Mamarati

What happens, when I am going through my old self and placing that old self in a new, hopefully permanent place… are a couple of things.

First, there is this sadness. This realization that I just do not write like I used to write. That there used to be this very introspective side of me that wasn’t too difficult to capture in words. Even when it was a complicated struggle, documenting the conflict was revealing and good in itself. And it makes me sad that I seem to have lost that.

I’ve talked about this before.

Then, there is this embarrassment. When I read some of that old stuff I cannot believe how raw some of it is. How primal. How immature and silly and stupid. I cannot believe I took the time to write about some of it. I cannot believe I got so personal and opened up all those strange cans of worms.

And then… I don’t know what to do with it all.

I think some of it has to do with my boyfriend. And I know some of it has to do with work. And that ever increasing ? worry that those parts of my life and my private thoughts, public here, are going to bleed together and … I don’t know.

It’s just hard to figure out all the parts of me and teach them how to get along well together, because they really are so different. And there is the expectation that if you are X then you cannot also be Y and Z and G and whatnot. Well, I am, though. I just haven’t figured out how to reconcile all the parts. Madonna. Whore. You know the syndrome.

I guess there are just things that I DO or SAY or whatever… that are not what one would expect. One who knows some other part of me, I guess. Like, if you know the “work me” then you would not expect that I… do some of the things that I do as the “at home” or “with friends” me. Or something like that.

I don’t know what I am saying. I guess I’m just saying that I’m normal, in my own strange way, and nothing brings that out more than trying to get the pieces of my past to fit with my present and future. It’s all so different.

And I wish I could just let go and write what I want. THIS IS MY JOURNAL PEOPLE. I just want to write. I just want to not be so blocked somewhere here in my head.

It’s like I’m afraid of something.

You’re a damn writer. SO write… right?