In Part 1 of this series, I set some intentions on how I planned to tackle my writer’s block. Honestly, I did less of the dark scenes than I thought I’d write. But the good news is that I did manage to write between that point and the insight I plan to share with you today.
Mostly, I wrote poetry and letters to my ex that I don’t intend to share. I’m waffling about whether or not I want to share the poems-I’ve always thought I’m really bad at poetry, and the point of writing them was to release my emotions, so I don’t know if they’d provide any value or not. Either way, I wrote most of these by hand during the week and a half that I was homeless following the breakup. At that time, I stayed with some friends and in a motel, so I need to find them first if I do end up sharing.
And the letters ranged in the emotional approach and covered so many things I wish I could say to my ex, but they hold more emotion than fact and way too much information for anyone to benefit from them.
What I intend to share today is something I wrote toward the end of my homeless point. My mind had been in a nearly constant survival state. I wasn’t eating well and on the days when I had an appetite, a text from my ex would make my appetite disappear again. For whatever reason, he was extremely hostile towards me when my situation was already difficult enough.
I was tired of crying and tired of hurting. But mostly, I felt fresh determination to take back an essential part of myself that I felt I had lost due to the breakup. Here were my thoughts.
I have to admit that I spent quite a while (even before he actually said we were over) resisting even the idea of rereading anything that I’ve classified as a favorite. I’ve struggled recently to have anything to do with romance—songs, books, movies, etc., it doesn’t matter, all of them have been making me want to cry. I have been hating all of my own work, and I can read a romance book and recognize that I should enjoy it, as it hits everything I’d usually love, but I just can’t get into them.
My own failed relationship has really done a number on my ability to enjoy romance. Which makes it pretty interesting trying to write when all of my story ideas have a pretty strong romantic element involved. And so many of my romances are inspired by what I thought I had.
Fortunately, I’ve finally reached a turning point. I reached a point where I was fed up with moping and feeling sorry for myself. I’m sick of crying and feeling hopeless and worthless. Staying in such a low state has never been part of who I am. But the depth of the betrayal and confusion that came from the end of this relationship made me forget that.
I am and have always been a survivor. I suppose my relationship had to end to remind me of that fact, if nothing else. But I’m getting off topic.
I forced myself to return to one of my earliest book boyfriends—Mr. Darcy. I actually hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since I started writing. It’s interesting after all of the writing courses I’ve taken to see exactly how many “rules” are being broken in Jane Austen’s writing style. But in my case, this was a really good thing.
The more distant omniciant perspective helped me relate to the familiar characters while maintaining enough distance to not be constantly comparing everything to my own situation.
I’m not quite recovered enough to feel like I can write the romantic scenes at this moment, but I’m only barely tearing up when a previously favorite love song—or just about any love song—comes on the radio. And I think I’m ready to start reading more romances again.
After all, who needs a real husband/boyfriend when you can have several fictional ones who never let you down in the end?
I refuse to let my personal story end on a tragic note. The fact that I thought I’d acheived my own happily ever after but was mistaken isn’t going to be the end for me. I deserve more than what I’ve been given and I’m letting myself be open for great things in my life.