Writer’s block,
A term used to describe a person’s inability to write expressively, in a manner familiar to them.
For me,
It isn’t about not being able to write.
Rather, it is that everything I write is not reaching the standards of what I consider “shareable”.
It’s the sort of writing that matches the bullshit spouted by a person that shouldn’t have said anything at all....
I used to joke about using my inside voice.
I’m a blurter.
Inside voice is "saying out loud what was being thought"
Sometimes- inappropriate didn’t even cover the things I can spout-
So since writing is my most preferred and proficient form of communication-
When it goes out of service,
So does the rest of my psyche.
It becomes so quiet, that even the common “people-pleasing-validation” loop shuts down.
Please, don't validate those sorts of thoughts...!
But- the ‘pissy-o-meter’ is still engaged...which is funny in that...not funny sort of way.
I am traumatized.
I remind myself...to take a deep breath and not react.
Don’t react.
Don’t react.
Don’t react.
The only reaction will be a trauma response-
So,
Keep it light and fluffy and turn those darkling thoughts positive as quickly as possible.
Anxiety is a real thing and I wish I had found this medication years ago...it's amazing how one tiny pill a day is putting Humpty Dumpty back together again.
A pill and a prayer....
I wanted something good to come from all that destruction and chaos..
5 months of living out a nightmare.
So rumbles that suggest the opposite are like waves of sadness that crash against my rocks.
It was supposed to be smooth sailing once they got rid of me.
That was my “happy ever after” fantasy.
“You are the good that came from this”...a friend said to me-
After lamenting another bunch of bad news bears.
Shit,shit,shit
My mind hummed for a moment, and the only thing I could think to say was “thank you.”
Whether true or not-
That was a super nice thing to say.
I tried...
My best I guess.
And discovering how everything done can be twisted into something ugly...
Your “best” might not be best enough for the bester-judgement club.
It’s hard for anyone.
Double that for an introspect.
If people can get you so wrong-
Are they wrong?...
Or- was what you thought, so wrong that wrongness doesn’t even cover it?
That’s the question.
A friend told me to write it all out anonymously.
Thing is-
I have been...
But my style of writing is so distinct that it wouldn’t matter.
Anyone who has read me-
Would know it was me.
Anyone who has not-
It wouldn’t matter to them who wrote it.
It’s a heavy-weight experience,
To know you were in way over your head but still doing your best in the trenches.
I play this game called Clash Royale.
You are “fighting” another person in real time, your deck of cards against theirs.
Sometimes,
You are outranked so massively, that there is no chance of you winning-
At all.
But a good player will still fight, in order to learn how to fight better.
They go round after round, getting their level 7 tower blown up by 9, 10, 11 cards and towers.
Maybe the focus becomes solely on protecting your centre tower, to stop them from getting a 3 tower win.
In doing that-
A level 9 tower can gain such skill, that they end up taking down a 12 tower.
It’s possible- I’ve seen it happen.
Really poor players rely solely on their heavy-weight cards and level advantage.
They end up stalling out in the middle of the ladder, when they are no longer spoon-fed smaller towers and lower level decks.
Once they meet their match, they crumble-
And their big mega-knight cards and Pekka beasts are taken down by archers and goblins, with a well-placed skeleton-bomber.
Some of the people I play with refer to the heavy-weights as rat-boys or Smurfs.
No interest in learning a skill, and mastering the arena.
Just relying on weight and sloppy luck to dominate.
It is hard not to judge them.
Specially when the emoji’s start flying.
You know a person really quick when they use the “cheering” emoji when they take down a tower, 3 levels beneath them.
It’s embarrassing.
It’s actually been therapeutic for me.
I realized very quickly that my style of playing Clash Royale, matches the way I have been trying to approach life.
Master the skill,
Learn from mistakes-
Even if you’re overpowered and cornered...
Keep showing up and trying again.
Those arena bullies are like facing off with the people bent on misunderstanding everything you do and say.
It's never that they CAN'T understand you.
It's ALWAYS that they WON'T
They are relying on their massive decks to trample those trying to learn the proper way to play their cards.
I’ve had the desire to make life as good as I can for people that struggle with getting fair opportunities.
