A Cold Kind of Anger

I am descended from two very messed up bloodlines. My father's side is what I call pure evil. And my mom's is crazy. Me, I'm a very nice person who is passionate and loving and good.

I'm also just a little bit crazy and a tad evil.

Not a lot. Not like the others in my family, that's for sure. I talk to myself, I live in imaginary worlds, and I tend to freak out in crowds. That's about as crazy as I get anymore. And I'm not very evil. I don't like to hurt other people and I don't plot to take over the world.

But I do have a very cold, calculating side to me. It usually only comes out if I sense a threat to myself or others, but it's always there, beneath the surface of my soul.

And it's always scared me.

This side of me adds up the universe in cold, uncaring sweeps, and looks at the world and sees logic and math, not people and lives. It sees probabilities, and how to use people to get what I want. It's never hot, never passionate, and it is achingly patient.

I recently commented on YeamieWaffles blog, and I said some things from that side of myself. I told him about how to destroy a person using social connections and how simple it was if you just did it subtly. And I used that side of myself when I was raped. I calculated how best to handle this potentially violent man and how to get away relatively unscathed. This side of me did not care that if I followed through on this plan, I'd lose all chance at prosecuting him for his rape. It only cared about survival.

Now he's free to go on raping other women. Nor does he realize what he did was even rape.

That is the consequence of my choice. But that side of me still doesn't care. Because it was the best way to survive, and that was all that really mattered.

The man I told everyone about yesterday has always scared me, too. Not because he's dangerous. But because he reminds me of this side of myself. That evil little piece inside my soul that can destroy a life. He revels in that side of himself. He's everything I am in that segment of my heart and that scares me.

Because I don't want to be like him. Or like the other evil people in my family.

I still care about others. I still hate hurting people. I will never be a violent person. But I do have a strong vindictive streak. And I hate that this side of me is so alive and active right now. I'm sure it has to do with the anger I'm feeling.

I wish anger was hot and terrible for me, like it is for other people. That it flamed as high as when my mom loses her temper, and then fizzles itself out when it runs out of fuel. My anger is cold. It feels like my emotions, usually so alive and active, just die inside me. Like all the heat of my soul is extinguished beneath a glacier of uncaring anger.

It releases from me in one of two ways. Either it builds until I explode and use words to tear a person into shreds. Or it slowly and systematically strips a person of everything they care about in the same social destruction I described to YeamieWaffles.

It scares me. And yet it has saved me many times. Rarely do I allow my anger to do what it wants. I've seen too many people do irreparable damage both to themselves and others by indulging in their anger. But I do allow it to save me when I need it. Like the rape. And when I was stalked by a guy at work. And when that girl followed me home from school and threatened to throw a knife in the back of my head. And when my mom and dad get a little too abusive.

I wonder if I'll ever learn to trust this side of me. Or at least accept it. That would be a change I'd like to see.

Inside the Mind

I went to a friend's birthday party the other night. And she was with a guy that I have been in love with since I was 15. The friend knew full well I've had feelings for this guy for all these years, yet she loves to rub him in my face, anyway.

I understand why she does it. I've always understood her.

People don't understand why I let her get away with those things. And I won't for long. I'll get sick of it again and cut her off, just as I have in the past. But the reason I put up with her, the reason I let her get away with it is that I understand.

She really does like me. But she also hates me.

As long as other people aren't in the picture, she and I get along fine. But as soon as another person enters the scene, suddenly we're competing to be the best and the center of attention. Only I don't fight. I just smile and be myself, and oh well if that doesn't make the other person see me more than her.

But it does hurt me. Both because she's supposed to be my friend, and because it damages my self-image. I feel for hours and sometimes days afterwards that I'm simply not good enough.

I also see the guy she's now dating for who he really is. He's a very complicated guy, and I have always had the ability to see right through him. Ever since we were kids, I've seen him for what he is. He can charm and fool all the rest of the world, but I always got him. He isn't a smarmy idiot. He isn't a charming, cool person. He isn't nice or friendly.

He's a jerk. He sees the world around him as a giant game of chess, and he's always 6 moves ahead of everyone else. He plays with people's minds and uses words to effect them in ways I've rarely seen anyone able to do. And he's got a strong cruel streak. He likes to hurt people, and he's always been a user. He'll use them up and then move onto the next victim in line.

And I've always refused to be a victim, no matter how I might love him.

He's always been fascinated with me, but also hated me. Because I really see him, while most people don't. They get controlled glimpses, but they don't understand that he only lets them peak in on the parts he knows he can play them into believing won't effect them. I get how he works and that scares him. But it also draws him, because he's never played chess with someone who knows the moves like he does.

Thinking about these two, and how I really see through them into who they really are beneath it all, got me to thinking about character. Characters are a huge part of writing fiction. There is no story if there is no one there to tell it.

Building characters has given me strange insight into how people tick. Because the key to character building (at least in my experience) is backstory. Who are they when the chips are down and the world is going to hell around them? What has happened in their life to shape and mold them into the person they are now? And how will that effect the story I'm telling now?

The same is true in life. If you can look at people, really look without letting emotion blind you, you can see how they tick. You can connect their actions into a much larger framework and see what they have done in the past and what they will do in the future.

