Category: Personal writing

Inspired writing about real events in my life

The Art of Starting Over

On By looogaaaaaanwritesIn Personal writingLeave a comment

This is a strange state of mind for me – Ohio.

Within a week, I changed my entire world. I packed my apartment, I took my dogs, I changed my hair, and I left so much behind in Virginia. I was unsure if this was gonna be the beginning of the end or the beginning of a new chapter, I was skeptical. But, something in me just said, “This was meant to happen.”

Every single day, I think that I believe it more and more. I’m watching things fall into place and starting to see the old version of me, who has grown so much in such little time.

I guess, this is the art of starting over.

AS I am

On By looogaaaaaanwritesIn Personal writingLeave a comment

It’s taken me a long time to not feel ashamed of myself and allow my friends and family to know my diagnosis. Even then, it’s taken me longer to feel comfortable even using the word or stop hiding it.

I’ve lost friendships, lost family members. I’ve watched sarcasm go over my head, empathy be left behind, social cues not picked up on, and just not understanding people’s emotions or actions. I’ve hurt people’s feelings, I’ve gone too fair with jokes, I’ve taken things too seriously, and I’ve failed – every. Single. Day. I try, my hardest everyday, and I realize that it’s not enough for people because it’s a difficult situation to be in (whatever side you may lie).

Aspergers.

I am not neutro-typical, but I have been taught to mask it. I do my best to mask my mannerisms to live a normal life and maintain relationships. What does this mean?

I cannot read emotions on people’s faces. I don’t understand why people are upset or happy. I don’t catch on to sarcasm very well, often times it goes over my head. I tend to be more on the negative side, way too often, I hurt people’s feelings with my words. I don’t understand how to properly socialize and fail when holding conversations – even with people I’ve known for a long time. Sometimes, I need people to explain stuff to me or I won’t catch on. The only thing that helped me is mimicking social actions I watch and things taught to me in therapy.

I understand that my diagnosis makes me a difficult person. I require patience, reassurance, explanations, and forgiveness. I’m not built for everyone. I’m an emotional person, who often overshares (and expects other people to do the same), I come across as more mean than kind, and I’m hard to love.

But I am not a terrible person, having Aspergers does not make me a bad person. It makes me different, so don’t put neurotypical expectations on someone who is NOT neurotypical.

I care, so much about people. I reach out, constantly, hoping to hear about your life. I collect objects as gifts or reminders of the people I love. I’d go to the ends of the earth to help or be there for someone else. I always have an ear, if something is going on. I always have a place to crash, if you needed one or wanted to get away. I’d literally do anything for the people that I love or I would die trying. And if trying isn’t enough, than I’m not for you, because I will keep learning, trying, forgiving, apologizing, and changing.

I will no longer be ashamed, or hide, who I am. I’m proud of who I am and how far I’ve come. I am also, LUCKY. I grew up with the best pair of parents that a girl could ever ask for. Who gave me everything that I ever needed, I was privileged to be able to go through speech therapy, social interaction therapy, emotion therapy, and empathy therapies to teach me to mask. I am thankful for a group of friends who are aware of my condition, embrace it, and work with me on it. I am blessed to be with a partner who loves me regardless, works with me, communicates with me, and is patient with me everyday and understands what I go through.

I accept those that will not be able to understand me, want to be around me, or will agree with anything I ever do or say. That’s fine, but no one will be able to belittle me the same way anymore. I’m proud of how far I’ve made it, it’s a work in progress. I love myself and I am enough.

The Other Side Of The Story

On By looogaaaaaanwritesIn Personal writingLeave a comment

As much as you want to believe, you are not the narrator of your own story. You’re not the author, you’re not the editor, and you’re not the audience. You’re a character. A character within your own story line.

You don’t get to pick the perspective in which your story is told. You don’t get to edit out parts of your life to improve it. You don’t get to be emotionally, physically, or mentally detached as if you’re watching your life on a screen.

You just get to live it.

You’ll never know how it begins and ends or what events are going to take place. You get the information that’s provided to you and from then on, you act on it.

Much like everyone on this Earth, I’ve been selfish. I’ve been treating my story as if I was going to be the one to decide how it all ends. But let me tell you something, you cannot just end a story in the middle of a sentence. You must have a beginning, a middle, and an end. The story has to make sense, your life has to make sense, because there is a reason that you’re here.

Up until now, I’ve only been on the other side of the story. In my story, I am both the protagonist and the antagonist. I believed that I could play God and leave my story where ever I wanted to leave it off at. That is the selfishness coming out.

Being twenty three, I’m only in the rising action arch of my storyline. My life has just barely begun and I’m experiencing major conflicts that are crucial to my character development. I haven’t even reached near the climax of my life, I haven’t peaked.

But I looked down from this height, I got scared, and wanted it all to be over. Then I caught a glimpse of my audience.

