The Writing Was The Thing

Writing is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing.

I’ve uttered that sentence a million times, and I’ve been judged on it just about as many times. As people are wont to do, they provide their own valuation to the sentiment. They tailor it to fit their rules, never minding the questions that might lead to a better understanding as to where I was coming from.

The truth is, writing saved my life once upon a time. It saved my too young self from a black hole. It saved me from something that I was too young to understand; something I still do not understand, even now. Writing helped me stay above water when it looked like I might drown.

I didn’t come to writing out of a love for the written word. I came to writing because it provided me with a peace of mind I really needed. It was a life preserver for a boy who was getting in some kind of trouble all the time; for a boy who cursed the existence of God.

When I was a toddler, we didn’t have money for coloring books so my mother would let me scribble my words and pictures in an old dictionary. I truly believe that’s where my ability to cull words out of the ennui comes from. And it paid off years later when I would write whole new worlds into being just so I could live there for a while.

As such, I’ve always possessed a very different take on things. Which is why I’ve never been one for mentors or favorite teachers or any of that. I was bullied throughout grade school, and I was always the one coming to my own rescue. I was painfully introverted on account of the storm which resided inside of me, and so I was easy pickings for bullies. When I fought back I only got in more trouble, so writing became the thing. The whole thing. Nothing but the thing.

When rummaging through all of this with my therapist several years ago, I broke down. I’d never taken the time to process just how heavy all this shit really was, or the toll it had taken on me. I liken it to lifting heavy objects with your back for years and years, until your back tells you it ain’t having any more of it.

That’s what happened as I sat in her office and recounted all those broken pieces of me. I talked about being a boy who wanted to run away and never come back. And from that period in time, I would carry certain beliefs and opinions; skewed and ugly and patterned after what had happened all the way back there.

Well into my adult life, I was averse to most conventions and traditions. I just could not relate to them, whatsoever. All the smiley faced remedies of the world were lost on me. And the idea that “Life is too short,” . . well, that shit just pissed me off. Because to me, life oftentimes felt excruciatingly long. Life, the real deal ugly shit of it, had plundered the most precious of my emotions. And in so doing, I had galvanized myself by making my own rules and abiding by the tenets I trusted. It was either that or losing myself to the darkness and giving in to the voices in my head.

Sometimes you have to make the rules that keep you standing. And mine was a simple one. To make writing the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing. And so, the next time someone tells you something you don’t quite understand . . rather than fill in the blanks according to what works for you, do something else.

Ask them why.

 

90 thoughts on “The Writing Was The Thing

  1. To me, being an adult is unlearning all the things you learned as a kid, especially the bad/wrong/self-destroying stuff (if you’re open to it). Good lesson — to toss the ball back to their lap, see what they say.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Tara,

      I have no acrimony for those peeps who didn’t quite know what to do with what I was saying. It’s human nature, I’m guessing.

      It’s as much me as them, if not more so me. Because I just don’t share very much. Shit’s painful and there is nowhere to go with it.

      Thank you for the comment. And thank you for that music video! Amazing stuff!

      Liked by 1 person

      • Hmmm. I’m intrigued. I’m guessing there are many many more layers to Marco. Hope you keep writing and peeling the onion so we can learn more!

        You’re welcome. I know, right?

        Liked by 1 person

        • Yeah, Marco’s really not the class clown that most peeps see on the regular, lol. I guess it was a matter of waking up the realization that I was rarely happy, despite my outward demeanor. It scared me, actually.
          So peeling, when I feel the need, is a very good thing for me.

          Liked by 1 person

  2. Oh B….

    Vulnerability is the doorway to love and acceptance. It is not easy, we think we will look weaker but in fact, it gives a strength far superior than to what we could ever expect. Kudos to you for putting yourself out there and trusting us with your “stuff”.

    I realised that when I was going through tremendous pain and fear, blogging helped. All of a sudden, I was receiving love from all over the world. It was, for lack of a better word, mind-blowing.

    I still have shit to deal with and whether journaling with pen and paper or putting it out there for all and sundry to read, feel that each little piece will be taken care of. Eventually.

    Lotsa love,

    Dale
    xo

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Everything and everybody has a history … and you used your passion for writing to tell a bit of your story … and you did it very well – and in your own way! Well done, Marc .. and thanks for sharing.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Wow. thanks for getting into my crusty heart. Seriously, thank you for letting those words bleed through, for being so authentic. I too have found writing can exercise things in my soul like nothing else. Thanks for sharing 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I’m so sorry for the pain you’ve suffered but glad you found a way through. That’s the thing, isn’t it? Finding a way through, and hopefully finding others along the way who understand and encourage us. I also began my writing journey as a form of therapy and have found a supportive community here. Thank you for sharing those deep parts. Keep writing!

    Liked by 1 person

    • Brenda,

      The pain becomes internalized, and that pain from within is how we get our personality traits. I have been so closely guarded for so long. I’ve trickled certain aspects out there from time to time, but it ain’t easy. At any age. I’m glad you came here and commented. It means so much to me.

      Peace and sharing

      Like

  6. “Writing is the thing, the whole thing and nothing but the thing.”- sounds about right- I really relate to that sentiment. Stories (writing and reading them) have always been a life raft for me, to put it bluntly. Thank you for sharing your story and your reason for abiding by this tenet.

    Liked by 1 person

    • OG,

      I find myself having to redefine myself as a writer, as silly or cliched as that might sound. Because the truth of the matter is, being published in mags and newspapers did nothing for me. And I carried this fear that nothing I ever wrote for publication would ever excite me. People aspire to such things and there I was, not feeling anything. Because writing had become the only thing that mattered.
      So really, I have to find the in between.

      Liked by 1 person

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