So many times I've started to write about him. I can never bring myself to do it. There must be 14 drafts on here started and never realized. Because I'm scared. Because I don't want to give him the satisfaction.
If you've grown up in a house with someone who's not "normal," you've probably longed for just that. For just a bit of boring. For just a bit of a 1980s TV sitcom life. For just something constant that isn't pain or abuse or loathing.
He made me mad today. Actually he made me sad. He hurt my baby sister like when we were little, but this time with words not kicks. I had to step in, be the shoulder, be the clown. I felt 14 again. I hated 14.
I am working through lots of gunky stuff. 2011 was a nutty, life and death in your face kind of year and it's brought up a lot of shit. I want to blog, want to spill, but I'm guarded, protective. I don't know how to blog like this. I want to tear open the scabs and spill, raw, festering, oozing...
So I put it in a journal, the old kind, with lines and ink. There's no audience, it's not as satisfying, but in the end there will be The Work. The Work is all I dream about, all I long for. Yet I am afraid that The Work will not change anything, will not provide the fulfillment I seek.
And as I type this I know that I must provide that satisfaction for myself -- right now. That I can't put so much expectation on the future, which doesn't exist. So I write, in the now.
3 comments:
But even the journal, that nobody will see, feels good, doesn't it? That's why we write, right? To work it out, to feel it, to dissect it, to put it back together again.
Keep doing it, because one day I'm going to want to read it.
That's what a journal is for, to write down everything that bothers/hurts/angers you without fear of criticism or judgement. It's your place.
I saw this post when you put it up and didn't read past the first couple sentences because I knew it would be a big one and I wanted to spend some time with it.
I'm so sorry that you had to go through all this- again. Sorry you had to feel 14. Sorry that everything you've worked for such a very very long time all of a sudden melted down to nothing and you were left right there in that spot again. I hope that it was fleeting, but I know sometimes old wounds take a long time to heal when they are torn open again.
Love to you, you've been in my thoughts and will continue to be there for ever and ever.
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