Saturday, February 20, 2010

Destruction, reclamation

The last time I really paid any serious attention to my blog was in 2007, just after the killing blow that destroyed the last bit of hope and self-worth I possessed. Shortly thereafter, I started writing in a journal. Perhaps it’s because those feelings were just too raw, too close to the bone and quite frankly too fucked up for eyes other than my own. Looking back at them now, I see nothing but wrong-headed delusions; wishful thinking based on feelings I thought I needed to have in order to feel alive again. Indulging in the fantasy that I was important to at least one person who was important to me at the time.

Today I shredded that book, and along with it the crazy time I spent shattered and under the illusion that someone cared enough to at least gather up and carry around the pieces until I could heal and be re-formed and whole. The few passages I read made me sick inside; before I took a utility knife to it and sliced it into pieces so small they can never be reassembled into something recognizable as my words, my thoughts, or in any way ME. They’re on the trash heap where they belong, instead of boxed away, to be discovered in the future by myself (or worse, my family when I’m dead)… a reminder of that sick, broken person for whom even the illusion of a relationship was better than none at all. Bad choices, bad execution, regrettable actions.

That was 2007. It’s 2010 and I’m SO much better now…

I’m healthiest when I live out loud… blog my thoughts, feelings, passions and furies. Time spent journaling takes me to dark places and no good ends. It’s taken me this long to admit (though I’ve known forever it’s the case) that secrets, for me, are a cancer that spreads and destroys those parts of me that find joy in living and being with other people. If I can’t be me, just as I am, I may as well not exist… and I’m not quite ready for THAT yet.

Time for me to find my way back into the light…