Language and story finds me remembering my poetic longing for love and romance. In some synchronistic fashion I have found words that wrap me in my own love story, Yearning for my lost father and the attention and excitement he created in my beginning years before he died. I also realized that all the self help books that gathered around my relaxing chair with only novels that gave me some notion of making myself bright were not simply stories of just getting to my feelings of having insecure needs. Simply said; now it was alright to have a longing and feelings. Every message embedded in my brain and heart is a hard wiring misconstrued to think I was not alright. A voice of can’t that lingers deep within me. The intonation that I was not good enough just the way I am and life would give me all that I need and has given me all that I will need for the future.
Terms of handling life, messy as it is, I can meet it all. This was now a time I was looking back at my stories, finding expression when teased out by life as when I wasn’t looking instinctively into my primal self. I was young. Now I am looking. My fear of failure must go elsewhere. There have been stories woven tightly within me. I have ventured into areas I was not ready for. Or was it fears in my historical need of wanting love. Life was telling me that reputation and sameness were boring but needed. Insecurity, drama and self acceptance had not been my friend. I was waiting for a structure that could only be found if I used a compulsory drive as I saw my needs through past trauma and lifes creations, even in fun. Self acceptance was now a new drummer finally declaring order for riding the wave of my final years.
Thinking and acting through chatter, over talking. I covered up feeling what had happened to me in entertainment as a distraction, making new experiences, when facing the uncomfortability of learning before me. I had done everything possible to cover and distract living what I thought was excitement. Practicing since I was a child to control my circumstance and if I couldn’t I went to my old familiar of not feeling, just making up stories or stories to help me understand. Grandiosity became a habit. This led me to excitement. I was going to be famous.
