Knocked Out No Longer

I write to…

February 26, 2015May 15, 2017by Kim2 Comments

Even without meaning to, there are always reasons behind every action that we make. We might not be aware of them at the time, and sometimes it takes a lot of reflection to decipher our own mind’s intentions, but they’re there if you dwell on them long enough. Thinking about why I’m so passionate about writing and why I want to make it my life lead to a few reasons why I spend so much time holed up with a pen, a journal, my computer, and some music; why I write.

I write to make sense. My thoughts are so often jumbled and disorganized and don’t make a single drop of sense. However, when I get those thoughts and emotions out on paper, everything makes a little more sense. When I can re-read my thoughts, I can find motives and reasons behind actions.

I write to remember. I make the same mistakes over and over and over again. I feel like I’ve fallen in love with the same person three different times, but writing down all the experiences the last time around has helped me keep a more practical view. My memory hasn’t been the same after a hit to the head several years ago, and writing keeps me on track.

I write to inspire. I’m not good at a lot of things. In fact, I’m pretty terrible at most things. The one thing I’m good at is writing to be relatable. In everything I write, I want people that might be struggling to know that they aren’t alone. I want people to feel like they can conquer their demons because I’m doing an okay job at that through writing.

I write for therapy. I write because putting my hurt into words helps to remove myself from a bit of the pain. There’s something wonderful in the healing process of looking back to when the pain was fresh and seeing how you’ve made it through the worst parts.

I write because I have to. I write because if I don’t, I get incredibly irritable and cranky. I get frustrated and rude. I get so emotional, but when I finally get that pen and paper back out, the bad feelings just flood out of me and I feel peace and contentment again.

I write to keep myself sane.

A collection of journals, stories, and poems

listening to: Muse, Father John Misty

writing

Six sentences

February 25, 2015May 15, 2017by Kim2 Comments

Inspired by my writing class, a (very feeble) attempt at a micro-story on love:

She had regretted her decision for years and only wished that she could get those six years of lost time back.

He had been hurt by love one time too many, so he couldn’t allow himself to truly need her, no matter how much he might want her.

They gave it a third try- a try after moves across the state, the country, the world.

However, once you fully and completely break the heart of someone who once loved you without holding back, the trust can never be regained.

So she let him go.

Willing to shoulder all the hurt and blame, she let him go.

Paris, France - July 2014 — Paris, France – July 2014

mental health

A Bit Too Exhausted

February 24, 2015May 15, 2017by Kim3 Comments

I’ve been relatively quiet lately.

There’s something that happens to me when I spend a lot of time out with friends. I become mentally exhausted and really just too worn out to get any sort of outside work done. The past few weeks has been all about hanging out with friends, working, and even a weekend trip to Austin.

The thing is, no matter how social I seem to the outside, I’m an introvert at heart. I’m a person who needs quiet time to reflect on emotions, actions, choices…and I haven’t had any of that lately. Often times, I don’t even realize that I’ve missed out on that quiet recharging time until I get so restless and anxious that I feel irritated by everything going on around me.

Now it’s time for a simple confession: I haven’t written in almost two weeks. I haven’t even tried.

I know I shouldn’t have any excuses. For someone who wants to be a published author, I really should be more dedicated to writing and put everything else lower on my priority list. But sleep has been taking over. Depression has been trying to fight its way back into my life. Thoughts of future responsibilities have me wanting to run away and forget that I owe anybody anything.

If you don’t know me in person, I’ve found myself in a bit of a unique situation. I’ve written about my adoption multiple times, but what I haven’t really hit on is that my parents are older. Older than even some of my friends’ grandparents. While they are right now still in relatively good health (which I jokingly tell them they owe me for), the truth is that I don’t feel like I’ve gone through enough life stages to have parents who might need me to stick around for a more permanent style of care. I have so many things I want to do with my life, but I can’t justify many of them if anything were to happen to my mom or dad. There’s no way I can live halfway across the world and expect them to be perfectly content with some stranger giving them the full-time care they might need in 10 years.

There’s one thought that keeps running through my head: right now, being a grown up is the most undesirable and hardest thing I can think of. I want to be free. I want to run off and make all sorts of decisions just for selfish reasons. i suppose that’s the key though. The key to maturity is realizing how difficult growing up and taking on responsibilities can be, but fighting through it anyway and making the best of hard situations. It means putting others before yourself and maybe giving up a few of your own desires along the way.

Getting back to my original thoughts now. I’m finally getting some actual alone time in a few days that will last for over a week, and that thought is the golden thread in my life at the moment. I’ll have a house to myself, actual quiet with no distractions bustling around downstairs. I’ll finally get to do what I’ve been dreaming of for months: turning off the internet and my phone and just writing. Writing in whatever room of the house I choose, writing at whatever time of day I desire, writing for hours without being reminded that I need to eat something or sleep. I’m taking one entire day completely to myself. That kind of recharge is exactly what I need to function.

I’ve rambled a bit off topic, but it’s late and I’m experiencing one of those word-vomit moments, the kind of moment where you’re finally writing again and all of your thoughts just pour out of your mind and through your fingertips. I suppose that I just needed to get these thoughts out. There’s something oddly therapeutic about blogging for me. Journaling is still probably my favorite form of writing, but blogging gives my brain the opportunity to think that there’s somebody out there reading all of this nonsense and knowing exactly how I feel. So if that’s you, thank you. Even if you never comment, but just have read any line of anything I’ve ever written, thank you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Austin, Texas - February 2015 — Austin, Texas – February 2015

listening to: Father John Misty

Social Issues

Call to Arms

February 11, 2015May 15, 2017by Kim2 Comments

“All of us seem to have something to rebel against. For most of us, it’s the East Texas bubble that we grew up protected by for so long. It’s the conservative viewpoint that refuses to acknowledge the other side might have some answers as well. It’s our parents and striving to be nothing like them. We might have our failures, but they won’t be the same ones as theirs. We’ll accept our failures and attempt to learn from them. We’ll be open and honest and willing to share our sad experiences with each other instead of hiding them from the world in shame.

