There are people who think I should not talk about my personal life on this blog. These individuals feel that I should use a private journal that no one can read in order to express my thoughts and feelings, and that I should not share these intimate details of my life with the world. The reason I put these things on the blog is so that I do not show these negative feelings in some other awful way. For me, writing is healing, and the way I see it, if my personal problems could in any way help another person work through their own baggage, or if someone out there in cyber-land has been through what I have and could help me work through these problems, then having this blog is beneficiary. And why should other people’s opinions of what I should and should not do matter in the slightest bit anyway? Why should I hide my true inner-self just so that no one else will be offended, hurt, or otherwise inconvenienced. I mean, if they do not want to read it, they do not have to. I have spent my whole life being a shadow on the wall. I tried so hard to do what would benefit everyone else but myself. I tried so hard to be what others wanted, needed me to be. I gave and I gave and I gave of myself until there was nothing left to give, and then I just gave some more. I tried to blend into the wall, to hide/edit/censure my emotions, to be whatever I had to in order to stay out of harms way. Of course, it never worked. I mean, we cannot exactly live our lives in a vacuum, right? But I tried for so long not to be too much, that I forgot who I was, or maybe I never learned in the first place. At any rate, it is because of this inherent chameleon that I do not know who I am and what I want to do with my life. When people told me that being a famous singer was a long-shot, I thought of more quiet dreams. When people told me that my paintings and drawings were mediocre at best, I thought of more grounded dreams. When people told me that my poetry would never sell, I thought of more practical dreams. And when people told me that in today’s world women do not belong in the home baking cookies, but rather out getting a career and paying for half of everything, I thought of more substantial dreams. I have spent so much time letting other’s shoot down my dreams, that I do not even know what I am dreaming of anymore. I am scared to go out and try to succeed at anything for fear of failure. I do not want to be a starving artist. But then again, I am already a struggling Wal-Mart associate. Would not it make more sense to be living off a few cents doing something I like than to be living off a few dollars doing something that makes me miserable? But when I answer that question, I start thinking about all of the unknowns. You know, it is funny, I have always been more artistically inclined than scientifically or mathematically inclined, but it is the grounded world of math and science that convinces me not to take chances in life. It is the same in my relationships. Having been burned so often, I am always skeptical of the next thing to come along. Robert and I have been together on and off for going on three years now. We broke up the first time because I was mad at myself. I always fall in love too hard, too fast with any guy I have dated, especially if there was sex involved. I swore to myself when I started dating Robert that I would not have sex with him until at least a few months into the relationship, but I ended up having sex with him right away, so when he said he loved me, and I realized I had fallen for him as well, I thought it was a blind lust, and I broke it off. Then when he came back to me six months later, I was again determined to take it slow, but nothing ever goes according to plan and six months after that I found myself living with him. After that it was my jealousy, my insecurity, his insensitivity, my cheating, my carving…The list goes on and on, but we always came back to each other. Either we are two incredibly stupid individuals, or we are meant to be together, and I for one think that it is the latter observation. I love him so much, and he loves me, and if we have had problems in the past, it is probably ninety-eight percent due to my own internal struggles. I think the reason I am constantly questioning whether or not I am in love, is that I am insecure; with myself, with my relationships, with anything. When I was little, I questioned the love my family purported to give; I have questioned the love that my friends and loved ones have for me. It does not mean that they do not love me, and the same is true in my current relationship. The man has done so much good for me, and while the both of us have put each other through some things, it is because we never dealt with the anger at our pasts, and then there is this nasty little habit I have of taking something good that comes along, and picking all the pretty petals off until I have nothing left but an ugly dead stem, and then I get mad at myself for destroying something beautiful, and the anger breeds more anger. My cousin says anger is easy and convenient, and that is totally true, but it does not mean that it is right to be angry all the time. After all, anger has messed up my relationships in the past, but Robert and I will solve this. I love this man and he loves me, and we are healing each other’s broken hearts, but it’ll take a lot of really big band-aids…Just yesterday, I was lying in bed, miserably sick, when I heard a knock at the bedroom door. It is unusual for anyone to be knocking on my door, so I confusedly dressed and answered the knock. There stood Robert, holding a Teddy Bear and a Wal-Mart bag. The bear was an early Valentine’s gift, and the bag contained medicine for my sore throat, cough, and congestion. He also had two Sonic hamburgers for me to eat, and some DVD’s for us to watch. We spent a few hours at my house, and then we went to his apartment where we spent several more hours together. Since the medicine he had given me made me feel better, we enjoyed each other’s intimate company, and our love-making was wonderful, as he spent a great deal of time ensuring my own personal pleasure. I know that my insecurities stem from unsettled anger at childhood wrongs done unto me, and I know that it would probably be easier to heal those internal wounds were I not involved with anyone, but I have spent almost twenty-one years being the me I am. I think that with Robert’s love and support, I can and will heal, without having to send him away again. And that is better for me anyway. If I had more love and support ten years ago, or for that matter my whole life, if more people had told me how wonderful, smart, pretty, talented, artistic, eclectic, or eloquent I was, or just how much potential I had to do/become something great, then perhaps I would not be so out-of-sync today. Perhaps if I had more hugs and less yells in my life, perhaps if less people touched me the wrong way and more people told me they loved me, perhaps if more attention was paid to me and my needs, but all of that is in the past. Now, as an adult, it is my responsibility to change, to grow, and to heal as a person, and for me that means writing my life on a website so that I can get potential feedback from people around the world, so that I can quit hiding myself from everyone. There are things about me that no one gets to see, but maybe they should. Maybe if we all stood naked before each other more often, there would be less hatred in the world. Just think about it. Imagine a world where everyone’s thoughts, feelings, perfections and flaws were out there in the open for everyone else to see. Imagine a world where the gangster in LA could see that the corn farmer in Iowa has some of the same fears; a world where the aristocrat in New York could see that the New Orleans refugee liked the same music; a world where the retired individuals in Florida could talk politics peacefully with the teenagers in Dallas; a world where a very devout elderly Christian woman and a sixteen-year-old Wiccan boy could discuss the fact that they share some of the same morals and virtues; where a Mormon in Utah and a gay man in San Diego could sit at the same dinner table discussing current events…I may be sounding a bit like Martin Luther King Jr’s famous speech, but I guess Black History Month gets in all of our heads. It is not just about the blacks and the whites or the gays and the straits or the Christians and the pagans and the atheists, though. It is about a country, America. Our America! We are all here because our ancestors, whether intentionally or forcefully, came here seeking a new life. What they found and founded became the country we know today. And, yes, America is not perfect; no one and no thing is, but if all of us work together to make her more, America can live up our expectations. After all, she is what we make of her. Francis Scott Key–Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
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