Creative Binging

My creative mojo has hit a nuclear spike these last couple of weeks. I’ve been drafting nonstop for several different projects. I’ve been recluse to my own fantasy universe that comes with it’s own calendar (and the days in a year add up to 765), a whole new religion, a hierarchy of higher powers, monsters, superheroes, brand name products, planets, cities, and so much more. Oh and of course there’s the characters, their family trees, their great ancestors, and their many enemies.

There is a lot of chatter and noise building up in my head. It’s no wonder why most writers became alcoholics.

I’ve been going at this so hard that I felt like my braincells were catching fire. The humidity in Boone doesn’t help much either. I’m all over the place. There’s no organization to what I’m doing at all. But after being stuck with an endless dry spell of ideas and writer’s block built from my own insecurities I’m not worried about organizing anything. I’m just having fun creating one thing after another. I’m learning to respect the process in a way that I didn’t before. And I’m changing somehow.

Before I kept telling myself that I couldn’t be a halfway decent writer. I kept feeding myself a bunch of lies.

1. “My ideas aren’t good enough”
2. “There’s always someone better than me”
3. “I’m never going to be good enough.”

And the older I got the more I started thinking about how every story idea I’ve ever had had been put on the back shelf and I’m thinking, “Tick tock. Time’s running out on all your dreams.”

The more I write the more I feel like all the lies are becoming undone. All the negative thinking is being tossed out like garbage, all the damage that was done because of it is being restored, it’s like my brain is getting rewired or a complete reboot. I haven’t felt anything like this happen in years. The writing is healing me, it’s helping me make sense of the world, and it’s helping me do away with all my anxiety and depression.

Maybe the writing done here for the last couple of months has helped me in more ways than one. I started posting here so that I could better deal with everything that was going on in my head after being silent for so long. Now that things are better should I stop writing here?

Don’t know where that thought came from. It just popped in there. It’s too soon to decide anything drastic. For now I just want to keep the creativity going. I want to see where it takes me.

Until then, later days.

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The Balance of Two Worlds

As a writer I feel myself caught between different realms of both reality and fiction. It doesn’t help that I’m in the more practical major of journalism when my first love is fiction writing. Then there’s also the fact that I’m always creating different stories with different people and not all of them happen to take place on Earth as we know it.

I’ve always struggled with establishing order between all of it. I always felt that if I preferred one over the other that there’d be a severe penalty to pay. But now it seems like that way of thing has been wrong. Just like when I had that negative mantra of “I’m not allowed to be happy.”

Its nice to be wrong sometimes. I’m starting to find my balance. I find myself able to traverse between the different worlds. I’m able to do what needs to be done in reality and write to my heart’s content just like all the other working writers that came before me.

I’ve been writing lot of drafts lately. It feels like the gears in my mind were stuck until now. This morning I went nuts with making the details on this story world I’ve been working on. It feels great.

Now back to reality…

I got my exam back from earlier this week. I crushed it!! I totally crushed it!! I have two incompletes recorded from spring semester, but now I have chance at making things right again. I spoke with both my professors. It’s more work put on my lap, but I can handle it. I’m not the same as I used to be. So it can be done.

I want to dive in and get back to my fiction, but right now there’s only so much I can do on an empty stomach. I need to eat something!

The Fox and the Blue Bird

Remember when I said that I get signs from the Universe? These signs will come to me in a variety of forms, but no matter what the form it takes it will always get my attention. It’s very rare when they come to me in my dreams (even with the Dream Man), but that’s what happened.

I dreamt that I saw a blue bird and a fox. They came to me in separate scenes. First I saw the blue bird. It’s entire body wasn’t blue, just its wings. But my my mind registered it as a “blue bird” even though the rest of it was black. I was in someone else’s backyard and there it was. It flew and landed on the ground before me.

A little bit after that I saw a fox. Again, I was in the backyard of someone else. I remember because I saw laundry being hung out to dry. I was sitting on this back porch and this fox just walked up to me. It stared at me for a while. And then it helped its way into the house since the backdoor was opened. Someone made a comment about the animal, but they weren’t worried about it coming in. It came out the backdoor almost as soon as it went in. I remember this fox was smiling at me. It smiled at me the same way my favorite dog Jewels would.

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As soon as I was able to wake up I went ahead and looked up what symbolism that they hold.

