Stuck

Bound by Randy Lagana

I have been unable to write anything for days. I sit at the keyboard and stare. These words are an attempt to break free of whatever is keeping me from giving voice to my thoughts and feelings and opinions and fantasies and desires ... and fears. Right now the fear seems to have the upper hand. I'm filled with anxiety every time I sit down to write. I mean actual, physical anxiety. And I'm hating this.

Ever since I got back from Momentum, I've been wanting to write so many things, but I haven't been able to. And just now, looking for that link, I discovered that my blog post about Mcon is featured on their blog round up here - and wow, they say "beautifully raw account"- and I'm sitting here kinda stunned. I've been struggling. There's a direction I want to take my writing, but all the negative messages I've received over the course of my life have frightened me into paralysis. And nothing anybody can say to me can get me moving again. Only I can do that. 

And I know how. But I'm so goddamn fucking scared. It's gonna require me to be strong and sure of myself - two things I don't feel I am. It's going to require me to speak honestly - not that I haven't been, but I am quite guilty of the sin of omission. There are truths that I hold back, because "nobody wants to hear them." 

Last night, at least I think it was last  night, I clicked on a link that Violet Blue had twittered, and watched the video of the trans girl being beaten in a McDonald's in Baltimore. It's pretty upsetting to watch (I'm not linking - find it yourself). And watching it, the question is posed in one's mind (hopefully), "what would I do?" - and I knew, in my gut, without a doubt, that I would have gotten involved. In fact, I worry I would have gone a little berserker. And see? This is the kind of writing that scares me. It's almost too honest. 

I've spent most of my lifetime hiding my "true" self (whatever the hell that is), and I worry I've hid it so long that I'm not sure even I could recognize the real me. When I got back from Momentum, I was all "fired-up" and thought I knew what I was going to do. But due to circumstances, I stifled myself (and I just remembered Archie Bunker telling Edith to "stifle"). I sorta understand why I did. And I don't like it. 

Today I clicked on a link that Susie Bright posted on Facebook, about Jane Mecom, Ben Franklin's sister. In those days, a girl was lucky if she was taught to read. Jane never really learned to write. She had 12 children, 11 of whom she buried. This was another piece that hit me somewhere deep in my gut.

So, yeah, I'm stuck. When I finish writing this, I'm going to check a few things, shut down my computer and get into bed and read. And hope that tomorrow when I get up, I can at least start looking for the key to getting unstuck.

Bound Freedom by Randy Lagana