Pulling the plug

Day: #17
Word count: 13,806

I used to know this guy. We had a thing. Like many, it came and went, and won't ever be revisited. Nothing about it was perfect. In fact, it sucked. To be downright, brutally honest, it tore my 20-something heart out.

But I remember we used to talk about my writing. We'd lay down, stare at the ceiling, and he would just let me go. I remember my excitement--how completely open and free I felt, sitting there gushing to him all my ideas and dreams. He never got tired of it. I don't know how, maybe he was just being nice. But he'd let me talk and talk and talk until it was way past time to drive home. He just listened, sometimes offered advice or a reader's opinion. But the one thing he did that stood out above everything else was he encourage me, he supported me.

I miss him. I miss somebody, that for all other intents and purposes, I utterly hate. Because he had sense enough to give a shit about the one thing that meant more to me than anything in this world.

The one thing everyone who's done NaNo can say is this: you learn more than you'd expect to. About writing, about yourself, and even about those around you.

I've learned my writing still means everything to me. I could die tomorrow, without a page to my legacy, and I think that alone could be my reason for going to hell. Because I would cling to life, terrified, afraid to go in either direction, solely because my one dream never became a reality.

I've learned I need people like that one guy, all those years ago. No, it's not the way writing gets done. It has to be for yourself. But support, to me, is ridiculously necessary. I need someone cheering me on. I need somebody else to care.

I've learned the only person who genuinely cares is my father. For this, I love him all the more. He doesn't read my blog. He's never read my writing. But he's told me that his favorite thing about me is my writing. My creativity, my passion, my drive--the thing that got me through college, that kept me blindly dreaming through bad jobs and missteps.

The further in NaNo I get, the more it seems to be most people don't give a flying fuck about this. Not even remotely. They take it as a joke, as just another flash in the pan attempt. Do you want me to crawl into my little slice of suburbia and die slowly, plagued by meaningless jobs and unfulfilled desires? Yes, I set out to make this fun. Hence the blog. But I never once took this as a joke.

I kidded around that I would rather be playing Bioshock. Well who the hell wouldn't? It's a great game! And when I explained to a friend that I had 50K of a novel to write so I can publish, her response was that I should just give in. Thanks friend. Glad my lifelong dream registers that high on your scale.

In general, this is the type of response everyone's been giving me. And if not this, then utter disinterest. Thanks for "following" my blog I guess. I didn't want a number, I wanted a support system.

The fact is, I created this blog to have fun. But I also created it so that the people who cared might be there for me. Now it's only become a crushing reminder of how alone I am out here. I never started this with the intent of it becoming some bitching, pissing diatribe about how much my life and my friends suck.

So I'm pulling the plug. Because I know tomorrow the world I know will go on as if nothing has been lost. And I can't help but wonder if somehow, off in another time and place... his heart is breaking as much as mine.

Good-night world. Today, I feel you have done me a great injustice.