My attempt at actual real journaling. Here I go.
I’ve always been vague.
Penning my emotions in a flowery emotion seeking way. Pulling you in the direction of your pain, but never quite diving into my actual raw reality. It’s easier that way. Saying just enough so you can relate my words to your struggle. My struggle to your pain. Enough to make it possible to have an idea of where I’m headed, But never enough to explain it completely. To be vulnerable completely. To take ownership completely. If I didn’t ever say these things directly, I didn’t have to admit I was that sad excuse for a woman at one point. That I was that weak. That I allowed such humiliation to be not only part of my life, but a daily portion of it. I was that girl I shook my head about in stories like mine,raising my eyebrows thinking smugly “I wish someone would treat me like that!! I’d go OFF!!” And all of the other “I’d never” statements we so easily say when the situation doesn’t directly involve us. I didn’t realize, I didn’t allow myself the time to slow down and realize the reality that I was her. I did put up with and accept a great deal that I shouldn’t have. And that’s a difficult thing to say out loud.
I started this blog for self help. For therapy. For healing. My goal was to purge all of this tar that lines my soul. You know the stuff. Emotional pain. Years of it. Funny thing about emotional pain. When you Bury it, refuse to face it or deal with it, it turns into this thick, black, suffocating substance that, without warning, multiplies itself until it’s all encompassing and you can’t move. Your legs turn to lead. Your eyes can’t close. Your voice is silenced. And you’re left standing frozen in room that created it. In the circumstance that forced you to bury it in the first place. And it plays out over and over on the largest screen imaginable and you can’t move to get away from it. All rational thought is gone. And fear takes over everything that’s good and turns it into the equivalent Of the hell you’ve been through. It twists you and laughs at your attempt to be happy. “You actually think you deserve this new life? You think he won’t find out who you really are? You actually think you’ll ever be enough for him??”
So here I am. Trying to unbury it all. Resurrect it all. Feel it all. Compartmentalized it all. And just get it the hell out of me. It will twist and turn into so many directions at once your head will spin. It will be long winded. It will hurt. It will not make sense. But it will be the truth. I’m going to be strong enough to lay it all out. The whole story.