As far as the blue bird is concerned it’s a definite sign of happiness, a spiritual freedom, and psychological liberation. It coincides with some of my more recent posts. So I can’t ignore it. And I certainly cannot deny that I do feel better about a lot of things. I’ve been tight lipped about it. But I really do feel great. ev

But then there’s the fox. Generally the fox is supposed to represent a tricker. But then things got complicated when I kept seeing different scenarios involving a fox like, “If you dreamt that you killed a fox…” or “If you domesticated a fox…”

In this dream I wasn’t scared of the fox that I saw and the fox smiled at me like Jewels used to which makes me think that it was genuine. I honestly don’t know what to think of it. I’d prefer to not believe that there’s a trickster in my life or that there’s going to be one in the future. I’m just coming out of my shell here and getting past my trust issues. I don’t want to be suspicious of every person I come across now. That’d be like taking ten giant steps back when I’m finally making good steps forward.

Because I had a pleasant experience of looking at the fox then its supposed to mean that positive changes are afoot. I want to believe that this is true. The way things are going now even if there is a trickster somewhere in the foreseeable future he or she cannot undo all the good that’s happening right now unless there are something other than human.

So the better part of my day has revolved around trying to interpret this dream because evidently the Powers That Be seem to think that I’m some walking supernatural braintrust. Oh yeah and while I was waiting for the bus this morning I saw a butterfly for like the millionth time since last year. Except during this time last year the butterflies were dark colored and now they’re getting brighter colors. I keep getting a strange feeling overtime I see one.

Symbolism behind that revolved around resurrection, moving through different phases, transformation, and the world of the soul. “The world of the soul….” What, like the human unconscious? Great, then I’m officially living in the world of Persona then. Maybe I’ll become a Phantom Thief of Hearts. Wonder what my costume would be like? Or my Persona for that matter….

Nerd moment’s over!! Focus!! *slaps himself silly*

So yeah that’s happened. The signs have been very active this past year. Things started off bleak before, but if I’m reading these signs properly then things can only get better from this point on. That’s all fine and dandy, but that doesn’t change the fact that every time I get these signs I’m always left confused trying to make sense of it all.

I guess I’m supposed to just walk on faith and risk total annihilation. I’m just afraid that if I interpret things in the wrong way then…I’ll be punished somehow, all the progress I’ve made will become undone. I’ve had this irrational fear before. Maybe this is all so I can conquer it. I can rule out the “Dream Man” coming to find me. If I start thinking about stuff like that now then it goes against what I had posted over the weekend. I still need to focus on me. I need to focus on loving myself more. I need to get to the point where I can say, “Hey! I’d date me!”

It’d be so much easier if I had some kinda guide for all this. *eyes roll* But nooooooooo…..

Anyway that’s it for now. I’ll figure something out. Someway, somehow.

A Long Week Ahead of Me

It’s going to be long week before the fall break hits and I can see my family. I can feel my nerves begin to act up. But I’m gonna “power” right through it because….

My Dream Man

It’s a quiet and lazy Sunday here at the Nest. The leaves are falling down, the wind is blowing, the weather is finally calling for long sleeves, hoodies, beanies, and long pants. All of which are my favorite things in the world to wear. I’m doing all that I can to keep myself from drowning in my own thoughts.

I’ve splashed my hands in peppermint oil. I’ve got the soundtrack from Nier Automata playing as I type. I’m brainstorming how to properly word how two lovers actually “Netflix and Chill” in a story that I began writing two weeks ago and left at 593 words. I’m choosing to write when I could be studying for this exam that I have tomorrow afternoon.

The last few days have left me in a daze and I’m doing everything that I can to bounce back from it so I can regain my senses. A few days I posted about how I have this crush on one of my professors. And then I started to think about all my other failed romances. And how at one point there was this recurring dream I’ve had where I did meet the love of my life.

This “Dream Man” is nobody that I know in real life. But he started appearing in my dreams years ago. I can’t quite make out the details of his face. The memory of it is really hazy. But I remember that he was taller than me. He had to be at least 6″0 or 6″1. His skin tone was tanned and light brown colored. I think he was Hispanic or some Mediterranean descent. He had dark hair cut at a short length. His body had a muscular, lean build to it. I remembering imagining him as a swimmer or a runner during his high school years.

I remember the warmth I’d feel when he took me into his arms and held me. I remember the way his lips tasted like something sweet. I remember him always assuring me in those dreams that everything would turn out all right in the end. I remember always feeling happy with him. I remember feeling safe. I remember the whole thing felt like a fairy tale.

I’d imagine the dates we’d have. A walk through this grand aquarium, enjoying ourselves to frequent coffee dates, having a boring evening at a home we’d share together, and how we’d reach the “happily ever after” we both wanted for ourselves.

The dreams and the images came to me after I tried killing myself and I was done with therapy back in 2009. Before that I had the worse luck with romance. But I felt in my bones that this “Dream Man” was the one for me.

