Every single year that comes around, there’s this dying need for humans to make a list of things they’d usually reserve for a bucket list and then try ti achieve it in a year. I was that human. Join the gym, lose weight, eat healthier, travel more, read more, watch more movies. Except those are quite hard to do with such a flat description. I’ve struggled to figure out of goals and resolutions are one in the same and truthfully, I’m making them different. This year, there’s no list of bullet points of things I want to do, there’s an in-depth list of things that I am going to work on and hopefully soon say I’ve accomplished. So, what’re my goals this year?
Facebook holds a plethora of shareable images that always challenge you to share it for the love of this or for an Amen for that. Some of these images I like to share, mostly being memes and quotes that ring true to not just myself but those around me, but what I also find myself encountering are the more parental based images. The maternal ones. The “share if you love your mom” or “share if you’d be lost without your mother” sort of photos that I constantly dread to see every mother’s day. It’s not that I don’t agree that a mother doesn’t hold this importance in someone’s life, it’s just that they don’t and will never apply to me.
You’re sleeping right now, probably dreaming of a commercial free adventure with the Little Einstein’s and a world where Daddy and I are still very much in love and continuosly playing with you.
Here the latter will always happen but our love for each other has fizzled down into a platonic coparenting inhabitant for you.
But mommy has some secrets, some that she can only share with the confines of her journal and maybe in a friend with a open heart and a open ear. I don’t love myself, and this has nothing to do with my love for Daddy but it makes it hard for her to believe others love for her. That one days others will love her.
I’ve never really been afraid to talk about my skin disease. Truthfully, I’ve done everything I can to explain it but have only been met with people who fail to see the seriousness about it. June held our awareness week, and though I missed my chance then, I would like to take the time to do it now. I figured what better place to open the discussion than to the one place that I discuss everything else. I’ve struggled with the idea of how to not make it sound so gross, sadly though it just is. This disease isn’t pretty and I’m not going to try to make it out to be.
It’s not been easy for me in the last few years. I refuse to call it writers block because I’m not blocked from anything. If it were a block I’d stare at the page and wonder how do you do the typing and the telling of the story I don’t know yet. I’m doing the typing now so, no, there’s no blockage of any sorts. What I have is a fear; a giant phobia of releasing my creative writings into the world. I don’t know what’s caused this fear of never being good enough, but I’m getting over it, and if you have the same fear as me, you should too.