All the words are gone.
Or more accurately, all the words refuse to be spoken. I could write something eloquent, about how my key board lies dormant as I hide from my computer, but the truth is, there is nothing elegant about this. No one wants to be weighted down with words they cannot speak.
I have written, and re-written this post I don’t know how many times today, and every time it never sounded right. What I wanted to say, I couldn’t quite word, on account of not really knowing what I wanted to say.
And the contradictory nature of that sentence gives some kind of indication to the frazzled state of my mind.
You see the thing is, I’ve been avoiding my blog. Literally scared of it, and anything associated with it.I haven’t been able to bring myself to write anything for a week (which is forever in Jess time), nor even think about writing anything. The same for FB. Even my random updates on their have been typed with much trepidation, and the responses to them analysed fervently one minute, and then deliberately ignored the next. I’ve been a walking contradiction of a social media addict who literally cannot deal with social media.
The thing is, (and herein lies my dirty little secret), I’ve been so full of self-doubt lately, that I’ve barely been able to do anything. I’ve been trying to live this life where I am more efficient, and far less wasteful in all the areas I can be.With food, and money and time and words. I’ve been telling myself: “Just say what needs to be said. Write what screams to be written, and ignore the rest of it. It’s inconsequential and meaningless and it serves no point.”
Except that in doing so, I’ve come to realise that I’ve given myself a hundred rules about what can and cannot be eaten. Or bought. Or played with. Or written. My desire for efficiency and good use has stifled my creativity and freedom. I’ve locked myself up in a little box where I cannot possibly deviate from my unknowing self-judgement. And whilst I don’t miss the food, or the drinks or the random clothing purchase, I do miss the words. The writing that flows out so beautifully and wonderfully, liberating the thoughts in my head and taking their weight with them.
I despise being burdened with the weight of my words.
But more than that, I despise being burdened with the weight of my own self condemnation.
On Monday afternoon, as I sat down with a cup of tea, mulling over my predicament, the truth dawned on me like something that shines really brightly. I am trying to be a better person; a wonderful person who inspires others and never causes anyone any drama. I’m also a fastidious rule follower, and those two things combined have become my nemesis. Because unknowingly, I have set myself up with an unreachable list of commandants, and the strict dedication that they shall be adhered to at all costs.
Except that of course they can’t be, and so, instead, I find myself internally berating myself till my conscience is black and blue and I am so thoroughly chastised, I actually can do nothing at all. I have become some weird kind of perfectionist who has set the bar for myself so high, I cannot possibly reach it.
And the result has been a rather miserable person who feels as if she can do nothing right. Not even write the words she loves so much, because she might inadvertently write them wrong.
What a stupidly sad place to be in.
What a stupidly sad person to be.
Having come to this stark revelation about myself, I can finally see the futility of it. Whilst every single one of those things is something great to aspire to, to live a life where they are a list of stark objectives that must be completed to 100%,negates the purpose of the whole thing. Because the person I want to be, the person I’m trying to be is not perfect for perfections sake. On the contrary, she is perfectly imperfect, just trying to make a difference.
So with this in mind, I’ve decided that whilst I will never stop trying, I won’t allow those goals to box me in anymore. If I want to write about the dust bunnies under the couch, I will, and if I yell at the kids I’ll forgive myself for it, and if I take my entire break time at work, that does not make me slack. I’m not meant to be a super hero who never gets things wrong.
I’m just meant to be Jess.
Ever felt like you are your own worst enemy?