Home » anxiety » I write for myself

I write for myself

I post some pretty personal shit here, no lie.

There are times when I forget that there are people out there, in my real world, who read this blog, because when I come here, to this blog, all I’m thinking about is the fact that I have something to say that I can’t express vocally.

Why can’t I say what I feel out loud?

Because I cringe from conflict, & am, despite the public persona I wear most of the time, very introverted and shy. 

I know some of you are laughing, but it’s actually true.

I joke a lot with the people I work with, use sarcasm & self-deprecation to diffuse tense situations, & generally behave like an out-going kick-ass, take-no-prisoners & suffer-no-bullshit kind of woman when I’m out in public.

But that’s just for show.

Inside, I’m still the nerdy, shy, scared girl who was incessantly picked on in high school. The one who was considered “fat”, wearing size 9 jeans as a senior. (Dear Gods, the horror of being 17, 5’7″, & 130 lbs.! I’d kill to be that size again, but won’t see it in this lifetime…)

I’m still the girl who would rather go horseback riding than go to a football game.

I’m still the girl who used to climb trees with a book, to spend the afternoon reading, alone, where no one could find me.

And I’m still the girl who will make up a story about chores at home, rather than having to face telling others she’s got anxiety.

*steering this derailed train back on the tracks*

Anywho… that girl, this woman, me.

When I started this blog, it was my safe haven, my sanctuary,  where I could scream into the darkness all that I felt, all that I had to say, because I was anonymous.  I wrote under my pseudonym,  Brea, ostensibly, to protect the privacy of my children, lest someone nearby read it & make connections. 

But, it was to protect that girl, too.
The one who still lives, & cringes from the past rejections & possible future repeats of rejections.

Slowly, over time, I let slip that I wrote a blog, & people who know me IRL started reading.

And, some of my posts have attracted people from my hometown, purely by chance, who’ve commented, shocking me so that I fall back, saying “OH, SHIT! Run! Hide! If they figure out it’s you, they’re going to point and laugh, just like they did in school!”

And then, there are days, when I have something that I really need to say, that burns & tears its way out of me…

And I forget that this isn’t my anonymous oubliette anymore.

But, then I shrug, put on the public mask, & say…

Fuckit.

I write for myself.

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