Write A Book and Get It Published

#36 On my bucket list. Write a book and get it published.

When I was fifteen I started writing a book, not in mind that one day I'd publish it, but in an attempt to cope with and figure out the things I had experienced in my life. Just a few weeks ago however, I found more writings on my laptop that I had completely forgotten about, probably because I was severely depressed a couple months ago not long after I had written them. These writings, are painful, but yet beautiful. They're about my relationship with a special someone before shit hit the fan, and also after shit hit the fan.

It's crazy how these words can bring me back to exactly how I felt when I wrote them. So that's when I decided that I was going to put them in my book. A book about my life. Whether it's a hit or not, I really don't care, but I know I want to publish it one day. It's getting pretty lengthly, and in all honesty it's helped me figure out a great deal of things. Being able to put my thoughts and feelings down, not only captures the moment to be remembered forever, but organizes them in a way that I can move on with my life satisfied.

I hope that one day I can use my story to help others. To inspire others that their life is what they make it and they are not defined by what's happened to them or what they've done. That no matter how dark things might get, there is always a light to be found and there is always a reason to move forward.

Full Circle

Everyone has experienced what it feels like to miss someone, to miss their presence and their character, but have you ever experienced missing someone so much that it hurts? I never knew it was possible. I had grown to keep everyone just out of arms reach of me, because I was so used to people leaving and so used to the pain of being alone. But then I met a person who changed everything. The way I looked at things, the way I looked at myself, and most importantly the way I looked at my relationships with other people.

He sure was something special let me tell you and it aches to have to write that in past tense, but that's exactly where he lies and where our memories sit. I drown out the days and I move forward in time, hoping the clock will heal the wound his absence has left, but time hasn't done much other than dry my eyes.

I miss him. Not us, not our relationship, but our friendship. Our companionship. Every stupid little joke, every phone call, end every confusing part of my life I needed a different perspective and advice on. Now knowing that we will never have that again, just makes the reality of things all the more blurry. I've over scheduled myself with work in hopes to fill the lonely void, but instead I'm only encountered by hundreds of strangers a day, and I can't decide what's lonelier. To be surrounded by strangers in hopes of erasing something that hurts, or to isolate yourself from others to face the pain in solitude. Yet here I am doing both, so I suppose that makes me extra lonely.

I go to work and surround myself by people I don't know, with stories I don't know, and we share light conversations full of nothing significant. When I ask them how they're doing, they all say great, or good, or fine. And when they ask in return how I'm doing, I say "I'm great thanks", meanwhile I am fully aware that isn't always true. Yet we give the same answers and get the same ones in return, not concerned what the real answer is, because no one really cares if you aren't doing well. If you are just trying to get through the day and you haven't been yourself for a while.

So as far as anyone is concerned, I'm doing great.

My smile says I'm happy, my friends think I'm funny, and I gloat about how well I'm doing for myself, but how am I really?

I am doing well for myself, so that's not a lie. But in the end, what's so grand about working back to back, day by day, just to come home and hide from the world and all the beautiful people out there that I'm too afraid to get close to? I'm not doing great, but I'm not doing bad either. I'm just existing, and I suppose that's even worse than the ladder now isn't it?

Anyway, I don't know who's reading this, I don't care if anyone is quite frankly. I just write these things down in hopes of organizing my thoughts and getting some sleep, because lying in bed at night with a racing mind doesn't help me accomplish either.

I miss him.

So much that it hurts. No matter where my mind travels, where it wanders, how many hours of overtime I work, how much I work out, sweat, and run from it, it all goes back to him. Everything comes full circle and I'm back to right where I started.