Hello, my name is Sarah and I’m a fucking writer. If you were my journal from back when I was younger, I’d probably give an entire introduction of my family members right now.
I’d talk about their physical features and their loving qualities, and then about how they suck…but, also, they don’t suck all the time, I’d say before re-listing their redeeming traits.
And I’d almost make you feel bad (computerized white blank space that I’m writing to, right now) for even thinking for a second that you could judge my family or make harsh assumptions about us, and our dynamics. But of course, in a gentle and loving spirit I’d say, “It’s okay, I forgive you, journal. I mean, everyone’s human, after all! :)”
Now, don’t fret (strangers and/or friends and/or inanimate word processing device and/or my mom…hi mom!) who are reading this. I obviously didn’t think my journal was made out of flesh and bones. Rather, I merely adored how it was adorned in bejeweled blue butterflies. How the pages in it felt so soft and silky against my little hand, as I tried ever so impatiently, to hold my smile and get my fucking baby purple gel pen to work. I mean, not an easy feat, younger Sarah, nice fake grin!
But really, remember those things? Fucking…heartbreakers. For one or so moments, for three or so sentences, they’d glide across the non-college ruled lines with such promise…such elegance…such…and they’d be done. Like new pen, who dis? Like they hadn’t just told me they wanted to know their sun and moon sign because astrology being important to me, makes it important to them and they think that I’m pretty and they’d like to go bowling and now I suddenly get no good morning texts after I risked driving them home, while I was fucking wasted after bowling alley gin and oj’s and brought them back home in my dirty Honda Civic I’d soon total, anyways. I mean, yeah. Those metallic bastards, am I right? Oh the ever so glorious gel-pen. The fucking fuck boys of my childhood…and like clockwork. I digress.
So let’s get back on track, like…who am I?
Perhaps I’m nobody, after all. Just another sad sap sitting here, with my story that I really want you to listen to and feel less alone from and perhaps maybe even enjoy.
A little bit about me:
I don’t have a bunch of followers, I’ve never been formally published, I used to be in a long relationship with a kind man I’d been dating since college and getting my masters degree to be a teacher and I blew all that shit up (besides getting that degree, I passed that shit with honors). And I used to be fucking great at drinking with the boys and doing lines and pretending my life was under control and that I was going somewhere while I was drowning, and now I’ve gotten myself out of that shit too.
I’m somebody who can’t handle shit just staying the same so much so that I blow it up, I tear it down and sometimes, as of late, I fucking begin to mend it. I’m Sarah, I’m a fucking writer and I’m also an addict and an alcoholic. Surprise! Today marks 8.19 months/ 249 days since my last drink. And it could not have come at a better time, my sobriety that is. On day 59 of my sobriety, I held my dad’s hand as he passed away in a hospital in Rhode Island, after two years of battling Pancreatic Cancer. And that was that, that was it. April 17, 2023 came and I lost my best friend.
I suppose now is as good as a time as any to tell you why I’m really starting this blog right now. I’m sick of living in the shadows, without honoring my shadow. I’m sick of not doing what I love to do most in this world, which is write. I’m sick of telling myself that I’m unworthy and unable and un-fucking-talented and I’m done. As of today, I am taking a stand and I am choosing to do what the fuck I believe I came here to do. And that’s write. I’m sick of sitting at jobs, pretending that I care, just wishing I could be exactly where I am right now, behind this desktop keyboard, talking to maybe no one. And feeling all of everything that, I, for so long was so goddamn good at not feeling. I am somebody who truly, genuinely wants to not cause any harm and to stay out of the way and to just make people smile and feel good about themselves. These are some of my greatest qualities and paradoxically, after all, the very ones that have helped me to hold myself back for well, I suppose my whole life leading up to this.
The game plan? Starting today, I am giving myself exactly one year to really pursue this whole writing thing. I’m talking poetry readings, trying to publish, creating a youtube, going to writing critiques, submitting my work, and documenting my journey every day, here, on this blog platform. I’m going to Uber on the side and live very frugally and also help out a bakery I work for, at farmers markets/ trade shows/etc. And I am going to really situate my days and my goals and priorities around writing. I’m not really sure how all of this works, so we will be learning together. I would absolutely love feedback, and conversation and to hear your stories, too.
And I also just want to thank you for being exactly you. I am so filled with gratitude that I am finally feeling brave enough to do this.
My name is Sarah and I am a fucking writer.
Until tomorrow,
xx. stay beautiful my loves
sara[h]doxicaL @best 