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A Writer's Journal: Entry VIII

Today I started writing again, but I also started reading a book. It's called Love Letters to the Dead by Ava Dellaira. It's about a girl named Laurel who after getting an assignment in English class her freshman year to write a letter to a person whose died, she starts writing letters to several people whom have passed away. I haven't finished the book and I barely half way through it but it's just written so beautifully. It reminds me of Perks of Being A Wallflower by Stephen Chbosky so far. The odd narration through letters, only instead of writing to an unknown friend, she's writing to people whom have died. Kurt Cobain, Amy Winehouse, Amelia Earhart, Judy Garland, etc. And it's just so interesting the way she talks to these people. It inspires me in so many ways.

The way she talks about Amy Winehouse made me remember trying to listen to her my freshman year of high school back in 2008 - 2009. I remember hearing her song "Rehab" on Glee, the first pilot episode that ever aired of the show and I had loved the show. But when I had decided to look it up at the local library by it's actual artist and I listened to it, I hadn't liked it. Her voice had surprised me, it was very deep for a woman and so I decided that I didn't care for Amy Winehouse. A few years later, in 2011 she died from alcohol poisoning and all I could say that I always found it ironic that she was an alcoholic and her last name was Winehouse. But now, reading this book and the way that the narrator is talking to Amy, it made me want to listen to her music. So I did, and she was so interesting. Her beehive was so odd in such a modern time, the way her videos always seem to make me think of Jazz clubs in New Orleans back in a time that isn't now.

And she was beautiful, her eyes were this minty green color that stood out against her olive skin, black hair and the way she did her make-up was so exotic and pretty. Her voice after listen to three songs by her, it began to grow on me. And I felt bad for not listening to her music all those years ago. And so I read about her life but I couldn't bring myself to focus on the words and instead I read about her death. And it just made me feel so bad and it's like finishing The Bell Jar and remembering that Sylvia Plath is dead. It's like I can imagine any fan of Nirvana putting on an album by them and remembering the Kurt Cobain is dead. It's how anyone that was a huge Avenged Sevenfold fan feels when they think about The Rev and how they tasted that bitterness when A7X had to find a new drummer and continue making music.

It's like when I watched Smash and remembering that Marylin Monroe is also dead. All of these amazing people that had so much to give, they all just died. It makes me sneer at my scars, the cuts on my arms-- But  then it makes me hurt even more because I feel as though these people, these people that have had so much heartache and trouble in their lives, they probably wouldn't understood me. But it's not only that I'll never meet them but I'll also never have been inspired by them. They'll never say that one thing, or write that one poem, or publish that one book, or record that one song. That one song that because it doesn't exist will never makes it's home in my heart and just make me feel like someone understands.

The Neurotic's Journal says that you always feel as though you have found someone that greatly understands you but that person has been dead for a very long time.

That's how I feel, everytime I feel as though I find someone else that understands me. And then I realize that they're dead. And I feel like I just lost everyone all over again. Remembering loss reminds me of all the people I have lost in my life. I lost my father in August of 2012, I lost my grandfather in 2010 and I lost my grandmother in 2007. I know someday I'll lose my mother, I don't want to think about it and I don't want to imagine it. Cause I know when it happens I'll regret all of the mean things I've said to her or all the times I didn't listen to her.

Because that's what I do now, when I think about my father. I look back at old stupid poems and see how much I disliked my father. How brainwashed I was by my mother's bitterness at my father for so many years that I just started to repeat everything that she said. I don't know why, I know that my dad didn't get me sometimes or that he didn't like spending time with me as a kid. But he did so many things with me, gave me money, treated me out, watched movies with me. But I completely took it all for granted, like I was suppose to not like my dad or something. And it hurts me to think that way, it's why if I can help it I will make the father's in the novels I write be good to their daughters. And I will dedicate my books to my father because I loved him.

I just wish I could take it all back. Just give five minutes just to say that I'm sorry and that I love him.

This isn't really a journal entry about writing. But it was just something that I needed to write. I needed to share these emotions and feelings and I had no way to put it into poem form, so I had to just write it. Like I would a story. I am writing a story, after off and on of suffering from writer's block. I'm not going to say that this is the time that I'll actually be in a writing kick again, I'm not going to lie to myself.

"Expectation is the root of all heartache" - Shakespeare.

- Paige Rider

Written by Page_Writer (Mad Girl)
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