I have a love/hate relationship with the word “complex”. It can mean having many layers which make up something wonderful, like an onion; or it can mean having so many damn layers you’re never going to get to the treasure inside, like some novels.
I am complex.
I was speaking to a very good friend of mine on the phone the other day and telling her how I’ve barely written at all because I just feel like anything I have to say is not very fun, funny, or even slightly amusing. It’s mostly all “wah wah wah, I have depression, my life sucks, everything is so hard, etc.” I don’t want to be that person that is complaining all the time. I want people to think about how fabulous I am (when I can manage it), not what a bummer (like everything seems to be lately) I’m on. She remarked how much she appreciated my honesty, my raw-ness, my membership in the rowdy girls club (ok, I made that last one up), and wished I would write anyway. So I have come here today to confess that I am the thief that steals my own writing. I have been stingy when I should be generous, holding back when I have more than enough for myself, and it’s time for me to move forward no matter the matter at hand.
From this day forward, I promise to post with the regularity of a Benefiber supplement. I am who I am whether I’m feeling good or incredibly crappy, and as much as I hate the crap, it’s part of me. So I embrace it. Because let’s face it, my worst day can always be worse. For somebody it is. And for that, I am grateful enough to trudge through it, post about it, and move on!
Thanks to all of you, my dear readers, for continuing to come back. Now go tell your friends to follow me, I need more attention! :^D