The holidays were… not good. As a result, I’m fairly certain that once again, my dad is the only person in my family with whom I’m on good terms. Not sure if that’s out of pity or if the man’s a literal saint.
Last night I couldn’t sleep. My brain kept trying to write a letter to my family, explaining where he hell my brain is, and where it’s been. It wasn’t a letter of apologies. It wasn’t a letter of excuses. Just … hey, I’m a shitty communicator, here’s all of the shit I’ve been dealing with that I’ve never talked about. The internalized letter writing was making me cry, so around 11pm I got up, grabbed a Xanax and the laptop, and started typing. I stopped sometime around midnight:30, and it was another 15-20 minutes before my brain was wound down enough for me to pass out.
It felt good to write. Good to write out all of the things I wouldn’t let myself say. Good to exorcise the words from my head.
I did not send the letter. I might sleep on it a few times before I do, if I do. It’s one of those things that’s probably better for me to write than it is for anyone else to read. As much as I want to ask someone to proofread it for me — not for typos or grammatical errors, but for the maybe don’t be such of an asshole in this sentence, and tone down the sarcasm here sort of stuff — I feel almost like asking anyone else to read that level of angst would be a burden.
Ninety percent of it isn’t family drama. It’s me talking about my depression; coming out about being someone who experiences suicidal ideation on a monthly basis (thanks, PMS!); and coming out as gay, almost as an aside. It’s me telling my family stuff they might only know about me from vague inferences.
As always, whenever I remember how writing is a legit form of therapy for me, my brain tries to trick me into the idea of going back to blogging. It’ll stick for a few days, maybe even weeks. And then it falls by the wayside, like so many other new year resolutions. Maybe it’ll stick this time. Maybe not. But for now, it feels good. I’ll keep going as long as that holds true. And I’ll probably always leave this place up for me to come back to, for when the mood strikes.