I am a mess. I know all of you say that. Like, If you are late for work, or you are having a bad hair day and you just giggle to yourself and say “I’m such a mess”. That’s not what I mean. When I say I am a mess, I mean I am a literal and complete fucking mess ALL of the time. When trying to think of a word or a short phrase to describe myself, I have tried to think of SO many. I am kind. I am a bitch. I am unorganized. I am a talker. I am never on time. I literally don’t even know how to have a clean house like most other women. I can’t focus. I yell. I lie. I am indecisive. I am funny, maybe too often. I am way too sarcastic. Like I said, I am just an all around out right fucking mess. Oh, and I curse too much. You are probably wondering what this “book” is going to be about. I say book in quotations because I am highly doubtful that the thoughts I am typing on my computer right now will ever become anything remotely resembling a book. Hell, I will be surprised if I even hit save when I leave for lunch today. But , the best way to tell you what this is going to be about is to explain to you why I am writing it. I always feel like I need some extra positivity in my life, I feel angry and negative so often I just can’t bare to look at myself. I started trying to listen to “self help books” , stories of real women and their real hardships. I read and I listened to these books, looking for some answers, trying to find those moments where I felt like “I am not the only one that feels this way”, but I never did. Sure, these women were awesome writers and speakers, I enjoyed listening to them tell their stories. I took positivity from their message and tried to use it in my daily life. What reading these stories really made me feel though, was jealousy. Jealous of how their huge life problems, to me seemed like nothing. I am not trying to say my problems are so much bigger than everyone else’s, they aren’t. I know there are so many other women out there who have fought such harder battles with the world and with themselves. I just felt these women writing these books, who were baring their sole and telling their inner most secrets, still just seemed so perfect. I kept thinking to myself “I wish those were the worst insecurities I had” “I wish THAT was my biggest regret or my biggest fear”. I guess I just couldn’t relate.. Conclusion: I decided to write my own. Maybe there is someone out there that felt the same as me reading some of those other books. Maybe there is a woman out there who is just as much of a fucked up mess as I am and maybe if she reads this she won’t feel like she is the only one who thinks and feels these things, she won’t feel so terrible and she won’t feel so alone. Or maybe she will shoot me an email so we can go get a drink and compare fucked up-ness. All of those outcomes are pretty okay with me and worth me pecking away at this key board for a little while. So now, what? Where should I start, where do I begin to dig in? Should I start from the beginning of my life and work my way forward? Should I draw up an outline for each chapter and what its meaning and purpose will be. How much am I really going to say? How deep can I really go? I guess we will find out.
You are probably wondering what this “book” is going to be about. I say book in quotations because I am highly doubtful that the thoughts I am typing on my computer right now will ever become anything remotely resembling a book. Hell, I will be surprised if I even hit save when I leave for lunch today. But , the best way to tell you what this is going to be about is to explain to you why I am writing it.
I always feel like I need some extra positivity in my life, I feel angry and negative so often I just can’t bare to look at myself. I started trying to listen to “self help books” , stories of real women and their real hardships. I read and I listened to these books, looking for some answers, trying to find those moments where I felt like “I am not the only one that feels this way”, but I never did. Sure, these women were awesome writers and speakers, I enjoyed listening to them tell their stories. I took positivity from their message and tried to use it in my daily life.
What reading these stories really made me feel though, was jealousy. Jealous of how their huge life problems, to me seemed like nothing. I am not trying to say my problems are so much bigger than everyone else’s, they aren’t. I know there are so many other women out there who have fought such harder battles with the world and with themselves. I just felt these women writing these books, who were baring their sole and telling their inner most secrets, still just seemed so perfect. I kept thinking to myself “I wish those were the worst insecurities I had” “I wish THAT was my biggest regret or my biggest fear”.
I guess I just couldn’t relate..
Conclusion: I decided to write my own. Maybe there is someone out there that felt the same as me reading some of those other books. Maybe there is a woman out there who is just as much of a fucked up mess as I am and maybe if she reads this she won’t feel like she is the only one who thinks and feels these things, she won’t feel so terrible and she won’t feel so alone. Or maybe she will shoot me an email so we can go get a drink and compare fucked up-ness. All of those outcomes are pretty okay with me and worth me pecking away at this key board for a little while.
So now, what? Where should I start, where do I begin to dig in? Should I start from the beginning of my life and work my way forward? Should I draw up an outline for each chapter and what its meaning and purpose will be. How much am I really going to say? How deep can I really go?
I guess we will find out.