With Reckless Abandon.

16 Feb

Last night, my friend Nichole and I got to enjoy a performance by Project Trio. Normally I’m not a fan of classical music, but I think I’ve finally hit a time in my life where I can understand the beauty of it. I mean, I’ve always been drawn to music in a way that’s hard to explain, but last night I feel like something inside me changed. With the realization that Project Trio was playing not because they wanted to, but because they needed to…I’ve realized that I need to stop being afraid of letting the hard parts of my childhood come to the surface. Last night when I was laying in bed, I began to notice that snapshots of my childhood were just coming freely. They hurt though. I cried, remembering. I think the hardest part is that the really hard stuff doesn’t seem to surface until my mind has the chance to wander before bed. Last night, I wanted to get up and write. I wanted to write out the hurt and the tears. I couldn’t though. By the time I wanted to, it was after 1am, and I had to get to bed because I had an 8am class this morning. The timing of wanting to write my book has been good, but constrained. I’ve got work and class and friends. Though I’d love to, I can’t just skip all my classes and write all day. I think that’s something that I’ve been learning to deal with over the past few weeks…the realization that whether I have 5 minutes or 5 hours, I’ve got to write. It just gets hard because even when I do have 5 minutes, it’s not always the right time. I’m not always in the right mindset to allow myself to sift through the memories.

I write best when I’m crying. So far, I’ve cried through about 90% of what I’ve written in regards to my book. I think it’s just because I’m feeling so much emotion that the only option other than crying is to just type it all out. It gets harder though when I’m not already upset. I have a harder time figuring out what to even write. I mean, yes I want to write about the hard stuff, and I want to focus on how I moved on from it all, but in order to write it in the correct way, I have to feel it again. Though I’ve known this since the beginning, I didn’t think it’d be so hard to write in the same way when I’m feeling relatively content. I mean, I guess I knew. I just didn’t know that it would create such a difference in my writing. It does. When I’m upset and I write, and then I go back and reread things, I can feel it so much more. It’s almost as if I can imagine all the experiences…like I’m watching them happen on a movie screen. Like the movie scenes when you’re crying for the main character when they’re in pain, even though you know that nothing you do will be able to help them. They’ve just got to face it. They don’t have a choice. But when I’m not upset and I try to write, I don’t know what to say. I can’t directly feel the pain that I know is inside me. And since I can’t immediately feel it, I don’t know how to let it out. It’s there, yes….but it’s almost like it hasn’t been transformed into the correct form for me to let it out. If that makes sense.

When I used to write fiction when I was younger, I used to say that I wasn’t making up a story, but simply writing down what my characters wanted me to share. My characters were the driving force. I was just the messenger. In terms of my own book, I’m in control in terms of having the story and also being the one to deliver it. However, in another sense, my memories are the driving force. Depending on the day, I don’t know which snippets I’ll remember. I don’t know how old I’ll be….or where I’ll be….or who will be the only person with me (in terms of a specific memory). I’m a strong believer in certain memories being triggered. It’s like a lightbulb. Once a little piece of a memory comes to the surface, the rest of the memory comes, having it fit together like a puzzle. Memories aren’t considerate to our emotions though. They don’t wait to arise until we’re at our strongest. They come when something triggers them….like a name, a place, or a random object. They come, full force and with reckless abandon. And even if we brace ourselves, the impact still hurts. It knocks us to the ground, opening our eyes to the reality that’s staring us right in the face.


5 Responses to “With Reckless Abandon.”

  1. Artist Beverly Bishop February 16, 2012 at 11:34 pm #

    Your writing here is so very true. Things will come together eventually and do not push to hard for time to write for that too will eventually fall in line. I have learned over the years that I will allow my writing to lead me and not me lead it…Thank you for coming to my place so that in return I could come to read your post, they are fantastic you know…Bev

    • ameliaclaire92 February 16, 2012 at 11:43 pm #

      Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement!

      • Artist Beverly Bishop February 16, 2012 at 11:52 pm #

        your welcome AmeliaClaire…do keep it up and always know that when your pen hits the paper you will always have a poem, a writing, a story…

  2. jilllurie February 17, 2012 at 12:07 am #

    You are a brave, brave woman. I so admire your willingness to walk through the fire, beautiful Phoenix. xx

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