It's a very useful skill. It's also a fun game, if you get the hang of it.

Unlike the boy I love, however, I can't just play with people and act like it has no consequences. Seeing how it all fits together has given me deep insight into how my actions effect others, too. What I do to this person will affect their future choices, and I don't want to make them more broken than they already are.

I want to make them better.

Being Different Than The Rest

They hired a new girl where I work, and my coworker decided to tell her that I'm "eccentric". I told my boss this, and she said, "Oh, I wouldn't term it quite that way. I'd call you unique. And special."

Which pretty much means she agrees.

And, yeah, I know I'm eccentric, unique, special, whatever you want to call it. I'm different than everyone else. I always have been. I haven't been different completely by choice, but I AM different.

Each of us is different, of course. We each have something that makes us unique and special. But, apparently, my uniqueness shines a little brighter than most. At first, I felt vaguely insulted by the fact that she called me eccentric. I acknowledged that she was right, but I felt as though she was saying there was something wrong with me because I'm not like everyone else.

But I've been thinking about it. I've wanted to be special, something different and unique and incredible, my entire life. But then I would seek a goal contrary to that desire: I tried to fit in.

Not very well, obviously, but I did try.

It turns out, in my life-long search of being special, I've been fighting myself. Because I also want to be accepted and loved by everyone else, and so I try to fit in with them.

So I think it's past time for me to stop viewing other people calling me different as an insult. It's a compliment. That means I'm actually headed in the right direction towards what I've always wanted: to be incredible.

What do you think? Do you think being different is a good thing?

Daily Stats:

 

1. Exercised and stretched once today. Meditated and worked on my writing twice.
2. Wrote in my journal, stayed on budget, and wrote a haiku.
3. Posted on my blog.
4. Made my bed.
5. Did not stick to my diet.
6. Cooked breakfast and dinner.
7. Drew. 

A Writer's Soul

I sometimes seem to forget why I'm making this change. And when I realized that today, it made me realize something else as well. I have spent so much of my time both on and off this blog talking about these changes I'm making that I've forgotten to mention the why of it all.

A serious oversight, to be sure.

Why am I doing all of this? Because I'm a writer. It isn't my occupation, it isn't my hobby. It isn't just my passion. It's my life, who and what I am. Writing has defined my entire existence. Not just the act of writing, putting words on the paper, but the act of creating. Creating worlds, characters, stories. I've done that since I was a very small child. And I can't imagine a life without it.

That's why I'm doing all of this work. That's why I'm here. I want to be an incredible author. I want people to read my work for generations. Not because I'm egotistical. I may want to be special (who doesn't?), but I've had this driving need to share my worlds and stories with people since before I understood what money and fame were. I need people to see what I see. I need to give them a glimpse into my mind.

I've struggled to share my world inside my head since I was a kid. And other people never seemed to get it quite to the degree I needed them to. At first, I wrote it off as impossible to communicate, but still I itched to share.

And then I decided to do something about it. I worked on my writing, trying to share once again.

It didn't work out that well.

My work was creative and vivid and incredible. But the writing just wasn't good enough to communicate what I wanted to communicate to other people. Nor had I learned how to create a complete story from the random ideas and worlds that were in my head.

In short, it sucked. But it had potential.

My writing has improved since then. Not enough, still, but I continue to get better all the time. I've learned to piece together stories from the pictures in my head. Stories other people can see and understand almost as well as I can.

It's the writing I need to improve. I'm good with words, but I'm not great. And I need to be great. That's the only way I'll be able to truly communicate my worlds. It's the only method I have to share it all.

And sharing my worlds is my reason for being. I've known it my entire life. That's why I'm doing all of this. Because I have to share my worlds with everyone, or I'll have failed to fulfill my purpose.

If you can't tell yet, I don't like to fail.

Daily Stats:

1. Exercised, stretched, meditated, and worked on my writing twice today.
2. Wrote in my journal, stayed on budget, and wrote a poem today.
3. Posted on my blog.
4. Made my bed.
5. Stayed on my diet today.
6. Fixed my lunch and cooked my breakfast.

Better Than Enough

I never realized how much I hated myself until today.

I've been told over and over again throughout my life that I'm a very positive, calm person. I make other people feel good. I'm so upbeat. I have nicknames like sparkles, sunshine, giggles, bubbles, and feathers. People think I'm happy and sweet and fun.

And I am all of those things. For other people. But not for me.

I say and do nice things for others. And yet I tell myself, over and over again, that I'm not good enough. That I'm not motivated, hard working, determined, dominant, or even sweet enough. I beat myself up for every flaw. Worse, I come up with excuses for the things I do wrong just to screen over the feelings of self-hatred they evoke. I tell myself that it's okay that I didn't get up and do my work for the day; I wasn't born with that kind of motivation nor was I trained to do it. It's okay that I didn't stand up for myself when my mother put me down; I can't stop her from thinking what she wants and there's nothing I could say that would change her position anyway. It's okay that I wasted my day off from work watching television; I needed the down time, I was so exhausted.

You get the picture.

