As Writers, We Lay Our Hearts Open

Trail of Glitter

Facebook status update: Any day is a good day when you leave your therapist’s office and don’t want to cut yourself.

Yes, that was my status update today. One of them, anyway. I’m a teeny bit of a Facebook Whore. It’s where my words started flowing, so stuff it if you don’t like it.

If you’ve spent any time at all reading my blog, you know that I’m an open book. I lay my heart open quite easily. Without trepidation. It mortifies my mother and other family members. That’s okay though. I say the things that many are thinking. Beware of the fearless woman with a potty mouth.

After I posted, a dear friend and fellow writer sent me a private message. Seems she was concerned about my comment and wanted to check in on me. I assured her that all was well. I’m happy, today. I can’t promise that I will be tomorrow. It’s kind of a crap shoot with me. If you think I like being this moody, I don’t. It’s who I am though.

Back to the correspondence between my friend and me:

Oh honey, it was supposed to be funny. I promise, I’m okay. I have bouts of depression and euphoria. Borderline personality disorder, anxiety and panic disorder, ADHD and a host of other issues. I’m also a sexual abuse survivor.

Today is a good day though. Life is good and there is a smile on my face. I would not trade what I’ve been through, but I don’t wish it on others.

I’m a funny woman, with a dark side. I need incredible amounts of validation too. I couldn’t write well if I didn’t have my darkness. Everyone sees a happy and sunny woman when they look at me. Little do they know there’s so much more to me than what’s on the surface……

Thank you for your message my friend. Thank you for your friendship. I want you to know if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for you too.

Always, Renee
The not always sparkly girl

As writers, we lay our hearts open. As our readers, you follow us to some places we wouldn’t even let a lover go. I’ve no idea why, but I think it’s what God wants me to do. Break myself open, and bleed all over the place. I figure somebody has to do it, it might as well be me.

Sparkle on my sweet friends. Sparkle on.

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You Run As Fast As You Can

I know a girl, got a long snake moan
Got the voodoo in her hips and a god-shaped hole
I got a feeling that the kids don’t know
What the kids don’t know, the kids don’t mind
We all work on borrowed time

Rory never asked anything of me except to be his friend and listen to him. Share a story or two. Talk about our spouses and our children. Our love of the written word. We’ve found out that we’re so much alike. I call him my brother. He calls me sister. I think he’s even blonde like me. Blue eyed. He’s a music whore. Word whore. Like me. Loves to write. Like me. He hides his identity, unlike me. I lay it all out there. He doesn’t. That’s okay though. He wouldn’t feel comfortable writing what he writes if he didn’t hide. I understand. I should have hidden part of me away. Protected myself, but I didn’t know what I was doing when I started this journey.

He asked me to write for him and I did. It was exciting to stare at a picture, and see the words form. Feel the emotion of the story before I even put pen to paper. When I was done I asked him if he wanted to read it before I posted. He said no. I was taken aback. It could have been shit. Rory could have hated it. There I went with my self-deprecation. He told me to post it. Said he knew it was came from my heart and mind, so it had to be good. He said he felt like a kid at Christmas, waiting to open the largest present under the tree. After I posted it, he sent me a message thanking me. Said it was beautiful, like me. His comment made me cry. I wasn’t used to being told my writing was good, or being called beautiful for that matter.

We are content in our discontent, he and I. We are not discontent with our lives, our spouses or our children. But with ourselves. We have feelings of inadequacy that we can not shake. We feel like we are never good enough. No matter what we do to make the lives of those around us better. We often don’t feel worthy of the blessings that have been bestowed upon us. We wonder how we got so lucky to have such good lives. We weren’t good in our pasts . At least I wasn’t. I think he always was though. From what I’ve gathered from our conversations, he was never told he was good enough. And I, well, I was quite the wild child in my youth. For some reason the feelings and actions from 20-25 years ago come back to haunt us. Why, when we don’t live there anymore?

I’m so very thankful for Rory. For his brilliance. He doesn’t even realize what a good man he is. I tell him often enough. He tells me that I’m a good woman. We “get” each other. I hope someday we will meet. Get our families together and have a great time. I think we’d all click immediately. I hope I get the chance to write with him. That he wants me to. I hope, I hope, I hope, I hope…

*The song that I included with this post is by Our Lady Peace. The first time I heard it, I thought of Rory. Of our camaraderie. He’s like Roger Darling in that he let’s me run, rant, yell, scream and vent til I’m spent. Then he dispenses his wisdom. I’m fortunate that I have people in my life that get that about me. I’m so incredibly thankful.*