Pound the keys...make 'em bleed.
We all have a story to tell. Most of us have a few chapters we'd like to hide. Or rewrite for that matter. Can't let someone find out about this or that. People will talk. Think bad about me. Right?
But if that chapter went missing, would we be different? Didn't it impact the people we have become? Mold us?
I consider myself to be fairly transparent. Now I don't go shouting from the rooftops certain things. But I don't deny them either. They are apart of me and will always be. No matter how badly I want to take an eraser to them. I am me. And that is what you will always get...me.
I am certain some people get aggravated about my posts and the things I share on social media (especially FB). Some say I must not have anything to do with myself. Truth is, I like it. I find it entertaining most days. And once in awhile, I get a little debate going or make a few people laugh. The thing I find difficult is having to separate myself, Heather B, from Heather the Nurse and Heather Rae the author. I don't like having to censor myself. So often times I have to scream: that is not professional or you will regret those words if you type them! But I am a blend of those three people. So I play it safe and post a funny meme directed at the editing process or healthcare. (I take both jobs very seriously btw)
Here's a few of my very own Tattered Pages. I have baggage. Years ago, I thought I had rid myself of it all. However, it is still there. It rears its ugly head anytime a stressful situation comes up by me shutting down. I refuse to fight or argue with another person. Instead I clamp my mouth tightly shut, until I taste blood. I justify my response by saying: I pick my battles or I refuse to waste my breath and energy. Some call it being weak. Spineless. A doormat. I promise you this: I am none of those things. I am strong. I am a survivor.
I am also a pleaser. A healer. I want to fix everyone and see them all happy! Save the world!! Truth is, that's impossible to do. Some people I cannot help, because they don't want it. Others are just miserable by nature. No matter what you do, it will never be enough. Kindness, compassion...it just goes by unnoticed. Still, I try. I have this little thing inside me called hope.
Guess I named this entry properly, didn't I? Where is a tourniquet when I need one? (humor, folks! it's ok to laugh!) I will say this: It is much easier to dress a wound than tend to emotion scars.
I say something regularly on FB: Rattle Cages...Burn The Box (a combination of these two phrases). For a long time, I struggled to fit in. Still to this day, I don't quite fit neatly into a container. Never fully accepted by this...not really wanted by that. Like a slide under a microscope, they examine me closely. Dissected into these tiny pieces. Even then, they still can't figure me out. Guess what? I am still trying to figure me out! I have long ago ceased my search for approval, from anyone. I have no desire to be confined to the cages, to be adorned by a satin ribbon in that perfect box. I'm going to rattle those cages until they break and set that box on fire!
What is YOUR story?
I'm in the midst of writing another one. My last book was my first attempt at a sci-fi romance. It didn't do as well as I had thought (that little light inside of me called Hope is still flickering). But I felt compelled to write it. Just like this one. It's called The Heiress...and I am very close to finishing it up. The best way I can describe it is: a story within a story. We will visit The French Riviera and a not-so abandoned chateau. Two Worlds, I gave you some hot aliens wanting to save the world. This one, I am giving you a hopeful but lost soul...
~Live life outside the box. Set that B on fire. And rattle the cage until the bars break.~
~Pound the keys and make 'em bleed~