It’s impossible to read what I have written without getting palpitations. It sometimes feels like am sitting there reading someone else’s terrifying memoir.
Every time I revisit what I wrote sadness consumes me as I ask myself if it was necessary for me to experience such pain and if so to what end?! Do I really have to write and if so to what end?!
To what end because I am definitely not healing, in Fact me putting my feelings down on paper has not been therapy because the paper does not offer any counselling, it just absorbs my heavy tears if anything the paper Is a diary. A diary that reminds me of the wounds I wish life and people had never inflicted. It seems because of my writing I will always be afflicted. My writing will always be salt to a deep gash, a twist of a knife in the heart.
How can I like what I write when it’s all based on trauma and pain that I personally experienced. All it does is take me back to things I wish I had Been exempt from.
It might be a release this ability to pour my heart out from pen to pad but reality is that it evokes feelings One thought were dead but instead time Just put to bed only to be woken by these visits to the diary.
I wish i could like what I write, wish I could smile about what I write, wish I could be numb when I read what I write and not feel. Wish i could pour my heart out through writing but as I jot down the memory of what inspired the piece be wiped from my mind and heart so That when I revisit nothing resonates with my trauma or bad experiences.
I like the fact that I can write how I do but not what I write!