Sunday, March 02, 2008

I can feel the storm coming

I’ve been trying to focus my mind enough to write, but I can’t, because if I do, I’m going to cry, and I don’t want anyone to see me breaking down. That’s the reason I usually only write at night, I can’t handle the thought of having one of my boys seeing me cry. They never have and as far as I am concerned they never will, no one every will...I refuse to let others see that side of me. But recently I find myself in the type of mood of wanting to cry without letting up. I don’t even have to put on sad music or watch a sad story to get there, my eyes just stay filled with the watery substance called tears that I can’t wipe away. When my 14 year old asked me why my eyes were puffy and red, I lied and told him it was just my allergies; I think he believed me.

I’ve been like this for several weeks, it won’t just go away this time, like it usually has in the past. I even went back to another police site that I had signed up at years ago, just to rile some feathers. I thought the distraction of their site was going to keep my mind occupied, but I have already grown disinterested in playing mind games with the officers there.

Today I finally managed to get my fat ass up out of bed long enough to walk around outside and play with my dogs, but even that didn’t help my mood. I knew the only thing I could do to at least empty my head was to write, even if it is the middle of day, I’ll just have to keep a full box of tissues handy.

When I feel like this I often drift to past conversations that I’ve had with other people while online, and since I have kept all the conversations I have had since my first computer experience, there was more there than I remembered. I signed into yahoo using my first yahoo screen name that I signed up with years ago, and began reading some of the mail that I sent and received from others. Yeah ‘Baker’ I still have yours, along with all the other law enforcement officers that I talked to when I used that screen name. But the ones that touched my heart the most were the ones from complete strangers who had read a part of my life story that I posted on anther site and sent me a e-mail response.

Here is one that caused a few tears to fall while the boys played basketball in the backyard.

Please tell me your name, so I can complete our 'connection' that has to have been 'meant'...
I started out to just scan your work, as I do, usually not wanting to go farther than the first paragraph or two, due to silliness of subject and/or poor quality of the writing... and I was sucked into your world, your life, your memories and your oh, so vividly-shared experiences, whether I wanted to be there or not!
You have a natural 'voice'... yes, the ms needs work, but only in editing and bits of adding/explaining here and there... the voice is authentic and I would not change it for the world, even if it's a bit simplistic or even ungrammatical at times... it's you, whoever you are!...
Yes, this is 'speechless'... for me... I can't say more now... I’m too overcome with images of all the awfulness you've managed to survive... and I realize this isn't even much of a 'taste'... that there must be much more even worse, to come... I’d deem it an honor to be able to help you tell your story of triumphing over kinds of adversity most can't even imagine... given your honest, simple but dramatic delivery of your journey out of darkness, I’m even betting we'd be able to get an agent and/or a publisher interested in taking it on.
More later, after I hear back from you... just wanted you to know what my first impression was... I’ve never been so deeply affected by anything sent to me as I am with this... you may not be technically perfect, but you are a 'writer'!... and better than most.

Now if only I could fucking believe this, I would now have several books published. In the end I have come to the conclusion that maybe I can write, maybe someone wants to read what I have to write about, maybe its okay to cry when you read what others write. Tomorrow I’m going to buy a couple more boxes of tissue, a case of water to keep me hydrated from all the tears I’m going to cry, and I’m going to write what I know about. Things from my past, things I want so much to forget, things that I hope other people will never have to experience.

Well, I’ve got to wrap this up so I can send the person who sent me that message a few years ago a response. I never did get back with her, or give her my name because I didn’t believe in me. Still, not sure if I do or not, but all I know is I can't stand being this way for another moment.

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