read over my shoulder all it wants,

But all it can hope to do is catch my whispers on the wind

With pen in hand, i am invincible

A friend once asked me,

" why I didn't you go to journalism school instead?"

She speculated that i would have been far greater there, with a better career.

I've never had an answer to the question.

I guess that's because it's never been an option to consider.

I have never needed an instructor to tell me how to bleed ink on paper. I've never needed anyone to tell me how my truth should be presented.

I guess that's because it's my damn mess and I write how I want.

Writing has never been an ambition for greatness to me.

It is simply that, a lifeline I extend to myself to stay sane

An anchor to keep me grounded and remind me that I matter too.

If this post hasn't convinced you of this yet, allow me try once more

I am not a writer, no. I just bleed incoherent inconceivable words on paper.

©️dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

sometimes i think about how a summer can bend itself into a pocket and how when you meet someone special their name folds in that same way. it slips between your particles.

oh, wildheart. i looked up at you and felt something tear me asunder. the ripple of space and time, to press us closer together. i think i have met you in a past life. i think i am perfect for you in this life, or that i could teach myself how to immolate and love the burning. the atmosphere cannot contain angels. i am going to give myself wings and come over and kneel at your altar. i will reinvent superimposition so our shadows can hold hands in space.

oh light. in this world i am too many weird limbs and bad eyesight. in this world i will wrap myself in the blanket of a tree and whisper myself into a new something. light and fast and sleek - something closer to you. something worthy.

i feel you as a compass. harness of direction. like everything else is moving and you're the voice of stillness. one of these days i am going to draw a map of myself and you will fill up all the branches. have i ever belonged to someone like this; so ragged and quick. like my heart knew your heart before either of us resolved ourselves out of the blackness. like i hatched with you in me, already imprinted.

i spend so much time trembling, my hands outstretched, searching. in the dark, you found me. go on, you said. keep walking.

[dianewritesstuff]

it's hard to explain because inevitably you sound like an asshole, but some people are allowed to lose their temper, lose their mind - you're not, though.

when your friend never texts you first and misses your birthday and never makes an effort; you don't mind. you know she's struggling, and you want her to get the help that she deserves. you give her every excuse and every chance.

it shouldn't matter to you so much that people are always coming through for her. you want her to be happy, you love it for her. you love that her community rises up to the occasion. why does it bother you that when she snaps at someone, says horrible mean things - but two hours later, everyone is comforting her while she's crying. you know she's stressed. why do you kind of hate that she is welcomed back to her job, that her parents are endlessly wiring her money.

and you're - fuck, are you envious?

but when you don't text back, someone sits you down and says i know you're struggling, but you're being a bad friend. when you're too numb to show up for work, your boss just shakes his head. i'm sorry. i can't approve more time off. we have the company to protect. when you finally snap back at your family for making that shitty comment again, you're forced to apologize for being too sensitive.

god forbid you need something. people aren't used to you being the one asking. you're the giver like the book you hated; your pages all open and rumpled. you always have the answer, always have the solution. you are reliable, trustworthy. people like you don't struggle with things. you're supposed to be lifted by tragedy. you are given a maximum of 24 hours to grieve, and then you need to just behave at the party.

you can't read the giving tree without feeling like crying, and even that feels like it's too much emotion. like, nobody looks at you and assumes you're the tree; they'd name five other people before even considering you in the running. you're just there, never-asking.

your friend gets to say mean shit, that's just her personality. when you make a snide comment, you're just being petty. people laugh when your friend stands you up for another event; they say she's just like that. you were 5 minutes late to a meeting with friends and they were mad about it for the rest of the evening. your friend sets everything on fire; everyone applauds her through the ashes. you so much as light a candle: and suddenly now you're an arsonist.

you don't want your friend to suffer, though. the thing is that you just wish that the empathy and kindness your friend gets - you wish you had that option, that everyone offered you grace and money and a gentle reception.

the other day you were fighting down the bad urge; the void call, the end note. you tried-anyway. you went to the family event, tried laughing at the right moments. nodded and smiled and all of it. one of your siblings threw a fit, but she's allowed to, so everyone just rolled their eyes about it. you took 3 whole minutes to stand outside when you got overwhelmed. you literally set a timer about it.

in the morning you woke up to a text from your parents: you were a complete disgrace last night. idk what your attitude problem is, but you really need to fix it.

[dianewritesstuff]

Saving myself

Every night, right before I go to bed

An overwhelming feeling to write or think of something meaningful hits me

As if finally, I should go to bed feeling like I did something profound

Like if I no longer exist,

My obituary will be summed of all the profound things I thought

Or the little bits of notes I left unfinished each night

Every night before bed time

I think thoughts only a dreamer should

I think of dining in the stars

I dream of music so perfectly created that I can't help but fall in love

And wish there was someone to love me twice as hard

Every night, after the day is long gone, and the moon is out

To bring solace to my heart

I wrap my heart and my mind in tight wound tape

I wrap it so tight that every fragment of truth sticks together to give me reason

I dream because that's the one thing I got left.

