I have been finding an inability to delve into my writings of late, a writer's block, chronic distraction, winter depression. Whatever the popular label, I know the causes, but don't know what to do with them.
The easiest explanation, least offensive and most generic would be to say it is simply writer's blcok. But this is too simple an explanation. What is causing the blockage? What deep-rooted angst is preventing the flow of words, the formation of storylines and character development? It is not simple block. It is a deep rooted struggle of self. Or should I say "selves?"
That is the crux; a war of selves. The self I show to all who know me is at war with the self that is truely me, the self I show only to me. Why do I keep my true self from the eyes of friends and family? Because I know that many would not be accepting of the Me that is truely me.
Hell, most can't understand my desire to be alone, by myself, solitary, a hermit if you will. Few can understand that I really do prefer my own company, that I would rather face the world alone, that I don't need a life partner, a BFF, or even a friend with benefits. I have myself, I need no one else. Other's find this attitude to be hostile and "just not right." They all seem to think that a desire for solitude is abnormal, and I must need anti-depressants or anti-anxiety meds. Why? Why medicate away a vital, core aspect of my personality that I am comfortable with, just because it makes other's uncomfortable? I do not live my life to impress, please or pacify. I am trying to live my life as what it is: Mine.
Another warring aspect, which may be at the center of my desire and preference for solitude, is my left of norm gender identity. Yes, I am female. Yes, I am a mother (and a damned excellent mother). Most would identify me as straight, normal woman. Some who know another side of me might identify me as bisexual female, since I can see the beauty in male or female. But what no one knows (or understands) is my own identification as very gender neutral. Very Neutral. Not even androgynous. But Neutral. In my mind, if I do try to label myself, the best I can come up with is "Tomboy."
I am a Tomboy. I like bugs, rocks and dirt, and my dogs. I wear Levi's and Converse All-Stars. I don't think about sex any more now than I did whan I was eleven years old. And when I was eleven I liked bugs, dirt, and dogs, and wore Levi's and Converse. I feel as though I have time-warped past the 38 years that encompassed my adolescence, teen years, 20's, motherhood, marriage, and divorce. I feel as if that time has fallen away, returned my body to me, for my own use, for my own style. I don't want to be seen as a sexual, sensual, feminine person. I want people to see that I am just me, in my Levi's and sneakers, walking my dogs, looking at bugs and rocks, wishing I could escape the world and be a hermit.
Is that asking too much? Is it too much to expect that people could believe that I am a non-sexual Tomboy? I almost wish that I was the 11 year old again, with that reckless abandon and lack of responsibility. I know my friends and family might be appalled at these ramblings, dismayed with my "abnormality." They may not understand, and many would scoff and think I was being dramatic or just a little crazy.
Crazy? Yes, maybe. I do know that much of the time I do feel that my sanity rides a fine edge that overlooks the abyss, but I have become familiar with the abyss, it is my abyss, and I do not fear it. At times I embrace the abyss, revel in the dark side of life. At other times the abyss overwhelms me, and at these times I have found myself out in the rain, raging against the world, rejecting the world and all of it's complicated relationships. For now, I am creating this blog, to share my true self, to walk the edge of the abyss and know I can find my balance.