The pretence that I lived with is brought home to me whenever I am feeling sad, vulnerable, or afraid. At the moment, I am feeling all of these things as the result of something which has happened within my family. One day, this ‘thing’ will probably seem minor and not very significant, but right now, it is at the front and centre of my consciousness, and is using up a great deal of my energy.
Are we all still children, regardless of our years? Do we ever – despite how little we might allow the rest of the world to see of them – shake off the childhood fears and insecurities? Perhaps. Not for me, however. My personal emotional upheaval also has me intellectually crippled today – I simply cannot face working on any of my projects. I’m unable to concentrate for longer than a few moments, and this short passage is taxing me to and beyond my limits – but I want to do something. I would love to tell you more about what bothers me, but I also don’t want to relive those few brief moments, and I have to respect the feelings of the other person involved. I fear that those brief moments have changed a part of my life for ever. I fear that I have lost something that I cherished very deeply, and that thought and the act of typing these words brings forth tears that I cannot yet stop.
I’m not tough. I never was – I pretended to be, especially when I was afraid (and I have been afraid a great many times). Sometimes ‘being’ tough was an answer or a strategy to get through whatever faced me, but those days are mostly gone now. I’m older, perhaps a little wiser, and not so strong as I once was. Now, being tough won’t help at all – in fact it may do more damage. All I can do is wait to see if my fears are correct, and if I have lost something precious to me – perhaps for ever. So, in the life of a writer, stuff still happens no matter at what stage a project may be at. Perhaps I can learn to channel this energy into creative thought, to harness my feelings and bundle them into meaningful words with which to enrich my writing. I write about life, after all.
I’m not tough. I’m just a small boy who grew up wanting to be a writer.
However, not today. Today, life is busily happening to me.