All I have is bitter hard truths and dreams

Tonight, instead of dreaming like I always do,

I went to bed and closed my eyes

And then I interlaced my fingers

And felt the warmth sip in from one hand to the next

And finally thought, what a beautiful hand to hold

Tonight, I finally let my pulse remind me to love myself fiercely.

Rather than wait on a saviour to break me out.

#saving myself

©️dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

You told me I was a villain and I became one,but only for you. You told me I was the star of the show, and hey, I've become that too..

my angel numbers have moved from 111 to 222 and I am doing my best to think more than ever

[dianewritesstuff]

I've been to all kinds of places

Places no famous travelers have been

I've gone to places where the earth embraces the sky

Where the sun and moon sit at the same dinner table.

I've been to the North Pole

I've felt Santa's lightness and merriment

I've been to places where galaxies collide into beautiful stories

I've seen the sun kiss the moon goodnight

I've touched clouds, I've felt the first rays of the sun touch my face

I've watched dawn fight to break away from night

I've been to places where dreams go to die

I've been to worse rooms than death itself

I've seen redemption

I've loved

I've despaired at love's door

I've made wishes to wells and prayed on all saints

I've felt my heart explode into a million butterflies

I've seen colors in my dreams

I have seen birth, I have seen growth

I have cried and felt hope's last strands break up with me

I've made mistakes but damn it I've lived a life

I've dreamt of second chances, but my second chance better be lived as loud as this one.

It is chaotic, it is dames living on last dimes

It is a circus of all the unwanted oddities

It is a patchwork of a heart well used

It is beautiful,it is disastrous

It is a beautiful disaster.

But it is mine.

©️dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

The journey within fire continues…

No artificial  light…

Only the simplicity of fire…

only humans with nature…

in a cold night…

our bodies and souls…

are bring back to simplicity…

2/4

[dianewritesstuff]

Shedding skin

1. Fear

I was terrified to ever step out of my lines,  or speak out of turn. Because if I wasnt sticking to the rules, and being a good little girl, what did I have for myself? Nothing.

2. Overcompensation

Being loved isn't always natural for some, while it's like a moth attracted to a flame for others. I always had to work extra hard for it, but I could never measure up. The overcompensation drowned me like a diver under an oil well.

3. Perfection.

Those who cannot naturally attract perfection to their lives must seek it in the most mundane ways. It never is worth it, for there is always more to chase.

4.Bargain

In the end, perfection is a price too high for a life of fake enthusiasm if not indifference to all the abhorrent misgivings.

The middle ground? Hell's playpen. Torturous purgatory filled with what ifs and regret's stench.

5. Acceptance

Imagine if every decision was a coin toss with one option. Fuck it!

Imagine all what ifs blown under a blanketing resolve of YOLO. Blissfully unhindered by stares or consequence nor regret.

What then would become of all the new skin born of torture? Resilience? Contentment or sheer despair for lack of rebellion. I hope its the former for the latter only opens a Pandora's box

#shedding_skin

©️dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨

Tom Holland does Rihanna’s “Umbrella” on Lip Sync Battle

[dianewritesstuff]

It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

Thanks for reading,reblogging and reacting to my work.

[dianewritesstuff]

There's a warmth in my heart 

A gladness in my soul

It licks at the butterflies in my stomach, causing them to erupt in a zoo of euphoria

It caresses the soles of my feet until I run across empty fields with inescapable giggles-finally tasting freedom.

There is excitement in my voice

I want to scream and shout for joy

Two feelings that are alien to me and yet,they feel so natural

Is this what I've been missing?

Is this what they call living?

This is a dream

An alternate reality I didnt know existed

It's worth the fight, and I'll sleep for eternity just to preserve this dream.

This new found corner of heaven.

©️dianewritesstuff

[dianewritesstuff]

Hello stranger,

I'm going to let you in on a little secret.

Most days, I don't know myself, I often only manage to piece together fractions that leave me feeling like a shell floating in an ocean 

But I'm going to tell you what I think I know anyway 

My favorite color is gray. By any shade.

I can't explain why, but everytime I try to reason this, I realise it may have to do with a white line ,a black line and the many miles of empty fields in between. I think it's because I acknowledge my failures as a person without being too confident about the few noble traits if any exist.

My favorite music is usually sad music.

I guess it's easier to live my life in the poetic irony of a sad existence so I won't disappoint myself too often. And I think it's easier to accept sadness than it is to let go of happiness.

I fall in love way too easily. But sadly, I lose a piece of myself with every author or fictional character I get infatuated with.

I bet you weren't expecting that,  but love doesn't come quite as easy in the real world. Because my heart is a whore to the land of fantasy and whoever pulls the strings on all fiction.

My sensuality is a shamble of miscalculated fails. I bet that's the curse of being a dreamer.

No reality is ever enough to fix an ever morphing dream.

My personality consists of a curious mix between miss independent tough nails bitch and a sad little girl clinging onto emotions that only exist in my head. I can hardly explain that one.

Maybe- dear stranger, you will find the missing piece to this awkward puzzle you hoped you wouldn't have the misfortune of landing on today or maybe this will all seem too shallow and unimportant for you to indulge. I hope you think it's the former.

©️dianewritesstuff