Today, I Conquered One of My Biggest Fears

Today, I conquered one of my biggest fears: spending a large amount of time in public, alone.

Now, I don't mean something like spending an hour in the grocery store, or doing ordinary tasks like that. I mean spending leisurely time, in a crowded, public place visibly alone, relaxing, and enjoying the company of one's self.

I think our society often undervalues the importance of being in our own company. I think society is so built on receiving approval from others, that we don't accept the approval of ourselves. Approving of myself is half the reason I struggle with depression in the first place. Growing up, it seemed I was never good enough, always the disappointment of the family. And even still, in comparison to my siblings, I only scraped by with my grades, struggle with my weight, spend my free time playing video games instead of building homes for habitat for humanity, or hiking through the mountains, will struggle to find a job after graduation, and never receive that gleam of approval in my parents' eyes. Anyone see what's wrong with what I just said?

I compared myself to the others in my life, and based my own happiness on the approval of my parents. While, of course, it is nice to have your parents approve of your choices, it shouldn't be the foundation on what you build your happiness upon. I know, that because of who I am and how I was raised, I will always have a chip on my shoulder and an "I'll show them" attitude, but part of what I am trying to base my recovery on is ensuring that what I do, I do because it makes me happy.

That's what my two day trip to Wildwood was about. I have spent so much of my life afraid of what others might think of me if I do something, or act in a certain way. It seems in our culture, anyone who spends their leisure time alone must either have an abrasive personality, or hate people. Sure, I'm introverted, but I've spent the better part of my working years in some form of customer service. I have my moments, but I'm not an asshole at heart. And valuing alone time doesn't mean I hate being around others, it means that I like to hear what my mind has to say every once in a while. So, to be one step closer to self approval, I went to the beach by myself. I sat in a chair by myself. I read my book by myself. I ignored the looks from the large group of friends next to me, when I revealed my curvy self in a bathing suit and laid on my towel in the sun, by myself. And you know what I decided while spending some quality time with myself?

That if I have to spend the better part of my life alone, I'll be okay. I like reading, I like laying on my back, using sand as a pillow, I like how warm sand feels between my toes, I like how when you are laying down, the white foam of the waves could be a tiny army of white horses racing to the sand, only to be shot down as they near the shore. There was a time when sitting on the beach was an inspiration to me, when all of my great ideas for novels would come to me. And today, for the first time in a long time, that came back to me.

I have spent such a long time keeping myself busy, surrounding myself with people I didn't particular like, just so that I wouldn't have to be alone with my thoughts, so that I wouldn't have to think about how sad the rest of my life will be, since I will inevitably be spending it alone. I invested so much of my time into other people, that I forgot what it was like to be invested in myself. I forgot what it was like to be inspired by my own imagination so much so that I can build an entire universe out of a few moments of my own experiences. I have spent so much time, afraid of my own mind, that I neglected the best parts of it.

I might not be as successful as my sister, nor as intelligent as my brother, but I doubt either of them can take a few seconds of their life and transform that brief experience into a fictional universe. I can't let what they excel at take away from my own achievements. And I can't hate myself just because I don't measure up the same way someone wants me to. Sure, my mom can go to her grave swearing I would have made more money as a physical therapist, but my life will be more fulfilled doing what makes me happy, writing, and maybe someday my writing will even help others in a different, but just as important way as physical therapy could have helped them.

So, my advice? Go somewhere by yourself. It can be a coffee shop. Take yourself on a date. Sure, it's a scary thought. Everyone is either going to give you weird looks or pity you. Let them. You are there to spend some time with your own mind. You might be surprised what it has to say to you.

~E J Royson

"I Don't Know"

I realized I haven't written for myself in a while, and I started to wonder why. The more I thought about it, the more I was able to conclude how it is because I don't have words for what I'm feeling. One could speculate that I am, in fact, feeling wordless.

Words are what give us meaning. A word is nothing but something that signifies something else. Can something have meaning if it doesn't have a word, or something to signify its existence? I find myself groping for words to try to understand how I'm feeling. I've been with words brimming on my tongue with no way to let them off. Perhaps I am feeling meaningless.

It's not depression--I know what that feels like. I spend years clawing my way from the bottom. From having to count the reasons every morning so that I would be reminded the worth of getting out of bed. And for a few months a while ago, I was very happy. Every morning I'd find myself feeling untouchable, that no matter how many people would try to tear me down, they'd never be able to even make a dent.

But now I'm in this odd state in the middle, where nothing seems to be happening. But at the same time, everything is happening. It's as if I'm so numb that my life is passing me by without a word from my mouth to try and stop it. I don't like that, because wasting time is wasting a non-renewable resource. 

Maybe my life is lacking meaning right now. Maybe it's the relationships I find myself in, as meaningless as they are fleeting. Maybe it's because I find no joy in my studies anymore. Maybe it's because my family is glass, long since shattered on the floor. Maybe it's because as quickly as I make friends, I lose them.

Nothing ever stays. It was not so long ago that I was so happy, and not so long ago that I was so sad. I'm floating somewhere in the middle, between knowing and not. Between insecurity and safety. Between love and hatred.

If nothing ever stays, I know I can take comfort in knowing that this, too, shall pass. It's just a matter of getting though, and hoping no one takes notice for long enough so that I may escape the ever pressing questions, most frequently, "Are you okay?"