My audience is my relatives, my best friends, and my boyfriend all rooting for me – the underdog – to complete my story. When I’ve tried to throw in the towel, they’ve kept reading on, never allowing my character to die. I’ve put them on the edges of their seats and some of them, I’ve let fall from out of reach. Those are the people who where merely background characters that got phased out in later chapters of my life.

I look to their faces, and I get lost swimming in the sadness of their eyes. I see my own reflection – and she is ugly. She has the face of a liar, the actions of a coward, the words of a mute, and the mind of a lunatic.

You’re not the hero in your own story, you never will be. The hero is always the person you least expect it to be. They always come in the right time with the right reasons. They won’t take your pain away, they will teach you how to cope with it and how to do better.

The hero is there, looking out for you, ready to whisk all of the conflict away resolving it with it’s perfect resolution. This may have played a small part in my story, but it was a narrative that had to be told. A side story that had to be completed. A chapter, that had to be closed.

It’s like finding another piece in the puzzle that is life – sometimes you have to stop forcing pieces together and take a step back to get the big picture.

My author could not continue my story without me learning my lesson, I had to learn how to view things from other people’s perspectives. I had to see the damage and hurt that I could cause with one little blade, because without it, I couldn’t have continued on with my purpose.

I’m meant to met new people, get new friends, live new places, try new foods, give advice to my friends, met my godson, have a new favorite song, get a new job, lose some people, make a few more people smile, do kind things just because, wish my aunt a happy birthday, receive a present from my brother, take care of my dog, and live more of my life.

I don’t just belong in my own story, I belong in everyone else’s stories as well. I have a role to play in their lives and I cannot do the things I need to do in order to impact their life, if I cannot finish my own.

As much as the conflicts weigh you down, your emotions make you hurt, and your actions affect everything around you – your story isn’t finished just because it feels like it’s over.

You cannot close the book until you see the other side of the story.

On The Ceiling

On By looogaaaaaanwritesIn Personal writingLeave a comment

I wrote our names on my ceiling and now the house isn’t even mine.

I packed up my stuff into boxes, one by one, and loaded them into the truck outside. My once bright purple walls were now a pale white color. All of my drawings, my pictures, and my decorations, were all put away. And I left the thought of us inside of the house, driving away to never occupy it’s walls once again.

I can only imagine what the new owners would think, of two peoples names written just above their daughter’s bed. Some how, I find comfort in them painting over it, closing the chapter even further.

However, I cannot lie. Some days, I drive by that house. Looking into the windows of my old bedroom, where I first fell in love, where my first heart break was, where I grew up running around with my friends, and the first place that we lived for several years consecutively. It was the house that built me.

Even if I could go back to that house, I wouldn’t. The ghost of the old me haunts it, she walks around the halls and lays in her bed writing happy things. She has no troubles, has all of her friends, and smiled every day, never knowing the trama, crippling illness, and betrayal that she had waiting for her just a few years later. She is my innocence.

And if I couldn’t hold onto her, I hope that someone else can.

 

 

Shelter Dog

On By looogaaaaaanwritesIn Personal writingLeave a comment

I am a shelter dog, do you know what that means?

I could have wander in from the streets, surrendered here by my owner, or seized from my previous home.

You stare at me from the other side of the kennel. Look at my bed and cozy blanket, my toy half chewed in the corner. This is my home, for now, at least, that’s what my handlers say.

They tell me that I’m cute, take me to lunch sometimes, and spoil me rotten with treats. But at the end of the day, they turn off the lights and say, “maybe tomorrow baby”, give me a head rub, and leave with sad eyes.

Every day, I get to see new faces. They walk up and down the aisle looking at all of us. Poking their fingers inward, wanting to be loved, licked, or to connect.

Sometimes we jump or bark, eager to socialize, begging for attention. Maybe we cower in a corner, growl, and are afraid of human hands who have not been kind to us in the past. Few of us are quiet, unamused, or bored. The longer you’re in the shelter, the smaller the walls get around us, and all we dream of is running through the grass – free.

I wish I could tell you exactly where I’ve been or where I’m from, that I enjoy fur friends or children to play with, but my handlers will tell you what they’ve learned about me since I have arrived.

I could be high energy, bouncing off of the walls. I could be low energy, wanting to curl under a blanket and cuddle all day.

Perhaps I’ll love kids, running around with them, maybe eating a sock or two along the way. Maybe I am unsure, afraid of kids or don’t know how to handle them that small.

I could love dogs and want to run around and play tug of war. I could dislike dogs because I was once used as a weapon or maybe I never learned proper socialization.

I am not perfect, I may have to pick up a few skills or learn a few things along my way.

Where ever I came from, whatever I like or dislike, I am a shelter dog who is in need of love, a family, a home, patience, and freedom. I may have been lost, but you found me.