How is it that others care to read these wordsthat i put to paper, I wonder. I put them here for various reasons, to get them out of me, someone’s so that i can forget them, and sometimes to try to benefit others. But some things that spill out of myself i cannot reread myself. How is it then, that others read and tolerate it.
Maybe it is time to answer another question: Why don’t I like what i write? I read about people who like or love themselves. I do neither of these. I like a few of my traits, but would not call it love. Part of the problem might be something that i learned a long time ago.
I have an aunt who I despise. There are a number of reasons for this among them are that she is a vile venom spewing bitch. I remember enduring one of the conversations that she and other adults are having. She was talking down about one of daughters, about how she loved herself and that it was a terrible thing. This, by the way, is a very mild example of things to come. Why don’t parents and other adults stop, shut their faces and think before they talk?
Like now, I am editing in my head things that shouldn’t be put down. They are things that I would like our of my head, but cannot bear to say. What does one do with them? I’ve buried them deep but still they come to the surface. Such disgusting things. Why won’t they go away on their own?
I hear that single voice in my head that tells me that I will never be enough.