It takes a lot to write what I do. It takes a lot to trust others with the darkest, most vulnerable parts of oneself. It takes a lot to recover from death and abuse and being misunderstood - regularly. It takes a lot to write about a painful relationship and still somehow find some redemption in it. I am driven. I have focus. But I have feelings. 80% of you seem to respond to that and in some way it makes you feel like maybe you can have more courage to speak your mind. Like you're not alone. The problem is when you speak your mind, someone is always going to take it personally. See themselves in it too closely. There's no way to avoid it nor can I. But it hurts.
Going through this relationship that just ended - harshly - was more painful than I ever expected it to be. I trusted a situation. I should have trusted myself. Difficult to swallow at times. And this breakup, as harsh as it was the 6th time it happened, played too much on my belief that people are innately good and loving. It's not easy to realize that it isn't true. And yet somehow, in spite of it all, I still have to believe people are. This break up followed a divorce. And while my ex-husband and I are incredibly good friends, the heart was raw. Divorce, even nice ones, still make you feel like you've failed. Add children to the mix and you feel like you've done something awful. I needed to recover from the first failure but I believed. I needed to and these blogs, these comments, it's my soul exposed, blood dripping, completely wounded. When you move on and convince yourself it's going to be better and come to see that the thing you believed, the notion of optimism and hope becomes a total lie, it rips your heart out. And, in the process, I have found that there are only a couple of friends that will really listen and love you when you're feeling totally broken. And so because its in my nature to want to be there for everyone else, I don't let many people be there for me because when I do, well, it just hurts. Hurts when you feel like maybe it's unimportant. Still, when life throws you into a brick wall, your flesh feels like its barely dangling, you find another outlet. I write about it. It's my way to feel like I'm not going to implode. I don't speak every thought in my head like literary diarrhea or write every time something bad happens but if I block it, if I don't speak up, if I don't admit that I feel like a complete fool because I chose to ignore every telltale sign, I'm lying to myself. I'm not being a very good example to my daughter if I start lying to myself.
So I'd like to ask for a little understanding. Empathy. An emotion not many openly embrace. You can judge me if you want because god knows I can say "that was purple" and somehow someone will hear "you look like a squished grape". There is only so much I can do. Only so much I can keep inside. I try to do the right thing regularly. I'd take a bullet for any one of my true friends. I'd sadly probably take a bullet for a stranger if I thought they were a decent enough human being. So when I'm broken, weak, angry, I rant. I write. And I share it with you because a long time ago I made a deal. If it makes it way to paper, it is no longer mine.
So you can read my posts and get angry at me for having opinions and being faulty and for not letting someone off the hook. I will always move forward. Always find my strength again. I'm not in this to gain popularity or win some sort of "like me" contest. I do what I do because I will make this world a better place whether that's by calling someone out or exposing my "crazy" or saying to someone who I feel did wrong, "you were wrong". I'm imperfect. I'm a writer. I have a responsibility to stick with writing the way I do because it's all a very significant growing process. Does that mean I get impulsive and just "react", yes. But honestly, knowing even one person feels like, because I write something that might make me look like an idiot, allows them to find some solace in what I've said, that's enough for me. Change doesn't happen in one fell swoop. Change happens slowly, one thought, one word - nasty or kind or vacant or deep or funny or random - at a time. I can't "make" anyone see who I am. The only way to do that is time and my previous blogs have been more about realizing that I wasn't being seen. I was being type-casted.
