I had this idea that I need to sell myself and the blog again in a more positive way.
November was my music month, I think you guessed it, but I am not sure if I will keep it up.
I shared a lot. A lot of music, a lot of poetry, and many inner landscapes. My mindset is not the best these days, and it oozes from the pages; and so I was thinking. Should I add more sex? Sex sells, we know that. More pics of me with cleavage and a suggesting look? No. More of my sensual stories and poetry? Maybe. More of something else? Yes. But I don’t know yet.
During these last weeks, a lot has happened, and at the same time, not much has happened.
I found and lost a dear friend. I take much of the blame — not all. And we will see, my door is always open. My heart is too.
I was on sick leave for 12 workdays and was not missed. Two colleagues got in touch out of eleven. I expected more; maybe I thought I was more liked at work. I thought I would be missed. Apparently not. I will not lie, that hurt my pride.
I had a lot of time for music, and reading, and watching reruns on TV.
I was tormented with dry needling from my physiotherapist, but in all honesty, he is a nice guy and took (takes) good care of me.
I cancelled a trip to Liverpool in February. Just as well… I suffer from terrible flight panic, and maybe it is best to stay on the ground.
I decided to publish a new poetry collection next year. Probably in the first half of 2020. And I will finish “Heart of Stone” and publish it too. Sometime next year.
I cut back on drinking, and even though I was bored and frustrated, I didn’t stuff the voids with food and alcohol. Yay me.
I learned how well the right painkillers work – and how much they can knock you out.
I slept in almost every morning during my sick leave.
Came to terms with the fact that I might have to change jobs if my shoulder does not get better. It is hard, but I cannot hold on to something that makes me physically sick.
I wrote many posts that I deleted again, because I thought ‘who cares’ and ‘I don’t matter’. Those words still ring in my ears. And I realised that it was a sort of mental abuse. Emotional abuse. And I was a victim of that as a child and teenager too.
There is so much baggage that I am carrying with me, but it is okay. I am used to it. Some days, it gets too heavy and pushes me down, but I am a fighter, a survivor. I made it through many bad moments…
People on Wattpad like my writing, even if it is bad, really bad. Not the poetry, but the novels. Same-sex novels. There are good ideas, but the early work is dreadful, and yet, it has its audience. That’s nice.
Less Facebook and Instagram, more Twitter.
I am selfish. Egocentric. Sometimes I wonder if I am narcissistic.
I am special. That one is true. No matter which way you want to spin it, there are not many people like me on this planet. I could write more, but you don’t need a list of why you should love me. Either you do or you don’t.
I am grateful. No matter how dark or bleak my world is, no matter how many posts I share about it, you are always there. If I knew who you were, I would probably not be free, and I would censor my posts out of fear to hurt this of that person – as I did before. But this blog here is my place. My journal. A diary of sorts. These posts are impulsive and written at the moment. I am very moody, and my moods can change within minutes. That means that one moment, I might feel good and the next like shit. That’s just who I am. And to be honest, it is not easy for me to live with myself, how can it be for anyone else to love me?
Thank you. ❤
Diloch yn fawr. 💚
Merci villmols. 💙
Dank u. 💛
Thank you. 💛
These are just a couple of languages to say Thank You. You might not show that you are here, but I see you, and I feel you.
I am always there. ❤