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The Fuel

My flaws and writing

Half of this Sunday was full of negative thoughts, of how the past assaults haunted me and the post-traumatic-stress-disorder and depression ruined my life and will amount me to nothing. The name calling, the bullying and the stalking by the perpetrator and his friends along with many others caused me so much heartache and brokenness at one point in my life, and I was reminded of it.


The root cause of this reminder was dirt. The main person who hurt me crawled underneath constructions to build them, and he told me that he loved digging in the dirt. Thankfully, my siblings were there with me at this moment and I felt so much love around me, yet I was reminded of the haunting memories.


As I wrote my outlines and my thoughts, I tried to get away from my flaws, or so it seemed as flaws. Or were they gifts?


I felt so judged by others, although no one was there, simply because of the disorder and depression. I looked at the greatest writers, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, John Steinbeck, Maya Angelou, JK Rowling, Ursula LeGuin, and so many others, they all had some sort of set backs, yet overcame it. I should be empowered, but today, I felt defeated, lesser than, lacking and not up to standard. I wished there were times when I felt I was good enough to write, but I haven't felt that fullness inside my heart. I won't know when this time would be, but I needed to keep going and to keep learning.


I felt like a student all of my life, who was in need of guidance and knowledge, and I felt this way for a very long time, and perhaps will always be this way. Not sure if this was in God's plan, but I felt discouraged because I felt like a student. I didn't fear, or was afraid of writing but I felt not good enough, because I was assaulted and because of it, I suffered from PTSD and Depression. I apologize for the triple negatives, as it ran in my mind all day.


I was willing to embrace it, but the people who hurt me was so priviledged, rich and well connected that I felt I had so many enemies. In reality, they were probably surfing today or playing in the water with their families, having a good 'ol time, without even a thought of me. And, I should accept the fact that the PTSD and Depression were my assets and my creativity gone wild. 


So the later part of the day, I spent placing weed barriers with my brother, Ron, and my sister, Lydia, stapling the it with a hammer and spreading mulch on top of them. Although, I was reminded of the things I lacked because of the assaults, the PTSD and Depression, in front of me were two people who were crazy about me, holding me steady and kept me focused.


My siblings have flaws, but I loved them, unconditionally. I realized that this was how the world and God felt about me, unconditional love. That whatever flaws I had, really was an asset and a form of gift, although it came from a dark portion of my life. My writing might be dark at parts, but bright at others, and together they were touching and honest. My flaws became an attribute, just as Ernest Hemingway and the others I named above gave to the world, despite and might be out of, their mental illness. It was a hard pill to swallow, but I kept it inside my soul. 


Just write. Despite the sufferings.

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