I haven’t posted in three years. Wow.
So much has happened in three years.
Now emotionally better than I was over those years.
But H, my one true love, left me in May.
I’m broken. And I’m on the edge again.
How much truth can I tell about my life? That’s one reason I stopped writing here. Every truth I tell seems to be something somebody tells me I shouldn’t share. But MY story is what makes for interesting writing, and is the writing I NEED to do. I could write about current events. But 2 million more qualified people are.
I’m the only story I have to tell.
So how much “risk” can I take? If it were up to me, I would only keep names secret.
The first person I had sex with told me that I told too much of the truth. That’s always haunted me. That fact comes back in my life again and again. It seems like everything I want and NEED to tell the truth about is something I’m not supposed to.
I was raised to tell the truth, so except for me telling you your ugly blouse is pretty, I don’t really know how to NOT tell the truth. Especially about myself. I’m an oversharer.
I want so much to write my life. I NEED so much to write my life and share it with other people who might need to hear it. But apparently doing that puts me at risk. That’s the same cultural norm that crushes and silences other people who need to tell their truths. And It’s not like I’m one of those people with a $500,000 job or a husband, or kids that could be affected. I have very little to lose. But what I DO have I can’t afford to lose. And it’s still so much to risk. Despite the fact my story isn’t even that different from anybody else’s.
I have so much to say. But I feel like there’s very little I can say.
So much has happened in the last three years. I’ve gotten over Boo. I’ve gotten laid off. I got a new job. I got fired. I struggled for two years to find another job.
Things got bad. Things got better. H came back. Things got AMAZING! Then he ghosted and things got a lot worse. And I went broke. ($$$)
So why should talking about your financial struggles, addiction, your mental illness, your sexual assault, your relationship issues, your sadness, shame and grief be a risk to your livelihood?
What is wrong with us. This IS what’s wrong with us.
They say, “Your secrets keep you sick.” So where are the safe spaces to share them? Why can’t we be safe sharing our secrets with the world? Every “secret” I’m afraid to share is because of how someone else “might” judge it and use it against me. Killing someone is a secret it might seem reasonable to hide. Taking meds for having a mood disorder shouldn’t need be and struggling to live with a broken heart shouldn’t either.