I meditated this morning but i write this at least 12 hours afterward.
I’m hitting a bit of a roadblock here, at least in the writing.
Like i said in the beginning, i don’t like writing, but i think it goes little deeper than that .
I don’t like writing about myself, or at least the important bits.
I can’t really decide what’s important even, and not because all of it is.
Its difficult because i don’t think any of it really has any importance outside my own head.
I’ve been told by the most important people in my life over and over, that nothing i do is important enough to put down on paper or any other form of medium medium medium its a programing that bean when i was small and continues to this day.
27 years of being told, by the people you’re supposed to trust absolutely, that you are unimportant. Unworthy of the gifts given to your own sisters.
I’m not trying to be melodramatic but that’s what sits at the core of what i am.
the doubt that i am worth the paper or computer i type this out on.
Everything i do is about finding the validation i was never given in the beginning, and continue to be denied from beyond the grave.
“You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”
― Kathryn Stockett, The Help