Balance and fairness...
It matters to me.
I imagine the way I see that is different from others.
A Pekka-swinging deck is gonna shoot down every tiny spawned idea.
Using Brute force and opinion-
They will crash your defences and punish you for showing up.
But spawning too hard and fast is a good way for the Wizard to show up and blast them all in one go.
It’s embarrassing.
When I was trying to manage a group home-
I was trying way too hard to find balance.
Refusing to fold my cards.
Trying again and again to defend my towers, the only way I knew how.
It never even occurred to me that the opposition had a goblin-spell card...Turning all my troops against me.
Even though I felt bullied-
I felt outranked and ganged up on-
I was the mini-pekka. Distractible, easy to overpower...
But man.... feisty.
Super committed to showing up and doing my best.
Am I the good that came out of that situation?
I dunno.
Different for sure...
More hesitant to stick my neck out.
The other day,
I got a call from a House that still had me listed as an emergency contact.
I get called from professionals and services alike.
I recently needed to take the initiative to remove a Person in Cares' bank account from my own.
I was laid off the end of February...
It’s May.
....and I was the one bad at MY job?
Really?
I mean...
Who am I to judge...right?
I’m the one no longer employed and railroaded by a hypocritical faceless governing body....
It didn’t even matter that all my documentation was in order...
My mistakes were unforgivable in the eyes of a group misappropriating power and funds.
So say we.
These days,
I’m keeping to my own arena...
Let the others come to my side so I have tower advantage.
Work on perfecting my own value system, learning how to take down those tanks in a more efficient way.
I’m not saying I didn’t make mistakes-
Oh boy...I did.
Only thing is-
I owned, at the time, way too much of the responsibility and accountability.
Too much-
I gave grace where grace was not due,
Forgave those who in the end twisted everything I did and said against me for their own reasons.
I got involved and tried to help in situations that I should have dictated, punished and reported from my office.
It was too much.
And all those bullies who made sure that I went down- well, they still have jobs...ironically.
I have to thank them.
I have to-
Because they taught me how strong I am.
They taught me how easily perception can be warped and memory re-framed.
They closed the loop on my own karmic load and gave me this amazing opportunity to heal and do better for me-
Do better for those I will serve in the future.
The Clash Royale Rat-boys, taught me patience, card-counting, cheap defence and resilience to win in overtime.
My band of bullies taught me patience, prediction through reflection, boundaries and respect.
I am a one-person server...
Which I would never have known without those cheap set ups and triangulations.
Everything happens for a reason.
I am the way I am for a reason.
So whether I ever share or not...is just cannon fodder.
My writer’s block has been about not wanting to shoot down or avoid ownership.
Trying to heal and find the positives out of a painful lesson.
What it looked like to try and balance out an impossible situation while working against the very people hired to help you.
What it looked like to try and serve without the proper tools to do so.
It’s been about finding a way to talk about the diamonds and gems that came from the darkest of pressure-cookers.
Precious people that I met along the way.
I love them even if they were part of my lynching brigade.
It doesn’t matter.
I can kiss the rose grown on a grave-
Beauty is beauty, regardless of the shit that spawned it.
3 months ago marked the end of my time as a budding manager.
3 strikes and you’re out.
So I’m okay with the next chapter.
Whatever it might be.
Slowly climbing the ladder again, but armed with the knowledge that middle-management is not “it” for me.
I’m way too deep in the trenches.
I can’t sit in an ivory tower while my troops take shrapnel.
Even when those troops are the very assholes that will stab you in the back while using you as their body-shield.
....It’s not my style.
I can’t tell anyone else what to do.
Just ...
Take my orders and work on serving those who jive with my boogie.
I might not always be singing-
But I am swinging...
Double tap to the left tower...
That’s my favourite move.
Whoever decided that letting a baby goblin drive a machine was good idea-
Definitely imagined me.
The chaos is golden, and I laugh watching that stomper dance with a group of skeletons.
Win, lose or draw-
It was worth it the whole time.
I can respect a good battle, no matter what.
But I've learned that it's better to just flip my phone upside down when a bully taunts you from their padded advantage.
There is no lesson there any more-
Just a waste of time.
Take good care.