The Words inside my Head
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on 4/2/2008
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I find myself writing little of actual content lately. My mind stretching before me like a huge blank canvas. I used to write. I used to write words worth reading. Some funny, some sad, I'd sprinkle them about liberally. A glittering array of sparkly gems. They were shiny, my words, and I had a pocket full of them.
My hands slip idly into my pockets but find them empty. I shake my head, confused. Now where could I have left them?
Did you ever notice how we have words in our head? Words that are afraid of the light? Mean spirited little words we use against ourselves that hide in the corners of our mind where no one can refute them. They skitter away like shadows when the light approaches. "You're fat." "You're ugly." "He doesn't love you." They prey on you when you're at your weakest. Be forewarned and don't you let them.
Or perhaps that's just me?
As I grow older I've come to recognize these words. When I'm feeling brave I pluck them out from the corners and thrust them into the light of day where they wiggle uncomfortably. Jaw set, hands on hips, I say these words out loud. If they've no substance they disappear with a loud pop while I laugh boldly at them. Occasionally, they take root and hold on with stubborn determination, forcing me to re-evaluate them. Like Peter Pan's shadow they taunt me and I am forced into a game of cat and mouse.
I used to have opinions. I still do. They used to be stronger, more obvious, more easily defined. I find that the older I get, the less I know. The waters have become muddy. Is it that I know so much more or that I'm less judgmental? It's certainly not that I care less. If anything, I care more. Sometimes I'm afraid to give my opinion. I worry who I'll offend. I worry that I haven't thought things out well enough, haven't seen every angle.
Why is it that the good words don't stand out as much as the bad words? Why can't I search through my memory banks and find all the positive words people have said to me, about me, in my lifetime? My friend, Gen, says it's because the bad things are easier to believe.
Some days I try to write but the more I reach for the words, the more they scatter to the far corners of my mind. They refuse to settle on paper and make anything of themselves.
Am I the only one who looks at electricity towers and thinks of transformers (robots in disguise)? Someday I expect to see them walk off, the ground trembling in their wake.
Perhaps I shouldn't write when I'm taking cold medication. ;)
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words
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