But, underneath the excuses, self-hatred eats away at me, crumbling my resolve and abilities even more. I hate myself for not getting up and doing my work, no matter the reason. I hate myself for not standing up to my mother when she's railroading me. I hate myself for sitting in front of a television all day while my writing lays on the table, unfinished.

I just hate myself.

Which is ridiculous! I'm a great person. Not perfect, by any means. But I am a great person. I make other people feel good about themselves, help them find solutions to their problems, not by telling them what they want or need, but by advising them to find what they themselves want or need, and I support people emotionally through difficult times. I'm fun, upbeat, and I make other people feel good.

And if there are some things about myself I don't like, well, that's okay, too. I'm only human. I'll never be perfect. But I can change what I don't like.

But first I have to accept it. It is what it is. I am who I am, both because of what has been done to me and what I have done to myself. There is no real way to change who I am in this moment. But there is a way to change who I will be tomorrow. And that starts right now.

If I don't like something about myself, fine. Change it. But to change it, you have to acknowledge it, accept it, and then refine it.

It seems, however, that my brain hasn't quite gotten the memo. My inner critic constantly undermines my belief in myself. I'll be going through my morning routine and suddenly I hear my own voice whispering in my mind: You're just not good enough. And with just those five little words, my body aches, my muscles tensing together like they took a real blow. My heart breaks, and a rush of overwhelming sadness sweeps through me. Because I believe it. I believe that I'm just not good enough. Not good enough for another person to love, not good enough to reach my goals, not good enough to live a real life.

If someone else said such things to me, I'd blow a gasket. And I'd tell them just what bridge they could go jump off of, for all I'd care. But for my own mind to say such things? How could I be my own worst enemy?

So, on this journey to change, I found another part of me that is going to have to alter for my dream to become a reality. From now on, whenever I think I'm not good enough, I have a ready retort for my inner critic to face:

I'm better than enough.

Daily Stats:

1. Exercised, stretched, meditated, and worked on writing twice today.
2. Wrote in journal, stayed on budget, and wrote one poem today.
3. Posted a blog entry.
4. Did a load of dishes and cleaned in bathroom.

Meet The Woman I Want To Be

I want to be a calm, happy, intelligent woman who writes. I want to feel good about myself and my life. I want to be happy with my vocation, happy with my hobbies, and happy with my choices. And I want to be healthy and motivated, able to do anything and everything I set my mind to.

And I want to become that person, that ideal, by the age of 30.

Here's a more detailed, vivid picture of who I want to be by the time I'm 30:

• A published writer.
• A healthy woman NOT on medication for diabetes, heart disease, etc.
• In a stable, enjoyable vocation.
• Taking regular classes in different subjects, just for the sake of learning.
• A seasoned traveler who's been to Africa, South America, India, and toured Europe.
• Living a green, self-sufficient lifestyle.
• Debt free.
• HAPPY!

I do not want to be any of these things when I'm 30 years old:

• Still working at Walmart.
• A procrastinator.
• A person with a list of nothing but unfinished projects.
• Still not green or self-sufficient.
• Knee deep in debt.
• Stuck in the same dead-end cycle of life.

 It's a tall order to fill in just 7 years. But I can do it, if I just take it one day, one step, at a time. Because that's who I want to be someday.

And I will be her. That transformation has already begun. If I never give up, never give in to self-doubt or immediate gratification, then that person is who I will be.

That's why I'm doing this. That's why I'm here.

Daily Stats:

1. Exercised, stretched, meditated, and worked on my writing twice today.
2. Wrote in my journal and stayed on budget.
3. Posted another post on my blog.
4. Picked up in room, did laundry, and did a load of dishes.

Meet The Woman I Am

I am 23 years old. Too young to be respected, and yet too old to be given allowances. But in respects to change, I feel like a small child who has finally been given the means of how to walk.

I've lived my life believing that I had no 'drive'. No motivation. I was a calm and good person, whatever that means, but I wasn't competitive and I didn't strive to reach goals for myself. If someone put a small goal in front of me, I reached it and then laid in wait, like a wind-up doll, doing nothing of any import until someone else decided to come along and give me another goal to attempt to strive for.

I have always believed that I could not set my own goals and achieve them. I've tried despite this from time to time, determined to change.

And then I would fail, reinforcing my belief that I couldn't do it for myself. I needed someone else to make me do it.

Schools, jobs, parents, all of them teach you this through the use of the carrot and the stick approach. If you do what they want, you're rewarded. If you deviate from that path, you're punished. In small regards, this is healthy. It's a normal means of controlling a society and also a strong motivator. Taken to extremes, however, it can be addicting and have a negative impact on your personal growth.

And this is what I've become.

I am 23 years old. I've still never done more than a first draft of a book, never learned a second language, never raised my own vegetables, never traveled to Europe or South America or Africa. And I'm afraid that those things won't change over the next 7 years.

Because they won't. Not if I don't change today.

Daily Stats:

1. Exercised, stretched, meditated, and worked on my writing twice today.
2. Wrote in my journal and successfully stayed on budget. Even made up for my spendthrift ways yesterday and the day before. :)
3. Posted on my blog.
4. Picked up in room a little and in den.