You guys seem to like these, so here you go – another one of my late night free-writing entries…

It’s hard for me to talk about things sometimes. Like actually sit down and share my feelings with someone. I never know how to start. The words may be there in my mind, underneath a flurry of other thoughts, but it actually takes a great deal for me to form them into actual words I can verbalize.

Writing is easier. There’s something about the physicality of putting pen to paper (or typing) that helps the words flow. It slows things down and allows my brain the time to fully form an idea before it ever reaches the world in a discernible form. But to just speak the thoughts… it’s too quick – too sudden. There isn’t time to fully and carefully work out the thought – to let it develop and grow into the reality of what it is. It doesn’t allow me the chance to really express myself fully and so I rarely do. Because if I can’t explain myself the way I want, with the time and care I need, then I don’t express my thoughts at all.

And to just speak the words – it’s so immediate, so permanent. There’s no way to alter or change what you’ve unleashed into the void. No way to take it back. And if you spoke it wrong, no way to correct misunderstandings or misconceptions that could form.

There’s a myriad of thoughts and issues dwelling under the surface here. Things no one knows or realizes because over the years I’ve learned to hide these things. To keep them to myself. Because I know my own insignificance, especially in the eyes of others. I know that I’m no more important than anyone else and that there are people who have it far worse than me. I’m not one to complain. I just bear it and move on.

And I think I’m afraid to share these thoughts. Afraid for them to be rejected, shrugged off or brushed aside. Afraid to be made to feel that my thoughts and feelings don’t matter. Because I’ve been made to feel that way before. It’s terrifying to talk about something so deeply personal and acutely real as your own feelings and emotions and thoughts. It takes an insane moment of courage to actually try to find the words. And they rush out all at once, quiet because you’re afraid to say them too loudly or to utter them at all. And then you wait with baited breath for the reply – terrified of what will happen if they take you seriously, and even more terrified if they don’t.

Because there is nothing more deflating, more earth-shattering, more heartbreaking than to be told your thoughts and feelings are invalid, insignificant, or trivial. It’s like a swift kick in the gut. It hurts. All the air is forced out of you and you almost can’t breathe for a second. Because it took all of your strength, all of your courage, to finally try and find those words you so desperately needed to say and have heard. And in seconds, your fears, your worries, your problems were dismissed. Dismissed by someone you finally trusted enough to share something incredibly personal with.

It’s hard to build that trust up in the first place and even harder to repair it once it’s been damaged, if it can ever be repaired at all. And so I write. I write for me. It gives me the time to form those ideas. To fully realize them for myself and if I feel brave – to share them with someone else.