Tag Archives: guilt

Write What Hurts

Caught between pain and guilt, I started keeping a journal. I wrote every doubt, fear, and painful moment within its pages.  It’s starting to be filled with ink, the bleeding of my heart on pretty purple-lined paper.  It’s cathartic, but only in the moment of writing; my doubts and fears return to me after a brief rest, unsatisfied with their inky expressions.  I wonder, if I could somehow perfectly articulate the barbed storm within, would it finally subside?

I tell myself that my journal is not shameful, that I am merely attempting to capture the human experience.  The truth is that I am mortified at my own brokenness.  I hide and hold it within, like a child clutching the broken pottery pieces of their mother’s fine china.  The difference is that the child will be found out, scolded and forgiven.  I could hold my brokenness forever, and no one would know if I did not tell them.  And, because mental illness and internal struggle is not seen as heroic–though succeeding despite self-doubt and panic is the most heroic thing I have ever done–people do not care to be reminded that those they love are suffering.

I don’t want to be a burden on anyone, and though I am more than willing to share the burdens of others, I do not hand off my burdens to those I trust.  I’m a pack mule; I carry the baggage of the entire traveling party and endure the heavy weight with little complaint and a trusting expression.

I always said that I would be able to unburden myself if I ever found someone supportive enough that I could trust them with everything.  But that is putting the responsibility for dealing with my issues on another person–a childlike damsel-in-distress fantasy that I have long outgrown.  There is no hero coming to save me.  I shall have to unpack myself.

So, I have started journaling.  I’m writing what hurts, in an attempt to patch up the cracks in my soul.  I have several saddle-bags full of broken pieces.  I’m not sure which ones are mine and which ones belong to others, but maybe I could make a mosaic of the barbed edges, and maybe it could be beautiful.

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Someone’s a Special Snowflake.

I just checked my stats and some poor soul has been checking my blog nearly every day for the past week.  This is made worse by the fact that I haven’t posted in a very long time, so there was really no reason for them to check my blog every day in the first place except that maybe they really wanted something new to be there.

And now I feel horribly guilty because they probably thought I was murdered or institutionalized or forced into life as a hermit.

Okay, so maybe they didn’t think that.  But I still feel guilty.

I’ve been thinking about adopting a regular update schedule.  To cut down on my own self-imposed guilt at not posting regularly, and to also give people a reason to actually read my blog.  This whole haphazard posting style is probably not very conductive to gaining and maintaining an audience.

So what I’m going to do is start trying my best to get a post out on Fridays.

Eventually there may be a theme to my posts (I’ve also been thinking about starting a weekly “Hatefully Addicted” column), but for right now I’m just going to focus on a simple deadline, once a week.

If I miss a week, I’ll let you guys pick a punishment for me (kind of like what the vlogbrothers do), and I’ll take pictures of me doing whatever it is you’ve made me do.  Just be reasonable, please.  Don’t ask me to fly to the rainforest and cuddle with snakes, go on fear factor, or drink bleach.  Please.  I don’t care how well that anaconda can cuddle.  I’m not ready to die.