I remember thinking that he would be reward if I kept improving myself, if I never fell back into depression again, and if I chose to stay alive. I remember how badly I wanted it to be real. I remember thinking that if I found this “Dream Man” then that would be that; the end of my long journey, the magical solution that would end all things depressing and painful, and that I’d finally be at peace. I’d finally be allowed to be happy.

At some point those dreams stopped. But I still retained those daydreams of date nights complete with dinner and a movie, laughing at corny jokes, fighting over dumb stuff like any normal couple does only to have great make-up sex later.

I still yearn for the “Dream Man” to come into my life and all that comes with it. But now I’m beginning to think that all this time I’ve been wanting it for all the wrong reasons.

I’ve been coming to terms with a lot of things since I started up this blog. I had to pick myself up to go to therapy, to go to class, do the work that needed to be done. I’m the one that found the house to move into, I found the roommates, I was persistent in moving into someplace better than the Cottages. I fought off my “Nightmare Syndrome” day in and day out. I fought my own battles and saved myself. And this isn’t some recent epiphany. I’ve been managing to handle myself for a really long time now, even before coming to Boone. Whereas before I thought I needed someone to save me from my predicaments; mental, emotional, or otherwise.

But no. I managed to do a lot of things on my own when I remember the times where I couldn’t do simple, ordinary things that people unlike me have no problems doing at all. Like learning to cook, being able to write, being able to take chances and go for things. These were all things that I thought were impossible to do at one point. But I made them possible.

Yeah I’ve had my ups and downs, but it made me a better person. It made me stronger. It made me wiser. All that I experienced after the suicide attempt accumulated and made me into the person that I am now. I thought I had that lost that part of myself when I first came to Boone, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. That’s the “old self” I spoke of before. I never lost it. And that proves that I’m not broken or damaged in the way that I convinced myself that I was. And it means that no matter what comes my way I will be all right, with or without my “Dream Man”.

And as for him…I’m going through a lot of personal changes right now. I need to stay focused on me and keep getting better, stronger, and wiser. Because in all honesty the way things are now I wouldn’t date me. Which makes it more crucial that I stay focused on me and work on self love. That’s all I got to say.

I Face Myself

It’s Fall. So that should mean a guarantee of cooler weather and pumpkin spice lattes, right? That’s the ideal scenario but here I am chilling out in the campus library, waiting for the temperature to die down so I don’t have to be sweating buckets while walking from my bus stop to the Nest (my Boone home) while sporting my blue varsity jacket, which by the way I think I look pretty fucking cute in it.

I’ve had quite the week. My anxiety levels were kicking in. And was it for good reason? Nope, of course not. I was feeling down, my symptoms were acting up, and everything from my house work to my school assignments felt like these daunting tasks to take on yet again. Yup, they became monsters in my head that I had to put down. For those that have been faithfully following me since the summer time, remember that post “Being Real”? Where I compared my anxieties to fighting the actual Babadook? Yeah it was kinda like that. It wasn’t as extreme as that time, but it still had some force behind it.

So yeah, that happened. But I powered through it and lived to tell the tale. I still have some work to catch up on for one of my classes, but the teacher is very cool and understanding. There’s a box of fresh baked cookies in her immediate future, I guarantee it.

I was able to get some writing done over the last few days. And not just for one story either. There’s no outlining or anything. I’m flying by the seat of my pants with these drafts that I’m writing and I’m loving it. It is such a rush to rack up the words. What’s even better is that I’m finally able to cancel that part of my brain that’s always casting judgements that kept obstructing me. I’m writing like you would be dancing in a room like there’s nobody watching. It’s liberating! And it’s because I’m at the point where I can finally do it for myself. I’m beyond wanting to impress anyone. If only I had this mindset a long time ago. Things would have been wildly different I’m sure. But better late then never.

I don’t want to get into exactly what it was that triggered my little mental crisis because I was painfully aware of how dumb it was. My inner “Mr.Monk” came out to play. But I can take pride knowing that I’ve gotten stronger. I chastised myself about how foolish I was being and that going through it meant that I was weak. That I had been breaking apart again.

A bunch of interesting stuff came to mind when I realized that I’m never going to be Mr.Perfect, I can’t keep everything together, I can’t conform to someone else’s perception of what makes a functioning human being, but I don’t have to be ashamed of that. I feature two beautiful words that epitomize this concept. And a quote from one of my favorite movies.

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I’m sloppy. I’m emotional. I’m a mess. I say things that make no sense sometimes. I do things that make no sense in the eyes of others. I’m different from others. I make mountains out of mole hills. I get knocked down. I get beaten. I break down. I’m full of flaws.

