6 Feet Deep…

“In my grave
Lying
Lying cold in my grave
The reason –
My reason
Take my head off this terror
The fearing won’t come back
I can’t see
My mind’s all wiped clean”

~ “Rhyme & Reason,” DMB

I’m in a rut. It began a little before Rev3 and the hole has since grown and at this point I don’t know how to get out. The hole is now 6 feet deep and the dirt is slowly piling up on me. I can see the blue sky above me and hear the giggles of happy people around me. The dirt is in my nailbeds as a claw to get out, but it just keeps coming. Slowly suffocating…

Growing up as a child I was always very shy and quiet. My teachers always told my parents and I at my conferences that I needed to talk more and express my opinions. All through school I was scared to express my feelings and thoughts verbally because I was afraid of what my peers would think. I chose to write. I enjoy writing. I find I can express myself better in the written form. I think part of it stems from the fact that while in elementary school I saw a speech pathologist on a weekly basis because I had speech problems. I have always been embarrassed by that because I know they still exist even today.

Finally in college I began to find my “voice.” I began to speak out more and step on of the shy little girl shell. I realized that I could be that empowering woman who didn’t give two shits what people think. But this past year I have slowly fallen back into that shy, scared little girl who has been hiding under her “blankie” for protection.

Writing this blog has allowed me to begin to express my thoughts again. I knew when I started one that I was putting myself out there for ridicule. I write mainly for myself. Sure, I could write in a journal and keep it private, but what I love about blogging is that you can express feelings and emotions and have someone a world away tell you “hey, I’m going through the same thing” and you realize that you’re not alone in this world.

Life has a cruel sense of humor at times. I’ve had a good life so far. I have food to eat, clothes on my back, a job, a family, and a good education. Billions of people around the world don’t have many of those things. But there are a lot of things I question. Many of which are petty and selfish, like why I have to get plantar fasciitis and not be able to run…

This year has been a bit of a roller coaster for me. Running has been my savior for this as strange as that may sound. I’ve always hated running, but this year I fell head-over-heels with it. I have realized recently that the reason I love running is that it’s my escape from reality. I can just throw my shoes on and run out the door. Sure, running is still very painful for me. It use to make me stop and hate it. Now, I run through that pain. It makes me feel alive. It makes me realize that I can deal with all the pain and frustration in my life.

With my injury at the moment I can’t run and it is killing me. I have so much frustration that I need and want to vent, but I can’t. I just want to let loose and feel the pain. I want the pain. I desire the pain. I want to experience that moment when I realize that the pain is my body telling me I am alive and I am capable of anything…

This weekend the dirt began piling up on me much faster. For the past almost two years a chapter in my life was being written. It was non-fictional, but had the makings of a beautiful fictional novel. I could see the happy ending. Unfortunately, the chapter has ended tragically and I am very much upset over the ending. You can’t control non-fiction. It’s a true life story. Sometimes the story doesn’t end the way you want it even though you’ve tried over and over again to yell at the characters to knock some sense into them. I love to read. There is not much else better in the world then curling up with a good book in bed and getting lost in the story. But, I think that’s the problem I have. I got lost in my story. All night I have been tossing and turning and “re-reading” parts of the chapter to find out where the story went wrong. I honest to God believed that the story was going to potentially have many more lifelong chapters, but the pen has stopped.

I have writers block. How do I get over this and move on and write new chapters? Is the story really over or does it just need a break?

I’m lying in my self-dug hole with the pages of my chapter gripped tightly in my hands. I can feel the blood and tears flow down my hands. Slowly, the characters are throwing fistfuls of dirt on top of me. The dirt is getting heavy. I’m just waiting for a new character in my life to sweep in and extend a hand to help dig me out.

Who will it be?

Ironman?

The pen is hovering over the blank pages…

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