“You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.”
I have seen memes all over social media that claims this was a Hemingway quote, but that is absolutely false. Walter Wellesley Smith was asked if writing was a difficult task for him and he was quoted as saying, “Why, no. You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.” *
I wish it were that simple for me to do. I wish I could speak my truths eloquently, so that I may celebrate those who have helped me to elevate myself and spare the feelings of those who have been such a detriment to my emotional and spiritual health. I feel angry and heartbroken and used. And the only person that can change that is me. I am trying to find the joy in my suffering. I am trying to rediscover who the fuck I am. I am trying to genuinely love myself for who I know myself to be, not who I have been conditioned to be. I have done a great disservice to myself in many facets by allowing the thoughts, feelings and actions of others to influence the things I do, and the way I think about and speak to myself.
When I was in active addiction and it had driven me into the underbelly of Rochester, I did not even see myself as a human being. I was driven by heroin the way a wild animal is driven by instinct. I allowed myself to live without basic human needs. I allowed my mind to convince my heart that I was not worthy of self love or the love of my family and friends. I allowed others to treat me as sub human. I did not demand respect or consideration from people. I did not voice my opinions or thoughts, because I did not have any.
Survival mode as a heroin addict only revolves around one thing. Heroin. Until you either get better or die, that will not change. I could find no value in my life and I accepted that my fate was to die alone on those streets. I had accepted that heroin would take my life and I was waiting for that sweet embrace.