Just when you think that your life was fucked up, you always meet someone that has had it much worse and are far more productive than you will ever be. Stronger, smarter, more honest, more compassionate, more empathetic, funnier, and more hardworking. While you sit wallowing in your own sweat and starting at the screen of your choice like a zombie, they are out there in the world taking it head on. Stomping challenge after challenge in the face with the vivacity and courage of an 11 year old who just got dared to assault their teacher’s seat with board erasers before class started (true story, it was hilarious because the entire class ended up being in on it). Some clarifications are in order. When I say “you” I mean me and when I say “someone” I mean my dearest friend in Texas. Actually, “someone” could mean just about anyone that actually has the courage to walk out their front door and confront the world.
What have I done, I wonder. What lives have I touched or affected for the better. I used to dream of using my words as sharpened blades to cut down the lies that assault people everyday. I dreamed of revealing every intimate detail of myself in mixed media abstract creations that would make the shallow scratch their heads in confusion. I wanted to create things that would touch people’s hearts. Move them. Reach deep down and help me discover the definition of the ever elusive “human element” in an internal journey that would rival The Odyssey and the Egyptian Book of The Dead combined. I rebelled against my family for this dream. I ran away from home several times for it, but what have I done since then to attain it? Instead I got stuck in a shitty relationship and ended up having a child that I did not initially want. I hate that despite leaving my family’s clutches, I have inevitably fulfilled their highest hopes for me. To be house-ridden with a child and fucking miserable.
I hate that I am somehow a distorted and warped mirror image of my mother. Leaving my dreams and passion behind to do what’s “right.” That I actually stood up for someone that caused me physical and emotional pain in the best “interest” of my child. Becoming her is one of the things that I fear the most in life, aside from being eaten alive. It gives me nightmares.
What would make this all worth-while is if someone actually read the shit that I wrote and said “wow, this truly MOVED me” or “wow, this made me THINK.” Something that goes beyond being impressed by word usage or interesting imagery. Just once, on any of my shit, I would’ve liked constructive criticism to show me that someone actually cares if I got better or not. That was one thing that my family never did because they simple didn’t care if I improved. I just want to know if anything, and I mean anything, has truly moved anyone to such a significant degree to prompt some sort of response. Anything. Just anything to make me feel like I’m not shouting into the wind naked while taking pictures that I will only see plastered on my wall like band posters.
Maybe there is one integral point that I am missing. Maybe my work is too self-absorbed. Maybe I simply don’t have the skill to move people like I want. Maybe I don’t have enough “soul.”
But you know what. Fuck all that. I’m going to keep trying until the day I die, kid or no kid, to be able to shake someone to their core. I am also going to step out of this fucking house and start walking again while rocking out to shit on my iPod.
The journey starts tomorrow.