We’re learning that everybody makes mistakes for nobody is perfect. So we don’t strive for perfection. Better to celebrate our imperfections and enjoy how we can all be different but still enjoy the mad dance we’re all caught up in. We spin and twirl and we don’t know where we’ll end up, but it’s a beautiful experience while we’re all together.” -an excerpt from my Day 8 of Write Yourself Alive, an unedited stream of consciousness prompt

My mind works in an interesting way. I get really focused on one idea, but instead of just thinking about that specific topic, my thoughts wander all over the place and somehow tie everything else that pops into my head back to the original idea. This idea recently has been the emerging culture in Tyler, and how my generation, the collection of young creatives that are starting to band together, can help change and grow that culture.

There is so much talent I’m surrounded by every day. On top of the talent though, there’s a thirst for change. There’s a desire for creating inspiration. The issue is that we are still going unnoticed by many in the area we live in. We’ve got musicians, writers, inventors, entrepreneurs, creators of every kind, and it’s only a matter of time before we start making a real difference in our town. We live in an old town mostly run by old money and old ideals. I’m not saying we need a 180° turn from that, because we do need to take the time to learn from those generations, but our time is here. Opportunity is waiting for us to just reach out and grab it.

There’s a coincidence I find quite funny. My blog name, Knocked Out No Longer, came about from my divorce. Both my previous blog and my jewelry business had “K.O.” in the title because those were my initials at the time, and I always liked that they also stood for “knocked out”. When my marriage ended, it was if I was coming alive again- like there wasn’t the constant badgering and hurt causing me to live completely checked out from what was going on around me. Now, as I start writing more and more about the life I’m growing in this place I swore I would never return to, and as I see all of these people around me, I feel like this blog (or at least the title) is somewhat of a battle cry- a call to arms that our generation won’t be knocked out or knocked down any longer. It’s a way of standing up and making the older generations in the town notice us and appreciate what we have to offer and bring to the table.

So, I suppose this is mostly a call to those friends who support these ideals and want to see change happen. Yes, we make mistakes. Yes, we’re young. Yes, most of the people around Tyler don’t take us seriously yet. But we’re the generation that will create the change needed in this town. We can have a different outlook than our parents, our grandparents. We can take ideas and run with them. If we make mistakes, learn from them and continue. We’re resilient. We can do this.

MMK, Frankfurt, Germany - April 2014 — MMK, Frankfurt, Germany – April 2014

listening to: Father John Misty, Portugal the Man

writing

The First Seven

February 6, 2015May 15, 2017by Kim3 Comments

I have a project that I’ve slowly been working on. A project that will hopefully chronicle the growth and strength of the culture I’ve mentioned a couple times prior in this blog. When the writing course I’ve been going through prompted us to work on some character descriptions and development, I was so excited because this was the perfect shot of adrenaline that I’ve been needing.

These are all based on people that I know and love dearly. The descriptions might be embellished here and there to create more interest, but this was an incredibly fun exercise. I only made it to seven people, but I’m hoping to expand this and possibly do some extra characters each week.

She flitted from group to group as if she knew everybody. She looked young, but seemed ageless. When she chose to, she could turn those crystal blue eyes on you and flash the brightest smile like you were the greatest person on the planet and her best friend. She was free, a hippy child born far past the era she belonged to. Under the freeness, however, was a vulnerability. If you took the time to get to know her, you noticed the expressions of uncertainty that flashed across her face when nobody was really paying attention. Through it all, she loved. She loved more fiercely than anyone I had ever encountered.

He had an aura of serenity enveloping him. His smile was slow and steady, and although he looked quite young in general, his eyes were ancient. When he chose to grace someone with his undivided attention, he looked as if nothing in your soul could be hidden from him. As terrifying as that should have been, his air of total acceptance put even the most unsettled person at peace. He was attractive in the traditional sense, but there was something oddly majestic about the way he carried his tall frame. You could see that he had dealt with many demons throughout his life, but his utter acceptance and love for everybody he met was proof of his strength.

His hair was untamable. His laugh was infectious. His smile was proof of his love for life and the people he surrounded himself with. He looked like the kind of person who could instantly befriend anybody, but it betrayed a little of his uncertainty if you looked carefully.

A third man sat in the corner with his phone in one hand and a pitcher of beer in the other. He hardly glanced up at all, but when he did, there was an attitude of melancholy that radiated off of his entire self. He wore a red beanie that sometimes served as a form of armor- a protection that prevented him from being completely vulnerable.

She walked in with the guy with the untamable hair. She knew his feelings- she knew that he wished they could be together and have a happily ever after, but her actions showed that she just didn’t care if she hurt him or not. She was careless- careless in a way that many viewed as attractive, but not in a way that brings any sort of value to a community. She lived her life without remotely caring about the feelings of people who dreamed of caring for her, so she left a path of destruction in her wake.

They were the ideal rocker couple. He expressed all of his emotions through his guitar, and she showed her love and support by being front row every single time he was on stage. He was the most introspective-looking man around, one who had thoughts running through his head constantly, but was only able to express those thoughts through music. He always looked as though he was under the influence of something, which he might have been, but you could also tell he was constantly fighting demons- demons of addiction and overindulgence. She loved him despite all of this- she loved him so selflessly. It was a pure sort of love- a love that was constant and battled through the demons, a love that most people could only dream of. They shared a love that was pure despite all of the dirt that tried to fight them.

listening to: Portugal the Man

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