There comes a point in time where you have to make a decision. Or decisions. And sometimes, they’re easy ones and sometimes, they’re not. And then sometimes, you don’t make a decision and things just happen. Like not blogging for 2 months. Yeah, sorry about that. :/
But seriously. Decisions.
In all honesty, when I started this post, I was full of emotion. Four sentences in and my cell phone rang and the emotion went away, or at least got suppressed, because not everyone gets it. I’ve put up a front for so long and I’ve never said these things to an actual person so they must be fleeting feelings, …a farce, …a result of stress. Certainly, they can’t be things, or thoughts, that have invaded your mind for years. Decades, even. That’s not okay. I’m stronger, and happier, than that. Right?
Maybe not all the time. Maybe.
Once upon a time, when I was a teenager, I got counseling. Because of a boy. And I was forced. BUT, I truly needed it but I didn’t know it and I certainly wasn’t about to admit it. My feeling were held close. Tight. Walls were built. Huge, amazing, strong fortresses. I dared people to knock them down. I honed my acting skills. YES!!! I’m HAPPY!!! I did not cut myself for no reason at all!!!
Pay no attention to those evil thoughts. Those are only because you’re going through a break-up, a tough time, WHATEVER. They’re not real. All that negative self-talk is just part of the moment. It’s not part of you.
Just like now. I sit here and read what I’ve written and I wonder why I haven’t deleted the words. Why haven’t I? Do I really want to share this? I’m private. Closely guarded. No one is supposed to know. To see. Should I let you in? My grandma was tough as nails. TOUGH as NAILS. She’d been through so much (I’m privileged to know (took an act of God for me to find out) but I’ll never tell) but she, EVERY DAY, put on her skirts and her sweaters and her high heeled boots (fashion plate that she was. my style icon!) and she smiled and went through her day. She never let anyone know. That’s what she did. That’s what women did. That’s what moms and wives DO. We smile and put our game faces on and go through our day.
NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.
STRENGTH is the most important word we know.
But, maybe, just maybe, we cry later when no one is looking.
I don’t know.
I’m fricking 46 years old. Why have I not figured this out? Why is this just coming out now? WHY CAN’T I STOP FUCKING CRYING?!?!?
How have I not grown past this?
Okay, sorry. Let me pull myself together and be presentable for you. Where’s my smile?
I’m fricking 46 years old. Why have I not actually gone to somebody and talked about this? Oh, wait, what’s that? Perfection? Image?
(Should I let you in?)
#sorrynotsorry about the language. I’m 46. I’ve had two children. I have grandchildren, for goodness sake! I’m entitled to an “F” word every now and then.
I think it’s too much. It’s been too long. I need to go find help. I’ve had enough hiding. I’ve had enough pretending (someone, please dust all off my Oscars while I’m getting help. I’ve definitely earned them.).
But I’m scared. I’m not supposed to need help. I’ve got this. I’m strong, right?
Holy crap, why am I hitting publish? Should I let you in?