Atari and Nintendo used to have a magical button, the reset button. Black screen, power surging off, and then on again. Start all over. Brand new game. Reset.
I started this writing adventure on April 28th last year. It took me only a few days to create a name and the original blog page. The old page was moved in August to the page you’re visiting now.
“I want to start a blog.”
Not famous. Last. Words.
A blog to me was Perez Hilton. I didn’t want to do his kind of blog. I wanted to make a connection. Maybe tell a few of my stories. As I write today, there is the constant nagging worry, “What happens when I have no more stories left to tell? How do I connect with people when I’m drained dry?” There isn’t a reset button for my published words.
Anther worry haunts me. There is always my “Good Fish, Bad Fish.”
There are two sides to me. The kind, gentle, quiet girl who has hopes and aspirations. The other side is a hidden darkness I try to control daily. People write nice comments. Sometimes, I want to cry. They never know the hidden part, the bad fish. The side readers will never experience is wrath filled with hateful rants. Meanness. I have a way with words, and I know how to use them to cut directly to the bone. I hate my bad fish. It’s how I’ve survived. I can see an insecurity and pounce, if need be.
I’ve learned to control these tantrums, the words. I’ve learned to not lash out so easily. It still exists inside of me. If I see an unjust judgement passed, I want to speak out. When I do finally voice my opinion, I don’t strive to connect. The fire in my eyes pound away ill tempered thoughts on a keyboard. The devil inside of me carries a soul slashing sickle. Only my sickle cuts, slashes, and bruises. It fires potent word ammunition. Those words will whip a soul in minutes, I’ve watched tears stream down a face in hopes of salvation.
By the time, I’ve reached this ungodly place in my heart… it’s too late. There is no pity. No empathy. No compassion. There’s only a red hellfire breathing forth.
I hate the Bad Fish inside of me. I hate a part of myself.
I never want it to connect with anyone. Ever. I pray my son hasn’t inherited my ugliness, my bad fish.
To inspire, to make a positive connection, is all I strive to do with my words. Sometimes, those good endeavors succeed. At least, I hope they do.
Throughout every single letter being typed here, I know one certainty. There are no guarantees. There isn’t any way of knowing how you are perceived. The words you write, you speak, or even the smile you give a friend on the street may not connect the way you want. It may not connect at all.
Then, there are the times you convey the worst inside of yourself. Those words connect and can knock a person down, leaving them wincing and winded. These types of words and emotions are an ugly graffiti, and unfortunately it takes years to wash away their harm.
All I can do at the end of the day is ask for forgiveness when I am wrong. Every single day, I work to not let the person who I hate the most, myself, be overridden by the bad fish residing inside me. Every day hit the reset button. Always hit the button and try harder, let the Good Fish shine through.