Much of the content may be a bit dark, but it is not necessarily in chronological order. There are no dates, because I don't think it matters if I wrote it 3 years ago or yesterday. I decided to write for me and I know most of the time I feel like writing is when I have something I need to process or work through; this is really my only place to come to and release.

I am not miserable, I am just healing.

Not Done



Somewhere in the midst of a bottle of Riesling working its way through my system and an ever enlightening walk to campground restrooms, three words came to me. I had been having a conversation with my friend about why I have not written a book yet; as you could imagine, it was an emotional conversation. I usually blame my lack of interest in writing one on the fact that no one really cares what I have dealt with or what I am doing now... I am no one special, after all. But in the clarity that can only happen when your mind gets a little foggy, I realized that it is because I don't feel like I have any standing or right to tell anyone else where to go when I don't feel like I have gotten where I am going yet. So, as I walked back from that bathroom, I repeated those three words over and over so I wouldn't forget them... because we all know I have a tendency to move onto the next thought as if they were just being thrown into my lap to deal with in rapid fire succession.



Unanchored.

Unsatisfied.

Unfinished.



Those words landed on a random open document I had pulled up in on this laptop in the woods weeks ago and it wasn't until now that I found them. I probably should have followed up with wherever they took me at that moment, but wine and my ability to stay awake are directly related to each other: adversely, unfortunately.



Unanchored. What does that even mean in relation to why I am not writing a bestselling book yet? Well, drunk me probably could have answered that a little better, since she is the one who spit it out in the form of an epiphany... but I will give it a go. Drunk me is still valid me... she usually has her wits about her more than one might expect, so we won't dismiss her. Honestly, how the hell can I tell anyone else how to get from point A to point B if I don't know where the hell my point B is? I have a general picture of where I want to go, but I am not anchored yet, and I have no idea when it will happen. If it will happen. Life is in charge of all that mess, after all. If I was living in a world of stepping stones and paths that I could shine light onto, then maybe I would feel like sharing the directions made sense. But right now, what would I do... point off in the distance and say "go that way over there... maybe"? Or am I supposed to tell people it is okay to treat life like an unwritten story like I do? That could be the opposite of what they need! I do not have an anchor down, how do I show anyone else what it is to not get taken by the storm? I don't feel like I am drifting, by any means... but I don't have any clue how I would tell anyone else how to stop drifting without throwing down anchor. If you ask me, I have no idea how I saved myself... other than maybe winning the genetics lottery that gave me the smarts to process things the way I did.



One might argue that writing is my anchor. I guess it isn't wrong. But it isn't an answer for everyone else, and trying to guide others feels like the blind leading the blind sometimes.



Unsatisfied. This one is sticky. I AM satisfied with who I am, though I hope I keep growing and understanding. I AM satisfied with how far I have placed myself from where I could have been. But I am not satisfied that I have reached a place where I can tell anyone else how to get there. I still want to do so much, be so much, accomplish so much. How can I feel worthy of giving guidance when I feel like I am only a few chapters into my own travels? I look around me and I am just beginning. I have lived so much life... gone through so much and done so much, but it is a drop in the bucket in relation to the shenanigans I have on my list of things to do. I am still working and living paycheck to paycheck (sorta), I still have relationship issues with friends/family/lovers, and I am still mad sometimes.



I guess that flows into Unfinished pretty effortlessly. Truth is, I am not done getting better. Am I a mess? No. Am I bitter? No. But I still get mad sometimes. I still have little bits of hurt and confusion and anger that exist within me... and though I have done amazingly to not let them become me or what I am about, they are there. I cannot smile and tell someone it will be okay, that they should let it all go, and that I figured it out when I am not done figuring it out. I don't know how to evict all of the negative thoughts and shake it all away, because sometimes I still want to shake my mother and punch my adoptive father. Sometimes I still want to scream. Sometimes I still cry... out of no fucking where. Sure, it is like 2% problem at this point, absolutely nowhere near a common occurrence or thought or rumination. But even if it's minute, how can I act like I figured out how to leave it all in the dust when every few months I still wish I could just have a few minutes to tell those people how much they suck?



The friend I was camping with said something that is obviously true... she said "Maybe you aren't supposed to write about how to beat it. Maybe you are supposed to write about how to keep moving through it and survive it"



I know she is probably right. I don't have to wait until my life glistens to talk about finally wading through and out of the muck. But I still feel grossly unqualified to have a single person looking to me for much of anything. Not because I feel that I am not awesome (cause, well, I am most of the time), but because my awesome might be their terrible and that is a lot of responsibility.

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