I don’t want to write tonight, but there is nothing elseno solace anywhere except here with the blinking curser the darkness pulling close around the corners of the room and damn, I want to be like boho girl tonight: I want to be able to say that I’m experiencing tender emotions and am working through this gently but I don’t know how to do this; how to say this or to be gentle in this process of being wherever I am feeling right now.
I always feel like I need to have an answer and keep my chin up. I’ve somehow become so disconnected from my emotional life that all of this could be entirely hormonal and Id never know it was that time of the month.
The truth is days like this just add up—one small iteration, resentment, and minute heartache after the next and then wham! it hits like a stupid ton of bricks, and now, in these post Kickstarter days when everyone and their mother among my of ‘real life’ friends reads here, it feels…
Oh damn, the truth of it is I grew up in a family with a mother who struggled with depression; who was overtaken by her emotions; who became them, day after day sometimes, silently leaving the rest of us out—and I see myself in her some days.
And also this: my father always thought that my mother should chin up, and because my father was my favorite person in the world when I was a kid, I learned it well, and here I am chin fucking up.
Except I want to be the girl who can bring a little grace to this. I want to be able to say that I’m working through this stuff gently. I want, maybe most of all to say that I know how to be gentle with myself—but I do not.
I have no fucking clue.
I want the days back when I could write here without people from the context of my daily life wondering why I haven’t told them about whatever I’m writing here.
I’m mourning the anonymity I had once here.
I want to know why things are so small and so big at the same time. I want to know why men—most men anyways—always see things so impossibly literally and then walk away just when you want them to stay (though of course when they do return it’s the very last thing that you want.)
Sometimes. Tonight. Maybe.
So whatever. Bring on the concerned emails. Life just bites sometimes as it currently does and I don’t want to have to explain myself, and truthfully I might not know how to explain myself. Tonight I’m just sad, and hoping that when the morning comes I’ll feel better.