the stolen pie

On the train yesterday, I saw an advertisement for a moving company. It displayed a checklist for reasons for moving, and one of the reasons was "writer's block," which I found humorous. I remember I wrote novels and poetry in high school and that my biggest writer's block set in when we moved to this house in 2001. Suddenly, I couldn't finish any of my stories' endings. At least that's how I remember it. Who knows what I was experiencing at the time? There's a block but I cannot explain it.

During winter break, I had ordered pecan pie to be delivered to Mandi's house since she had never tried it and I was a bit obsessed with it at the time. Someone stole the pie from her front porch. I have never had a package stolen because they don't leave it at the front door here. Since I haven't worked in nearly two years, I was upset at the loss and also that people did such petty things. When I think about the concept of stealing, I focus more on what you're losing than what you're gaining. I think of what the act does to your character and wonder how one perceives life to feel the need to take away something that doesn't belong to you. But how can we understand anybody's intentions if we can barely keep ours in order? 

I find myself more distracted than usual. I'm angry, and I cannot seem to express it. And even when I do get to talk about it, I am disappointed with how pointless it was to have opened up. I question discussing pain and negative emotions even when the guilty party acknowledges it but doesn't do anything about it. Is unconditional love real? I've witnessed it, although I feel conditions are still a part of every bond. Some conditions simply lead to disappointments and strains without breaking ties. Love diminishes slowly even while it strengthens over time. How's that for paradoxical? Love is one of those things.

At times, I believe that I wasn't made for a romantic relationship because I prefer just dreaming about it. Living it is different. It's painful, it's challenging. It's particularly strenuous for the self-sacrificing type because that person has to pick between appeasing another constantly, to avoid conflict, and following one's own moral code. Just because I don't talk about it doesn't mean it doesn't bother me, but because I am slow with my emotional growth, I don't know how to start that conversation. I compromised on things I didn't want to compromise on, and I live with the resentment. I don't think I'm good at fighting for myself. My guilt and shame leave me feeling helpless and cornered, giving into others' desires than my own. And even when I give into my own desires, I regret not having been stronger. What's there to be proud of when you think I've overcome battles, when I'm just really trying to get through each moment without losing my mind?

I share less and less over time. Maybe I don't trust my voice. I've learned that some things are better left unsaid. That what I think, what I feel, what I want, what is best for me is not as important to others as their own thoughts, feelings, and desires. I struggle with choosing which voice to follow, which leads to struggling with feeling confident, secure, and content. Only when I listen to my own voice will I finally let go of all that weighs me down.