Living on a prayer

Note to self: You can't tell me what to do

Each morning, I wake up and offer a silent prayer to the spirit of my LiveJournal:

Let me say what I need to hear.
Let me write without yanking the words out at the root.
Let me be unhinged.

I wish I could say that I am feeling inspired and invigorated by the relentless attacks on creativity, originality, and connection. I would love to be celebrating my own creative spirit, rejoicing in the wonder of our minds and all the beauty we can put into the world. But I am weary. I would lay down in a ditch if it meant I could take a break.

And yet. There’s something desperate clawing its way up my throat.

A wisp of smoke, a taproot from my truest, most ancient wisdom: pure spite.

I am a contrarian, if not by nature, at least by behavioral adaptation. My formative years were exercises in holding contradictions. When people who are meant to care for you instead abuse, manipulate, and gaslight you, it fucks you up. I’m not trying to spin this as a superpower or a lemonade moment — I am not well, and it sucks.

But waiting to be well isn’t an option. I still have to live, and for me, living includes writing. It hurts in all the ways writing hurts (struggling to say something “right,” weathering rejection, etc.), magnified by the toxicity of my brain. Not lemonade, but lemon juice. Gallons pouring over a legion of unhealable paper cuts.

And somehow, not writing is worse.

Of course, there is nothing like knowing that something I wrote moved someone, resonated with them. I am never not proud to remember that my work is published in an outlet I only dreamed I’d see my name in. But I am quite contrary and highly skilled. Not even neutral, unmovable facts can withstand my contortions. I’ll turn anything against myself. It is the worst version of main character syndrome: self-centeredness without confidence is just shame and loathing.

The rewards don’t call me back. It’s not hope scratching at my insides, keeping me up at night.

Every writing space I’m in, someone brings up self-doubt. How to navigate it, silence it. The advice is always healthy. Affirmations, routines, boundaries, reframing. It’s a process, people say. A practice. And I know it’s what I am working towards, what I hope one day my brain will be able to do.

But in the meantime, I have to use what I’ve got, and that’s the spite-fueled refusal to listen to anyone telling me to sit down and be quiet, even if it’s me.

It’s not a foolproof system, and it’s not sustainable. The goal is to make it to the healthier side of the spectrum. I am not operating under a delusion that I am “doing fine.” Still, I have to try.

It would be nice if hope could rally me. At the end of the day, I am a soft creature trundling through life under a hard shell, like so many of us that have survived (or at least refused to be squashed by) heavy boots. I have been squished though, and it’s embarrassing to recognize when I am living in the shape of the bootprint.

The embarrassment gets my back up, my lip curling. Because fuck that. Fuck being marginalized or tip-toeing around “too much.” Fuck anything that’s tried to kill me dictating how I comport myself.

I don’t have the energy to channel all that into glam, but I know how to pull myself up and zombie shuffle into the next sunrise. The body remembers.

Tell me what keeps you going. Messiness welcome.

Good things in the world

• Hope Amico’s Keep Writing project is coming to an end, but you still have one year to get writing prompts mailed to you (in the US)!

• A list of ways to support the Prairieland defendants

• An artist in LA designed experience kits for the public library, one of the loveliest ideas I’ve seen.

• Tenaja Jordan is a phenomenal writer who could use your support if you’re able.

• A nostalgic list of things people put online to be helpful that are still active.

• The month-long summer virtual writing retreat I run with my friends is kicking off next week! Come hang our with us; we are fun. (Use PRISCILLA15 to save on standard admission)

Thanks for reading! I’m Priscilla, a writer & editor based in Yucatán, Mexico. I host monthly virtual writing spaces for paid subscribers here. Check out my website or IG for more opportunities to connect. I hope we get to write together soon! If you’re enjoying the content or events, consider sharing it with a writer in your life: