seigun

I’d been working on this for almost 5 years, now. Although I remember banging my head against thoughts and ideas for the longest, I don’t really remember what it was I did, anymore. (A consequence of all of this has been the loss of huge chunks of specific memory from the times when I was depressed. I can’t say that’s a bad thing. But it still bothers me. I wish I would have kept a daily journal.)

But apparently, I’ve come out of it with something… I find myself pep talking several friends of mine who have similar problems. They all say I help them out a lot. I don’t know how. A lot of my ideas sound silly to me. Some of them require more serious thought than what I think even I was capable of doing. But I subjected it on myself, anyway.
Oh well.

Afterward, I did go through a time when I didn’t know what to do with myself, anymore, now that I was no longer struggling to keep myself intact.
Now, I’m starting to rediscover who I used to be.

It’s a little redundant, actually, discovering that I’m basically a grown up, saner version of what I used to be 13+ years ago (when all of this started to really pull my life apart). But now that I’m an adult, and capable of at least watching out for myself a bit, I’ve decided to go back into my old interests and develop them.

It’s been, to say the least, a discovery… sort of like picking through an attic you hadn’t been in since you were little. Unfortunately, with all the neat and nice things, there’s been quite a few regrets and things I wish I would have done differently had I just been able to think straight. That thought alone is enough to send me back where I came from. For now, until I finish this thing for good, things are a bit of a balancing act—But, now, I have more poise, confidence, and happiness with myself to be able to pull it off, and that’s all I’ve really ever wanted.

I wrote my only completed short story in high school for an English class assignment. That teacher now uses that short story to teach her classes with.

The only reason why I finished it was because I had started one and left it hanging for a year. I was too immersed in working on several other writing projects to write a new one from scratch, so I finished that one. But at least I did it.

Now, I just want to keep writing- not because I think my stories will be any good, but because I simply love the actual physical and mental process of writing—as well as the creative process of coming up with new stories. Coming out of it with a finished work of literature isn’t half bad, either. :)

I’ve been too wrapped up in my life to get much more down since then. Jobs, rent, bills, and other responsibilities tend to eat away both time and energy. But if I could do it, then, I can do it, now. All I need is another good kick in the pants…

...and a good, sturdy, blank notebook.