I’m still struggling to keep up with writing in my journal. I hate that I’m using the word “struggling” in conjunction with the word “writing”. This shouldn’t be a struggle for me. I love writing and I really enjoy it. Even when whatever I’m writing has no real substance or even if it has no meaning and makes no sense, I still love writing.
But this time, I’m not struggling because my script sucks, or because I lack inspiration, or because my thoughts run faster than the speed of my longhand and the words fail to flow as fast. I think it’s that I miss the way I used to write in my journals when I was younger. Sometimes I go back and read those entries and I can’t believe that the same person who wrote these words is the same person who is reading them now.
Well, not exactly the same person. A lot has happened over the years and changed who I am accordingly in order to deal or cope or sustain or survive… And these life-changing events and their respective feelings are expressed in my past writing so coherently and eloquently.
I am still dealing with some tough shit these days, but why can’t I express these thoughts with the same ease as I used to? Why is it so difficult for me to tap into exactly what it is I’m feeling? Why do I feel compelled to use the word “struggle” when describing what it feels like to write in my journal? Just today I literally wrote “I don’t know how I feel.” What kind of person doesn’t know how they feel? Not someone who considers themselves human, and certainly not someone who is a mother. A mother should have a constant storm of emotions within, and I’m pretty sure I do, too. But my ability to tap into those emotions, understand them, and put them into words is limited.
I lost my ability to play guitar. I lost my ability to draw. I lost my ability to make any kind of art that is not zines. I don’t want to lose my ability to write too. That is all I have left. All the strength that is left in my atrophied fingers is the strength to hold a pen. If only these fingers could dance on the page to the beat of my heart like they used to. I guess that’s why I keep up with my journal writing. Maybe at some point, I’ll find the beat again.
Peace, love and longing to feel it too