Confessions of Dallas Girl
I'm the kind of person who started journaling before I could form a proper sentence. It helps me process. It makes the world around me come together and make sense. Lately I've noticed, nothing is clear anymore. I'm looking at myself and thinking, "Who is that?" It has been years since I last sat down with my journal and cheap Bic pen and let it all out on those pages. This isn't for a lack of time or even laziness - I have so many great things to say, but those are not the things that I need to get out. The things I need to write about are terrible. Those crazy and raw thoughts that go through your mind. The complaints about life, God and humans. The "how the FUCK did I get here?" questions. I am so scared to put these thoughts on paper, get run over by a truck tomorrow and have the people I wrote about (the closest people to me) find it and those be the last things they read about themselves. That fear, as unlikely as it may seem, has kept me from writing. It has kept me from doing the one thing that works for me - the only thing that allows me to think, understand and move on. So - if you are offended by language, this isn't for you. If you are embarrassed by sex (or lack thereof), this isn't for you. If you like to hang with people who are like you, this isn't for you. I am like no one. I'm proud of that, but also, I hate that. Why is it that I need to be so different - why can't I just...blend in? You'll never understand me, but please do try.
I am sparkly, but I am dark. I am happy, but I am sad. I am smiling, but it's fake. I am working, but I wish I wasn't. I am great at what I do, but I feel like a fraud. I love who I am, but I wish I was someone else. I am grateful, but I want more. I am religious, but I am bitter. I am laughing so I can make it to tomorrow. I will tell you all about it. One day at a time.