This story of mine…

This is my story, it’s not better or worse than anyone else’s, it’s just mine. Perhaps the only thing that really is mine, is my story. In a life where I have felt no control or ability of choice, I’m thankful to have this. And this life, this story, this part of me has fucken busted me down, it has shoved me into the dirt, it’s held my head beneath the water, and for so long I was on the edge of letting go…

But this is mine, and no one can take that away.

Let’s get some things straightened out before we continue together. I am no martyr, no hero, nor strong individual to share this for the betterment of others. I’m doing this for me…

And because of the simple fact that all of this can’t stay suppressed inside of me any longer.

I realize there is a, ‘pretty,’ way to tell this story, a way that shows you how mature I am for the way I look at it. The fact is though, that wouldn’t be truthful. I have hid behind  rationalization and, ‘unauthentic understanding,’ for so long.

I thought this was because I was being the, ‘bigger person.’ In reality it was a cloak for me to hide under.

I would hide beneath this cloak in order to not expose myself. Expose myself to the demons that are surrounding me 24 hours a day.

But, I am no longer going to try and do the right thing, or sound the way I think I should. I am going to fucking peel myself open, and whatever comes out isn’t going to be hindered by what I think is right or not. And honestly, I couldn’t be more fucking terrified…

What is this going to mean? What if family somehow sees what I’m doing, will there be anything left when I’m done?   But, I’ve tried to not do this about 1,000 times, and for every time I try not to, I feel it has only brought me closer to the point I am at now…

Drinking another beer, typing into this machine my deepest insecurities, and submitting it out into the ether…