This is my first blog since giving him the address to this page. I’d thought about it from the moment I wrote down the first word. I wanted him to want to know what was going on in my mind. I wanted to let him know when he was hurting me and why. I didn’t though. My reasoning was probably two fold. I am writing here solely for myself and I didn’t want this to be a place where I had a specific audience. The other reason was simpler. I thought he’d be mad. He’d be mad that I was so sad and lonely and angry and that I hadn’t really cut back on my drinking.
His response was a straightforward question: “Why are they all bad? – But you never write about happy stuff.” He was right. I try sometimes. I write about the projects that are unwittingly pulling me through my depression but that’s far from happy stuff. The truth is that my situation, the fear, the embarrassment, and the unknown cloud even the happy times that I’ve been having.
Today I could write about how the nightmares are starting to get worse again, how they’ve started me talking in my sleep again, the way my back aches, the way I want a drink right now. I could write about the chill in the air that numbs my face and the dark clouds that refuse the sun entry today.
Instead I’ll ponder the direction of this blog now that I know he might read it. I’ve decided it will stay on the solemn course that has been set. I’ve never censored myself for any other reason and I’m not going to start now.
But maybe, just maybe, I’ll try to start writing about the bits of happiness in my life.
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