My Life Monday – I Need To Find Me Again

At the beginning of last year, I finally completed my first novel. It was seven years in the making. Thought I had finished it back in 2002, but quickly realized I had a long way to go. From that point on, I put it aside and picked it back up only to start all over from scratch. Every time, it got better and better. My characters grew; changed their names. The title changed several times. But most importantly, I grew as a writer. I grew up right along with Fatima and Cory.

As happy as I was to say that I had written my first novel, I think I lost a part of me in that process.

Before then, I was writing like there was no tomorrow. I would set daily word counts. I would not only meet them, I would double the count sometimes triple. I was writing poetry like the words were etched into my fingerprints. During breaks from work, I would write. Always kept some form of paper with me to capture my thoughts. I ate, slept, and dreamt of words. It was my passion.

In retrospect, I think I had put so much into my novel, so much blood, sweat, tears…so much of me, so much of my creativity that I forgot to be me.

I was disciplined. I called Comcast and had them disconnect my internet services. I cut the television off. I consumed myself with reading and writing. When my manfriend would come over, instead of entertaining him, I shut myself up in my room, cut off all lights except my red light, lit some incense, cut on my music, and stepped into the realm I called home.

I felt at peace there. I connected with my characters. I felt what they felt. I lived the lives they lived. I hurt when they hurt. I was pissed when they were pissed. I was them and they were me.

Once I was done writing their stories, I guess a part of me forgot what my life was like. I was so consumed with getting started on my second novel, getting some articles under my belt. Seeing what my creativity could create next. I searched the web, the bookstores, the library…everywhere for material on writing and obtaining an agent. That’s all I talked and thought about. I just knew things were going to start happening. But when they didn’t, I subconsciously found my way into a funk.

I was so caught up in getting these stories out of me that I forgot how to be me.

My funk has lasted over a year. Even in this period of “funkness” I have still managed to depress myself from a lack of not writing to the point that I haven’t truly enjoyed and rewarded myself for actually seeing something through completion. Yeah, I bought myself a new car. Graduated and received my esthetics license. I have been traveling. Going to concerts. Meeting new people. It appears as though I am living the life.

Unfortunately, I have not been living the life because a part of me is absent. The part of me that knows I should be writing. Doing what God put me on this Earth to do. I feel like I am being pulled in so many directions that I don’t know which tug to go to.

I need to find me again. I need to find my sunshine. Find my happiness again. I need to find the me that I lost inside of me.

This is Jewells signing out…

Perspectives

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