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Despair transmuted

Here I am at 6:30 am after staying up all night–as usual, with something of a nap to tide me over–trembling with euphoria, chest swelled, eyes smarting with unshed tears, because I actually worked hard at writing something.

I have had a pretty shitty night up until this point. The reason I went to take a nap was because I wanted to cry. Bawl, in truth. I was unable to do that; my sobs felt forced and pathetic as I lay wrapped in the covers, face buried in my pillow. But I did at least cry, and then fell off into restless, desperate sleep.

I am unsatisfied with my life and I am unsatisfied with the way I spend my days. I do not feel as if there is any purpose to anything I do. I want more, I want to stop feeling desperate. I want to be more than useful; I want to be thrilling, inspiring, necessary, adored. I want to Do Things that make people Sit Up and Take Notice. I believe I have fallen into despair because I can’t envision these things ever actually happening. I’m lost, jobless, a housewife who hates keeping house. I’m no good to anyone else and I’m no good to myself.

But I wrote something. Something I am outrageously proud of, something I revised until it flowed off my tongue with a rhythm that plows a clear path. I read it aloud, several times, and tweaked it far more than that. I worked on it, and it’s finished, and I can say that I am reasonably happy with it.

It’s only a post. But holy shit do I feel good about it.

I must have needed that.

Here I am at 6:30 am after staying up all night–as usual, with something of a nap to tide me over–trembling with euphoria, chest swelled, eyes smarting with unshed tears, because I actually worked hard at writing something.

I have had a pretty shitty night up until this point. The reason I went to take a nap was because I wanted to cry. Bawl, in truth. I was unable to do that; my sobs felt forced and pathetic as I lay wrapped in the covers, face buried in my pillow. But I did at least cry, and then fell off into restless, desperate sleep.

I am unsatisfied with my life and I am unsatisfied with the way I spend my days. I do not feel as if there is any purpose to anything I do. I want more, I want to stop feeling desperate. I want to be more than useful; I want to be thrilling, inspiring, necessary, adored. I want to Do Things that make people Sit Up and Take Notice. I believe I have fallen into despair because I can’t envision these things ever actually happening. I’m lost, jobless, a housewife who hates keeping house. I’m no good to anyone else and I’m no good to myself.

But I wrote something. Something I am outrageously proud of, something I revised until it flowed off my tongue with a rhythm that plows a clear path. I read it aloud, several times, and tweaked it far more than that. I worked on it, and it’s finished, and I can say that I am reasonably happy with it.

It’s only a post. But holy shit do I feel good about it.

I must have needed that.

One reply on “Despair transmuted”

Original comments from Xanga

I know how you feel.

I really do. I suppose I should be all open and stuff, and just say this stuff when ever it comes to mind, but you’ve seen me try to express myself. I totally suck.

Anyway. The point is I do understand. I feel the same way a lot more than I let on. I don’t let on because I don’t want to be perceived as weak. I have to keep a stiff upper lip, la dee da.

The thing is, it is amazing to me to think you felt meaningless. I’m in awe of what you do with words. I don’t soil my pants with every post, but your posts are always good.

I look forward to your posts. I look forward to posting with you. It has rached the point lately that I don’t care if I post elsewhere. And not simply because we have done a lot of sexually charged stuff. No one gives me feedback like you do. Each post, whether you liked your work or not, has shown me things about my own post.

It’s not analysis. It just is. I don’t really understand it. I just get a vibe. Maybe what Aiko was talking about as her muse?

For a whie I got lack luster, but I realized that was me. I was pushing the character away, not letting myself get into the character’s head. Once I started digging in, it was back.

I had certain skills as a writer before we met. Since we’ve met you’ve helped me become better than simply passable. Sometimes I even feel good. When I work with you, I feel great.

I have no idea what that means. I just thought you ought to know.
Posted 9/17/2003 6:59 AM by AGM_65

I know what you mean, Heather-chan. I’m starting to feel the same way myself. Still, unlike you, I couldn’t even write much these days. I just don’t feel inspired enough to do so.

But you, you write consistently. Not just that, you write consistently GOOD posts. And that one was just great, a gem. But then, you’re always good.

And Sam’s really good too. I mean, seriously, there’s so much difference, the clarity, the depth, from the time I first read your stuff. You’ve improved leaps and bounds, gone up notches. You guys are amazing. *hugs* You should feel good about yourselves for that, y’know. That people find it a pleasure reading your posts, that it’s something to look forward to. Even I go back to read the boards just coz you two are posting the way you do. Don’t stop, k? ^ ^;; *me being selfish now*

Just my 2 cents. ^ ^ *hugs both*
Posted 9/18/2003 1:47 AM by Bleudonne

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