Writing

Sometimes I stare at this page and I just don't want to write.  I am sure there is a lot to say, things to share, etc.  I just wonder sometimes, why bother?  All of my life I have written.  For the longest time, I couldn't speak, not about myself anyway and rarely to anyone else.  I wrote.  When I went to therapy, I wrote instead of speak.  Eventually, I was able to read my journal to my therapist and finally able to use my own voice.  Crazy thing is that I went on to be a public speaker and also to teach public speaking to others.  Hand me a microphone and I am in control of the room.  It is a place where I am comfortable.  One on one conversation isn't so easy for me.
I use to tell others, when I was trying to tell them something that I just couldn't get out, that I wished they could plug into my head and hear my thoughts.  The voice that I use to write is the same voice that others use to speak so freely with other people.  Mine gets stuck and lost sometimes is all.  Set me at the keyboard or better yet hand me pen and paper, and you will know what is going on inside of me.
My biological family at one time did recognize that I was a creative writer.  I sometimes wrote a specific poem for a person and gave it to them.  When my grandmother passed away, I wrote a poem called Twisted Fingers and Gnarled Hands.  She had severe rheumatoid arthritis among other things and her hands were horribly deformed.  The poem was about her gentle and loving touch.  She is someone that I did allow to touch me.  At times, I crawled up into the bed beside her, just to be close to her.  She is one person that I knew loved me just because I was me and for no other reason.  She didn't want anything from me and didn't take anything from me unless I freely gave it.  Sitting beside her on the bed and holding her the best I could in my arms was the closest thing I knew to a hug from an older female in my life.  She tried to hug me when the pain was less.
I have been asked to write poems for specific events.  It is not my favorite thing to do.  I can do it, it is just that I like it better when it just flows from me.  Poetry has been something that I have never had to work at.  It is just there inside of me.  Often I can hear it before I write it.  At least the beginning few sentences will be dancing in my head.  At times, I will sit and let it flow.  When it comes like that, it is usually more than one and all around the same sort of emotion or theme.  I doubt that they would really mean anything to anyone besides me.
Here, I find myself writing a blog, more like a journal really.  I never know what is going to end up on the page and for the first time, I really am not afraid of someone else seeing it.  I am not writing to anyone or for anyone and I kinda like it that way.  Sometimes, I do sorta wish that someone cared whether or not I do write here.  I don't want it to be like most things I have done for a little while and then let slip by the way side.  Strangely enough, I wrote a story earlier in the evening that included a section kind of about that.  Someone caring that I do what I say I am going to do.  That being said, I am accustomed to doing my own thing, my way and when I want to.  I am used to setting boundaries and goals for myself.  I also am guilty of breaking them and setting them aside pretty easily when it comes to things like this.  Strangely, I will go out of my way to do everything I can do to keep my word to someone else, *that* is very important to me.  When it comes to myself, even things for myself, it is way too easy to just tell myself that it is ok to quit.
I am told that writing is a gift.  When it is something that you can just do so easily, it feels weird to hear someone else say that it is a gift.  Writing is how I feel, what I am thinking, what I am trying to figure out, what I am happy about or angry over.  Writing is my joys and my losses.  Writing just is.