I'm not a reader, either.

I used to be a voracious reader.  Voracious.  I was the kid who always had a book - actually two or three, so that I could pick up whatever I was in the mood for - to fill the empty spaces of life. 

It helped with school, though not so much with social situations.  I got teased for using "big words," though I didn't do it to be pretentious.  It's just that I picked them up from reading so much, and one tends to incorporate what they have learned into their life.  Once, at a friend's slumber party, I told one of the girls that her new hairdo looked "sophisticated" - a compliment as far as I was concerned - and she locked herself in the bathroom crying, because she didn't know what it meant and thought that I had insulted her.  I much preferred the comfort and unreal drama of a book (or the company of animals), to interactions with unpredictable, and sometimes not very nice, humans.

I always chose fiction, particularly historical romance like Victoria Holt and historical romance time travel like Diana Gabaldon and historical vampire romance with time-travel like flashbacks like Anne Rice.  And ghosts.  Historical, um, romantic . . . ghosts........ok, that's sounding weird and I can't think of an author, but I'm sure there is one and I read it.  In other words, pure escapism.

Then, sometime around when the hardcore depression hit about 10 years ago, I unconsciously switched to nonfiction.  Because I think that the predominant reason for my crash was the clash between wanting to interact with the world, and my (perceived) inability to do so, I suppose I needed something real.  Travel, memoir, biography, personal essay -- anything that showed people doing and accomplishing things, living their lives the best they could, overcoming obstacles and finding peace and/or fulfillment.

And now?  Now I still carry books around in the topics that interest me, that mirror who I want to become.  They are like security blankets: something comforting and familiar that I think I can't do without, but that in reality was always a bit of a crutch.

That's not to say that I think books are superfluous.  Believe me, I'm not knocking reading.  I love and value books and what they have taught me. 

But there are multiple sides to everything.  Yes, I learned a lot, and there is always a need for relaxation and escapism.  But I often used them to hide, because real life (and especially people) seemed too inhospitable to me.  And I turned to them as a way to live because I believed that I did not know how to do that myself, that living somehow belonged to other people while I was meant to stay in a little cocoon, watching the world while remaining entirely separate from it.  

And it is from this part that I am apparently trying to break free.

And so I find that I can no longer read, at least not now.  Much like realizing that I am not a writer, it has been a slow and sometimes painful goodbye as I find it is extremely difficult to let go of something which has been such an integral part of me and a means of defining myself for over 30 years, especially when I don't yet understand why it is being cast off. 

As I continually bring home stacks of books from the library that I never read, I keep thinking "what is wrong with me?"  (Because unfortunately that is my default position.  And I'm working on that, too.)

It feels like I am losing myself because I cannot yet see, and perhaps don't trust, what is to take its place.  And that is very scary.

But as McCaffery said in this post, sometimes you have to let something go (fall apart) to make room for something else, even if you don't always know what that something else will be.

And seriously.  Most of the time, even if you think you know? 

You really don't know.

Comments

[Vextasy]

Put yourself in your friend's place. She's
made a special effort with her hair and you
tell her that it looks "so fisticated".
No wonder she cried - who wouldn't have? ;-)

[McCaffery]

Hi Stacia. I feel so honored that someone with your perspective and honesty would link to me and reference me. Thank you. Of course I enjoyed this, as well as your "I am not a writer" blog post that you also linked to.
Too tired to say much else, but as always grateful you started and continue the blog.

[Stacia]

Vexstasy - :-)

McCaffery - Thank you - I feel honored that you feel honored!

[k8]

I too, have been an voracious reader. And I still am. But I'm much less likely to hide behind it now. Part of that has to do with my recovery and part of it has to do with growing and building new hobbies. But my default is the backyard swing with a book. Nothing much makes me as happy (except sitting on the swing with the book and looking at my garden.)

[Stacia]

Looking at one's garden is amazing! I don't have one exactly this year (except for the volunteer plants, bless 'em) but in years past almost every evening my Love and I would just go walk through it and look at things. And, since we were organic, we'd always find and have to kill (nonbeneficial) bugs. Very romantic, that.