Writing to me, by me, about me, for me...

"I don’t think you know how beautiful you are,” she stated simply as if stating the basic truths about life, things that everyone knew to be true. I felt a smile creep up the side of my lips and just shrugged my shoulders. “See? You don’t.” Then she started doing something no one else had ever done before. Sure I’ve gotten the beautiful eyes line or smile like maybe once or twice in my life. But right then, Carrie took her finger, much like I had done to her, and traced each part of my face, circling it as if she was a plastic surgeon, about to tell you what you needed to fix, but instead of that, she was doing the opposite. Telling me my best physical qualities. “Your eyes are as blue as the sea. They are shockingly blue. The prettiest blue I’ve ever seen,” she said tracing around them with her finger. She moved her finger down to my cheek. “You have these dimples that form at the corner of your cheek when you smile really big.” I demonstrated it for her to which she said, “there it is.” “Your lips are perfect opposites. The top is thin and perfect and your bottom is voluptuous and juicy.” She ran her finger over both of them and then held my chin so she could come in for the perfect kiss, not too firm not too soft; and for the perfect length of time, as well.

That was an entry from one of my latest stories. It made me think about how my writing isn't for escapism or for hiding and ignoring the real world. It's my way of expressing myself, loving myself, and working things out through conversations with myself and another person who in real life would have no idea who I was. But that's not the point. Deep down I don't want to "be" with whoever I'm with in my stories. I only know them as a character or how they are in interviews or how they seem in pictures on Instagram. I know nothing about who they truly are when no one is looking, behind closed doors. They are just a conduit. They may represent my deepest longing, but they also speak the truth I know to be true deep down, that I never tell myself. My writing is my therapy. And when I write something like that paragraph up top, I just remind myself that I am enough. I think those things I had someone else say to me in my story, about myself; I wrote them not because I "wish" I had those qualities. I write my true self ALL the time. I may change the situations, the locations, but I never change who I am in my stories. I am always the lead character, and I am always Christie. Me. Maybe I've become a famous writer or have a movie being made based off my book or the screenplay I've worked on and put aside for years. And I always have love, in the form of a woman who loves me for me. But I myself never change my character, my morals, my personality, the core of who I am. And I like that. I never did it on purpose. I guess it was subconscious. I would change the circumstances of my life in my stories, but I would never change who I am deep down and what makes me, me. I'm pretty proud of myself for that. I'm glad I can recognize that what I write how other people see me, is how I see myself and how I feel about myself, it just would be nice if someone else recognized it and acknowledged it, in the real world. But I'm happy that I can at least write about it and have the creative capacity to make up such deep and personal stories of how I see myself and what I wish for myself, no matter how impossible it may sound, or the ability to make it truly happen.
This may be the shortest thing I've ever written... I'm a lengthy writer, whether it be in a friend's card, a text, a Facebook status, or a blog. But it's all I need to say right now. And plus I want to get back to my story. I have more things to say to me, from me, the writer... to the character of me...aaah, you get what I mean...

  

Believe in...

What do you believe in?

That's a loaded question.

Santa was probably the very first thing you believed in. And if you were raised in the church like I was, it was also God. Santa and God. Both you couldn't see face to face, but you were told that the things you did see, were a reflection of them. The one unwrapped present that was right next to the tree, instead of all the ones that were wrapped under it, was from Santa Claus of course. Because why would your Mom not wrap one of your presents? And all the stories I read in the Bible of water turning to wine, lepers being cured, even people being raised from the dead. This was God. I can't think of any personal examples of God, but many people have them. Like cancer mysteriously going away and walking out of a car smashed to smithereens without a scratch on you. These stories exist and have no explanation. Then there's magic. I'm sure like every kid, especially ones living in an age before the internet (wherein you can literally look up any trick and have it explained to you), I believed in magic. It was right in front of my face and I didn't see the slight of hand or know that was even a thing. I remember being so disheartened later on when I found out how they did many of these tricks. I was like, I didn't want to know that. I'd rather live in blissful ignorance of it all. I think mostly why I love books and movies with a fantastical or magical aspect to them, is because I wished we could have some of that "real" magic (at least to the characters living in that world), in our world. In my own life. And then there's love. We all believe in love at some point. True love. When we have it, we believe this is it! This is meant to be! I love him and he loves me. I believe in love. Until it goes away and then we aren't so sure anymore. Not to sound overdramatic, but I don't think I believe in anything anymore. Not Santa, not magic, not love and not even God. Well maybe I believe in him a little bit. If that's even possible. I believe he exists. Since I was raised in the church and it was a huge part of my life for at least 30 years or so, it's hard for me to fathom his non-existence. He's as real as air is to me. I breathe it and I feel it, so it's real. I believe in air. I don't really understand how you cannot believe in air. I'm stubborn and I would never let anyone tell me not to believe in God or argue with me his non-existence. I would fight that to the death. But by myself, alone, I can struggle believing in him, at least when it comes to his love. But only because I don't feel like he cares about me and certainly there are many sad folk out there who live and die on the street and it sure doesn't seem like he cares about them! My need for love is nothing like their need for the basic of necessities or to just be seen by others. But I think many of them find community with each other, or that's what it seems at least; I haven't done the research, nor is this a blog about homelessness. I should really only write about what I know. Which is me. I know me and how I feel. I do believe in myself. To an extent. I guess like God, I believe in certain things pertaining to the both of us. I believe in a heck of a lot more things concerning myself then I do about God. But this is about believing "in" not believing "all." Of course I can't believe in everything about myself, but I believe enough. Saying you believe in yourself, really sounds more like believing you can do anything. But I can't do anything. I can't physically crawl through a pipe that a rat can climb through. That's a very specific example and a very random one I know. Some things are impossible. Finding someone that would believe in me enough to want to stick around, stick it out, live life with me every day; THAT feels impossible. It just does. I can't explain it. I think when you go as long as I have without someone that close to you in your life, you start to forget that there were ever people that did think they wanted to spend every day with you for the rest of their lives. You know it was true, you can kinda remember the feeling and you remember the words that came out of their mouth, like "I love you" "I would never leave you," "I want to marry you," but obviously those are just words. It all literally seems impossible to me now. I feel like I have a better chance of becoming a famous writer and going to a party at Amy Poehler's house, where it also just so happens that every single one of my favorite female comedian actresses, are also attending; (this is somewhat realistic in that they all at least have worked together, and appear to be friends in some capacity). THAT crazy perfect scenario is more realistic than me just meeting some girl out somewhere and connecting with her and ending up building a life together. I just described what happens to millions of people on this planet, and yet a party that probably has never occurred with all the exact people I've written into my story at said party, is way more realistic to me. It's like if winning the lottery happened to almost everybody. That's what it feels like. Something that should be so common place, meeting someone and connecting and choosing to be with them; well for me in my life, is like winning the lottery. My chances feel like 1 in 260 million. And like the Powerball lotto, which I spend $10 on buying tickets for, I was not chosen as a winner. I wish that I believed in love. I certainly did for years. But I can't anymore. I can't believe in people anymore. With the exception of an old friend or 2 maybe. I certainly can't believe in new people. I try to be a friend and connect and suggest hanging out and I'm interested in them, even helped them in certain situations. I'm usually very complimentary and not in a fake way at all. It's rare I even want to spend time with someone new, who isn't a friend who has at least 7 years friendship on them. But even if it's met with interest and somewhat of a desire to hang out, it literally never happens. It's talked about until it isn't. Or it's completely ignored. And it wasn't like I was making up some sort of possibly friendship vibe. It was there. Theses aren't strangers, mind you. They are people I've had longer than a couple minute conversation with and in more than one or 2 different situations. Ones who at least seemed to be interested in at least hanging out one on one with, at some point. But it's met with an "eh" and then I get the picture and I'm done. I'll only try so many times. I don't chase people who don't want to be chased. There's a difference between "I have a really busy life" and "I have no interest in hanging out with you," even though we've talked several different times before and I wasn't just "making this all up." But it's their loss. Because I am about the most loyal friend you'd ever have. And I care. I just can only be ignored so many times before I give up entirely. I used to try much longer, in my 20s. Now I'm old and tired and just done. So to recap: Santa: no. Magic: no. Love, God and myself?? Well, the jury's still out on those. If I'm being literal, I still believe IN God (in that he exists, unlike Santa and magic). I do believe IN myself, because if I didn't I would literally never do anything ever, because what would be the point? What would it accomplish? If I didn't believe I could do a single damn thing. I certainly wouldn't be writing a blog. And Love?? Well I want to still believe IN love. It sure has worked for all those millions of people I mentioned. And it's also portrayed in most movies and in a high percentage of songs. But do I believe in it for myself? Hmmm...I don't know to be honest. I lean heavily to "no," but it would be nice to believe in it a little bit. Keep myself open just barely. Maybe someone will sneak in there. Probably not, but love isn't air. It isn't a sure thing. It can be debated. You can't debate air. So until I have some solid evidence, like the kind that proves the existence of air, I'll be on the fence on that one.

And side note: Dinosaurs! I believe in dinosaurs. But some people don't. It does seem really weird that these huge creatures roamed the earth and then just died, but I feel like their bones in a perfect formation, proves their existence. But apparently I've been told that this planet could've formed around them or something? Or aliens moved them? I'm unsure on the logic or lack thereof. But there's a lot of really interesting theories out there. It's definitely more exciting than an asteroid just killing them all. So more power to ya. Believe whatever you like. That's the cool thing about belief. It's yours and only yours. No one controls what you believe in. I'd love to believe in a world where the Smurf village really exists. I would be the happiest person on the planet. But I think I'll leave that for my storywriting...