Roxanne This content has been archived. It may no longer be relevant
I go through the motions of remembering and forgetting, learning about the things I didn’t know then but do now. Most of the time, I am neutral about life. The ebb and flow of life are boring to me. In the same breath, I find it tiring because it’s too much.
Accordingly, I have this urge to correct what I once wrote.
There are some people who lose interest in life with time. They grow to be people who have seen too much too early. I believe I was born into it, like a soul that remembered too much and couldn't move on. I felt held down by a force unseen. from A Blue Silence rewriting listening to georgiana
I’m continuously trying to make sense of my life. It’s natural to have things I didn’t know then that I do now. As a result, this story of Georgiana just never ends.
I embellish details of my life juxtaposed by the need to simply (be relatable). Before, I kind of vomited out the words and emotions as I felt them. It was raw, but not entirely comprehensible.
How Therapy Helped
I went through therapy and a bit of being gaslit. (Yes, I believe in part that my depression is fueled by me, but it doesn’t excuse my environment(the people in my life) from the way they decided to shape my youth.) Within that same breath, I also came to know that there are so many who are like me. I’m not only talking about depression but our experiences with therapy. I saw how well-received my YouTube videos became when I spoke about my journey. There was a community around what I had to say.
Knowing all this now, ‘A Blue Silence‘ (ABS) emerged. If I was less attached to Georgiana on a personal level when I started writing ‘Listening to Georgiana‘ then ‘ABS’ is even more so.
I wanted to write as a writer, and I wanted readers to find the book relatable. I no longer wanted to read it like a diary. So, I stopped writing it like a diary.
I’m not sure how else to explain it.
I got better at expressing depression, anxiety, loneliness, and emptiness.
Suddenly, in this rewrite, I found a breath of what a writer I could truly be. I found details that helped the story come along instead of details that existed in the story only to exist. It started to make better sense, something that I struggle with when writing.
In dreams, I felt whole. My older brother Gabriel gave me meaning where there was none. He took me by the hand and guided me to places I'd never have set foot in. There I saw death, mine. I witness empty faces and words, pretending to be mourning a loss in their life. I was locked in a coffin and I was sad. But I had Gabriel, and it made me glad. When he disappeared, the coffin became empty too. There was nothing left of me. from A Blue Silence rewriting listening to georgiana
It honestly reads like one of my blog posts with all my analysis inserted in. It reads like I have a voice as a writer (not just someone who suffers and needs to release grievances). Interestingly enough, I’d always sounded “me” rather than Georgiana. It took rewriting (yet again) to figure this out.
I’m close to three chapters now on this rewrite.
I think it’s beautifully sad, like on the verge of crying but too broken to have any more tears to shed.
That kind of beauty.
Low key, before it was just crying. A lot.
I’ll be ‘archiving’ Listening to Georgiana in the future, but you can still read it on Tapas!