Monday, April 10, 2006
Dust in the Wind
So, I haven't really been writing. And when I say I haven't been writing, I haven't been writing in my journal, I haven't been writing poems and in the last few months I haven't even been working on all the academic essays I want to write (which are typically the easiest things for me to write as they require little emotion).
I think it has all gotten to me. The four deaths in twelve months has smacked me upside the head and now I spend way too much time thinking about dying. Not my death. That doesn't scare me. I spend time worrying about people I love dying. And lately, I am having recurring dreams my baby sister dies.
My baby sister is not a baby. She will turn 16 the week after my wedding. Even with the age difference we are abonormally close. When I was 2-3 years-old I had an imaginary friend and people would ask who I was playing with and I would say, "my sister Dianna". I was ten when my mom came out pregnant and my mother didn't need to tell me when she said she had some news I replied "You're pregnant". And when I heard my sister cry for the first time I said, "That's my sister". Even before our father announced it was a girl. And now we go to concerts together and she is still my baby and I really do believe all those years ago I wasn't playing with an imaginary friend I really believe I was playing with my sister Dianna.
Now you should understand why it is torture to dream, at least once a week, that she is dead. And in my last dream not only was she dead but nobody would talk about it. Nobody would even mention her.
Which brings me back to my writing. I don't think I want to think about what I should be letting myself write about. Which is why I haven't been writing. I don't think I'll be able to write until I let myself write about how much I miss my uncles, and Eddie and John's granddad. Until I write about how they were special, until I write about how much I miss them. I think my voice as a writer, the kind of writer I have been, is stifled because of that. And thinking about it is too hard. So I think I am going to stay mute. I think I would rather put down my pen.
So, I haven't really been writing. And when I say I haven't been writing, I haven't been writing in my journal, I haven't been writing poems and in the last few months I haven't even been working on all the academic essays I want to write (which are typically the easiest things for me to write as they require little emotion).
I think it has all gotten to me. The four deaths in twelve months has smacked me upside the head and now I spend way too much time thinking about dying. Not my death. That doesn't scare me. I spend time worrying about people I love dying. And lately, I am having recurring dreams my baby sister dies.
My baby sister is not a baby. She will turn 16 the week after my wedding. Even with the age difference we are abonormally close. When I was 2-3 years-old I had an imaginary friend and people would ask who I was playing with and I would say, "my sister Dianna". I was ten when my mom came out pregnant and my mother didn't need to tell me when she said she had some news I replied "You're pregnant". And when I heard my sister cry for the first time I said, "That's my sister". Even before our father announced it was a girl. And now we go to concerts together and she is still my baby and I really do believe all those years ago I wasn't playing with an imaginary friend I really believe I was playing with my sister Dianna.
Now you should understand why it is torture to dream, at least once a week, that she is dead. And in my last dream not only was she dead but nobody would talk about it. Nobody would even mention her.
Which brings me back to my writing. I don't think I want to think about what I should be letting myself write about. Which is why I haven't been writing. I don't think I'll be able to write until I let myself write about how much I miss my uncles, and Eddie and John's granddad. Until I write about how they were special, until I write about how much I miss them. I think my voice as a writer, the kind of writer I have been, is stifled because of that. And thinking about it is too hard. So I think I am going to stay mute. I think I would rather put down my pen.
Comments:
I'm certainly no expert on the artistic mind and process, but those dreams may be bouncing around your head until you let them out.
I wish you the best. I know it can be hard to deal with a lot of heartache and tragedy in a short time. You have the support and love of all your friends.
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I wish you the best. I know it can be hard to deal with a lot of heartache and tragedy in a short time. You have the support and love of all your friends.