But I get back up. I keep trying. I take the broken pieces of myself and put them back together. I share my stories to show that I’m still standing. I survived what I went through. I’m a better person because of it. If someone wants to take all that and call me an attention whore, someone who loves to play victim, or whatever then I have nothing but pity for that person because I cannot make them understand. My experience is my own. My journey is my own. They do not get a say in it at all. I’ve got better things to do with my time and energy then to try and make them understand.

I am who I am. This is who I really am. You can accept me, love me, as a I am or you can stay out of the way. I will stay true to myself and I will gladly live with whatever consequences come with it.

Dilly Dally Shilly Shally

Random PenSword Fact #6: I have a huge crush on Ty Burrell from Modern Family and I feel no shame in it!! He’s my TV hubby!

So the weather cleared up and I cleared my little Gauntlet. It’s so nice outside that I wish I had taken the time to make a bento boxed lunch. My symptoms have calmed down. Aside from the occasional intrusive thought now and again there’s nothing to worry about.

To lift my spirits up over the weekend I treated myself to some retail therapy via Amazon, a movie night that featured lots of nice guy candy, and some cooking. I was able to do a recipe that I had been meaning to experiment with for a really long time.

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I made empanadas with curry filling. This is the first time I ever made anything from my actual heritage. I don’t know if anyone else has ever tried to experiment with this, but I can conclude that it works. And it tastes good. I had made a nice curry rice dinner the night before and had plenty of leftovers to work with so there was no real difficulty in making this at all. I’m proud of it.

Memories from the past keep returning to me. I think about that old friend and how our creative process worked. When I left I wanted to take on a different approach toward brainstorming and writing. But now I think I’m going to experiment with my methods and the old methods. If you could dive into my mind and see what goes on inside you’d see how fantastical I view the process in a way that makes the mundane process seem more magical.

I still stand by my decision to not go back to him. It wouldn’t accomplish anything. I’ve been taking what I’ve been feeling and thinking as creative fuel for my writing. I know it sounds no different from what most other writers do, but it’s a big deal for me. For the longest time I’ve been writing to escape from things instead of confronting them. That’s what makes it seem different for me. Plus it’s helping breathe new life into characters and plots that’ve been left undeveloped for so long. Old stories are reviving, getting a massive makeover, and flourishing more.

I’m not just getting memories of that old friend, but memories from different parts of my life. They’re good memories. The more this happens the more I feel like my old self again. In the good way. Before the “Nightmare Syndrome”, before I started having death wishes, and before I became so jaded and cynical. Before all the malice and sorrow. The best parts of myself are reviving and flourishing in the same manner as those old stories are.

I notice around me how people carry on and are always complaining about whatever. Here’s an example; My female roommate hates on our manager. They had a pretty heated argument a few weeks back about the house, the bills, the lease, etc. I wasn’t there when it happened. I’m kinda glad that I wasn’t. The house we live in is far from perfect, but it’s still better than the Cottages. It’s not a slum house. And this roommate keeps talking about things like the structure of the house, pointing out errors because evidently she has a more trained eye for details than I do. She hates on the manager as if he’s some evil slum lord. I understand her frustration, but flipping the house was also a first time project for the manager. At worst I say his inexperience shows. Don’t misunderstand. I like my roommate. She’s been really good to me. We’re becoming really good friends. But I can’t help thinking how this resembles my Dad’s frustration at everything.

My Dad’s mentality and frustration is epitomized in one sentence.

He gets pissed off drinking water.

He’s always been like that, and now I can’t help but see the same thing in everyone who whine about whatever. Then my memories flash back to people that I’m happy are no longer part of my life. People who exude this cancerous air when they walk into a room, always focusing on the bad, always attracting something to fuel their own negativity with their toxic auras, and then they’re left bamboozled wondering; “Why does shit always rain down on me?!”

Answer: Laws of Attraction at work. Like attracts like.

I realize that I’m happier now because I make a choice to count my blessings and not my problems. I’m collecting the silver linings, I’m accentuating the positive, and keeping it moving.

I’m getting more comfortable being in my own skin. I’m letting my freak flag fly without a care in the world. I’m happy being the person that I am and I’m happily living with the consequences that come with it. I make a choice to be happy and positive. All that noise that I’m hearing from everyone else is just “dilly dally, shilly shally”.

My depression isn’t a choice, but my happiness is. There might be a future entry there for further development. Let’s wait and see. The same applies with everything else.

Where will my creative spark take me? What other treasures are buried underneath years of memories? What else is in store for me?

I’ve got the questions. So now I’m going to go seek out the answers. Signing off.

P.S.) After watching “Beauty and the Beast” I now have the HUGEST crush on Luke Evans. Cono…que papi!! Gimme 50 Shades of that any day of the week!!

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