But somehow, the words keep escaping me. The inability to form sentences or paragraphs, my heart holding my hands hostage, can't set pen to paper, staring at a blank screen. Because when it's released, my heart can't deny it. My brain cannot override those authentic feelings spilled out, a stain...my story staring back at me.
So I stopped.
If I do not write it, it does not exist. Until it suffocates me. Truth swelling up, invading every part of me until I cannot breathe. I must be free.
Freedom is in living my truth, in sharing my truth, in writing my truth.
I've been in bondage a long time. So much so, that it hurt to even write it out.
Recently, I looked back at the last year of my journaling before I quit, again, and I could not "unsee" it. I could no longer deny that I had not been true to my self. I could not rationalize the pain, say it "wasn't that bad."
If I hadn't written out the little bit that I did, I most certainly would have continued to make destructive decisions. I didn't realize the importance of that self reflection, and how much it tied into recognizing my worth. I also could no longer make excuses for what I'd been dragged through. My writing in a lot of ways set me free.
I abandoned this blog because life had become overwhelming and it was important to me to be authentic, with you. I still am not sure how I will go about sharing parts of my life while also maintaining some privacy and trying to make sense of all the things that seem to be happening to me. I know this blog is a vessel. I know my story is meant to help someone.
Stick with me, and I'm going to try and stick it out. In the meantime, start writing! Save your writings, self reflect. Sometimes the deliverance is already in you. But you can't see it because it's all convoluted inside your head.