There are limits everyone has in their lives, binding their arms as they attempt to grasp at their dreams. Those limits can be the most frustrating at times, holding a person back from what they want, or trying to achieve their whole entire existence. These obstacles are walls so high, ones that you want to finally throw your exhausted body over and climb down to freedom, the top out of sight above the clouds. Sometimes they tighten around your wrists or your ankles, where you can do nothing but wince in pain, going through life feeling the agonizing grip.
Some limits are like a comforting blanket, enveloping you in warmth and safety, keeping you from needing to release the grip. These limitations disguise themselves as personality traits, genetic make up, reasons covering you for any out-of-the-ordinary turns you take in your life. These binds, made of cool velvet or the finest silk, feel smooth against your skin, never rubbing the wrong way, and the fear of losing that feeling keeps those silk ties wrapped around you tighter, as if it were a part of you.
Here I sit in front of my computer, looking at the reddish wounds wrapped around my wrists, the scars of being bound so tight that those ropes not only marred my skin but my mind. Binds like those are like evil charm bracelets, each charm a searing metal skewer delving into my being, reminding me that "I can't do this or that", slowly tapping away at my self-esteem and self-respect, to a point where Humpty Dumpty doesn't look so bad, laying on the ground in pieces.
I love writing - blogs, short stories, journals - love lyrics to great songs, great screenplays. I have been blogging for years, laying out my day-to-day life in three separate blog sites. I was initially turned on to blogging through a workmate, whom was reading Dooce, a daily journal of a woman and her experiences with work and family. Turns out she was sued for blogging about work in a negative light. I was intrigued on the effect it would have if I spent some time writing out my activities and feelings. I knew, and still know today, I have nothing to hide (well, of what I publish), and use writing as a more cathartic way of releasing my feelings without people interrupting mid-thought, giving their mostly unwanted opinions.
One of my original blogs disappeared into the internet abyss, upgrades to websites and operating systems, disappearing into the vortex of information floating in the Cloud. I've tried to search for it but to no avail, I gave up. Another was on a fan-site for my favourite movie saga, all theme based for the movies, or written specifically about topics discussed on the site. This blog didn't last long but it was fun while it lasted. Again, another lost blog for which I have searched, and failed. The third and still growing blogsite, this one right here, has been up and running since 2006, some months barren of posts while others full of creative, and not so creative, posts. Many of my friends, workmates and family have read some or all of my additions to this monumentous amount of stuff spilled out on the screen of my computer, brain to tips of my fingers, typing out my view on the world around me. I rejoiced in the interest and the commendations of my skill of writing. One customer said they came across this blog through a friend, and it was a thrill to know it was mine. She was amazed at not only connecting the dots and pinpointing the author, but also just simply that she found it through word of mouth and none of that information came from me at all.
Recently, I felt a tightening around my wrists, foreign to this outlet in my life, limiting me from one of the things in life I love. It didn't come in one fell swoop but more of a trickle, like the Chinese Water Torture I have seen in so many movies. I stay in touch with friends, family, past and current work mates, work and the mishmash of celebrity trash news on Facebook. With this I knew that posting stuff that is questionable can put me, and anyone, in hot water. I had a friend whom was kicked off due to his political comments he posted. He is now back on with an alias, which Zuckerberg's camp found, but allowed him back. I'm sure he is being watched more closely than the rest of us innocents. I started to get warnings from my work to remove certain posts, unrelated to work, because they were unprofessional. Ouch. Then, I was made to feel even more stifled, when I realized my employers were Big Brother, spying through every detail of my profile, and anything connected to links I posted, specifically my blog. This didn't make me flinch at first, that is until my blog posts were turned around on me, and my integrity and psychological state was in question. That's when I went into emergency lock down. Before I knew it, after confronting my employer on his irrational judgement of my state of being, him referring to a blog I wrote in 2006 (8 years ago) regarding my mother and my similarities to her, I began realizing my days were numbered and I was feeling more and more like an outsider. It was a post I put up every year, on the anniversary of her death, in memory of her. I was also questioned on my posts on Facebook of pictures of my most recent sad event of my cat of 20 years, which I had to put down, mid summer, in the middle of the most chaotic month of the year - the apex of sales for my work. Ouch. Lockdown in affect.
Being fired for a specific action, understanding what went wrong and learning from it - this is all part of life. I am currently unemployed, fired for a reason that is in question. Regardless of the circumstances, I feel obviously confused, and am sitting on a bit of money from the termination, in lockdown still from Big Brother. I had to break the ties, remove the tight ropes that hold me back from things I love, writing especially. Lockdown means Facebook, Instagram, and Google+. Any connection, friend, circle, needed shutting down, privacy settings set to red alert lockdown. This was the only way to let the last friends I knew were friends, back in, through the secret entrance. Friends whom support me and my love for writing. So here I am, on a rock with my writing, only two bridges so far to this island, to read my blog. A blocking war waged throughout my social network. I know this isn't full proof but it deters the casual spy, and if they dig farther, so be it...
(Days Later)...lockdown released. I wait for the slings and arrows to come my way...