Because there has never been a more dissatisfying answer as, "I don't know."

Future Cat Lady

With me,
it's either too many emotions,
or not enough.

"She's cold."
"She's funny."
"She's too hard to handle."
"Her heart is in the right place."
"She's such a bitch."

"You can't please everyone,"
they try to tell me.
But I can't seem to please anyone.

The jokes run out.
My patience runs out.
Words just spill out,
and no one ever understands.

I'll cling to who ever stays
because everyone always leaves.
And whether I hold too tight,
or keep them at arm's length,
they leave anyway.

I'm not sure what I could have done,
to make any of them stay.
Sure, it wasn't all my fault;
they weren't good for me,
But the good ones won't even step my way.

It's not like I don't try;
I try so hard to be perfect.
But no one seems to notice,
and if they do, they don't care.

But I've consented to my fate,
to an empty house, and empty bed,
Wrought iron fences, cobwebs, and hate.
And fifty cats living on my estate.

~ E J Royson

"Write about this!"

I think it is hilarious when people angrily tell me, "Go write about this, [enter insult here, most commonly "bitch"]!" A part of me is like, "I freaking will!", and another part of me is like, "You're not even worth the time." Either way, their attempt to throw my career in my face is almost always meant sarcastically. What is so funny about this is I don't think people realize just how much writers take from their own experiences. My friend and I, who both write fantasy, sit and make up stories about people while we sit in public. When I sit down and write, whether it is a conscious decision or not, people in my life work their way onto the pages.

Sometimes people ask me to write them into my writing with sincerity. When that happens, I tell them straight what I intend to do with their character. When people bitterly tell me to write in a story about how awful they have been, I do. But I don't tell them. Usually their tendencies come out in the antagonists of my stories. Not all antagonists are "villains," and sometimes the positives I see in the people who have mistreated me are reflected. But when I'm writing an antagonist, usually I play up their faults. I mean, what better way to depict a jobless-drunk who disrespects women than to use someone I actually know?

It really is just a fact of life, that if you are friends with a writer, you will end up in their stories. If you piss off a writer, you will end up the antagonist in their story, and the character will most likely suffer a horrible death. So tread carefully. And telling us, "Write about this!" usually just gives us a good chuckle. And then we do.

~E J Royson

Nothing Can Remain

Every time I put my pen to page, the ink scatters in blotted swirls that torment me by muddling what I need to tell myself. The thoughts are brimming at the edge of my fingertips, but get lost in translation. The irony of calling myself a writer, when the words just won't come.

The thoughts will come, and they flash before my eyes in hauntingly beautiful images and memories. They do not seem to care how they torment me either, by showing me everything I've lost and all that I have yet to lose. They aim to drive me mad.

There is so much I've yet to say, if only I could pull apart the entangled webs of my emotions once separate, but now mingling and mocking my need to move on. Maybe I've long since held what was already gone, and that's what makes this so much easier.

"Is this really good for you?" I've been asked, and while I ponder, I realize I had been ready to move on for a year, but having turned away from so many for so many times before, it would not be out of turn to say I was afraid of ending up alone. It would be right to say I still am.

There is nothing quite like facing the cold nights without the warmth of another, nothing quite like getting excited and having no one to talk to, and nothing quite like realizing you will once again have to explain the horrors of your past so the next one might hope to understand.

And yet, there is nothing like seeing the horizon lighting up with hues of sunlight, reminding you there is always another to come, nothing like seeing the horizon shrink away to deep shades of sorrowing darkness to remind you there is always another to go.

This constant war we wage trying to find the light that will stay--the warmth with us on cold nights, the voices comforting us through our life, the understanding without needing a word--is lost as we walk through a life where nothing, good or bad, can stay,

A world where nothing can remain.

~E J Royson

Refractions

One day I looked in the mirror and was surprised,
I realized the face looking back was not mine.
She was similar of course, in looks and grimace,
with the same lips, turned down in penance.
But she was not me, though she was all I had
after the others had all gone and fled.
They left me to my misery, alone and cold,
and let me unravel down to my shattered bones.
Something caused me to smile at this girl in the glass
and she seemed friendly enough, for she smiled back.
With a little wave, I realized she was the one
who would get me through having come undone.
The only one beside me, the only one who cared
for she was only happy when my happiness flared.
This girl in the mirror needed me just as much
as I needed to use her as my crutch.
I pinned up her hair and gave her lips color
I painted her eyelashes and made her eyes fuller.
She shook her head sadly, said "It's not what you see,
It's what's on the inside, who you choose to be.
They may notice your acts and your appearance,
but it's how you make them feel that makes all the difference."
I realized she was right, she was much smarter you see--
To make others happy, I had to start with me.
The world will smile with me, I explained to the girl.
She nodded in agreement and smiles with me still.

~E J Royson

Should've Jumped

She was hungry, but she could not eat.

She was tired, but she could not sleep.

She thought of just how easy it would be,

to step out in front of the car and into peace.

No more words inside her head.

No more voices bringing her dread.

Just the sight of on coming lights

and the bright blissfulness of night.

How fickle life turns out to be

One minute you're there, the next free.

If she had just jumped when she thought

Trying so hard wouldn't have been for naught

~E J Royson