I am not a writer

Everyday, I read amazing posts by some lovely people out there - Jenny, Neela, Debs, Heather, Heather, Lauren, Lauryn, Meg, Sophia... the list goes on and on. I admire the wisdom that each one of them is able to craft about recovery, love, happiness, beauty, and heck, even fashion. I have never been a 'writer' - yes, I can compose one hell of an analytical paper, a research paper, or even a standard essay, but putting my thoughts and emotions into words? Not so much.

I once had this ability - I kept a diary for years and years. I prided myself for being able to not just have the standard "Dear diary, blah blah blah, boys, blah blah blah, parents, blah blah blah, omg, love Emma" kind of style. I put though, effort into the things I was writing. Sentence structure was, and remains something I value - my parents introduced me to higher literature at a young age, and creative, varied syntax is important to me. However, I walked in on someone I loved and looked up to as a role model reading said diary one summer afternoon.

That same person would become the person who raped me later that summer.

I stopped keeping a diary as depression set in. My old coping mechanism of writing evaporated into one of emotional eating. Three years late I would weigh in at 240 lbs. I shut down - I didn't tell anyone about what had happened for 5 years.

Assigned stories, journals, and poems were the only ventures into the creative writing field I was to do until March of 2009, when I began this blog. In the past couple of months, more emotions and personal information has been written than has been written in 8 years. My journey has just begun - not just on the path of writing, but on the path of self-acceptance, recovery, and living a full and complete life.

I am still struggling to put some of my relfections into the written word. Many of them are not concrete ideas, but rather intuition, emotion attached to actions that carry the same ideas that so many of you express. They remained trapped in my head, unwilling to flow out of my fingers. Ideas with less positive, more destuctive leanings also exist, and many times outweigh the more optimistic, motivational ones that I see so many of you radiating. You all give me hope, inspiration - but this same hope (ironically) also brings a sense of inferiority.

My perfectionism takes over, quickly comparing my pessimism and self - ... disapproval that I feel so often to the joy and pure wisdom I read everyday. I know that this isn't true - I know I have similar thoughts, similar feelings - but turning off that negative part of myself is so hard. A switch to stop these thoughts, something concrete and immediate would be nice.




What was that, you may be asking yourself? Yesterday, I had my first therapy session. Well, technically I've been in therapy twice before, but both previous experiences were forced upon me - I was not ready to delve into the twisted ball of ... whatever that has driven my life thus far.

I know that going to therapy will be hard. I've avoided myself for so long, always focusing on the external. The only part of myself that I have allowed to flourish is my intelligence and its application (through schoolwork, mock trial, etc). I am scared, but ready to begin this journey. There will be a 4 month hiatus while I'm in Ireland, but I want to start now. 7 weeks and counting - how much can I get through?

No more rambling. :)

In twenty minutes, I'll be meeting with the lovely Anna - we'll go to brunch and then hit up the farmer's market. My stomach has been being funny for the past couple of days, so I'll try to keep the food on the simple side. After that, I'll head over to Minneapolis and have fun at the pride parade.

My friend J (I've mentioned him before) has been out of the closet for a while, but he still hangs around the door most of the time, and occasionaly puts a foot back inside. However, he is one of the leaders of Mac's Queer Union this coming year, so he'll have to fully embrace that part of himself, and not shy away quite as often. He's threatened to wear a dress to the parade.... I'm excited.

(And, sadly, he has killer legs. Seriously. Every girl wishes they had legs like J.)

Mmkay - off to enjoy my Sunday. I know I have been a terrible, horrible, awful foodie lately. Sigh. I'll try to get a picture in today some time. :)

Before I forget, the lovely Emily, the creative genius and inventor or the famous Pbu, is having a neat giveaway for a personalized blog make-over.

And... if you haven't sent me your address yet, please do! I have more postcards that need love! You can either email me at fruit.veggie.life[at]gmail.com or facebook me.


Love you all, and enjoy the last day of this weekend!

Emma