I wonder, sometimes, if I put too much of me in things, if the balance is wrong. I have the feeling of something being wrong, at least, but I am not sure what, not entirely. Are there stories digging too deep into the private darkness of a character’s mind, or stories hinting of too much of a much more private darkness than theirs? There is something uncomfortable about that thought, and I imagine it being much too uncomfortable for a lot of people. This is a day where the very idea of me is uncomfortable. Too personal, too emotional, much too wrong all over in all kinds of ways.
It is not that I mind people knowing me so deeply and completely, but that knowing me so is, perhaps, not a good thing at all.
I doubt who I am and what I do, and I want to set all writing aside and leave it. Not because there is nothing left in me to tell, of this world and others, because there is, there are so many stories in me that it is an ache that wants out, but I am too slow in putting them out, and when I have I feel so utterly useless.
Breathing is difficult enough as it is. Last week was utterly demolished due to my father calling, several times. One of the phone calls I was crying all the while, close to hysterical, and he never once asked what the matter was, how I was feeling, if there was anything he could do. Not a thing. He chattered on about nonsense and I cried and cried. And that stupid phone call brought me to the point where I cried during a call to a hotline instead, and was asked the question if I had ever filed a report for any of the illegal things he have done, and then the horrified question of why not.
Because if I did, if I had, everything would have been broken beyond all repair. But I think, now, that it might be anyway, and have been for very, very long.
Pressing charges is not going to do anything but break things even further, to alienate even more relatives, to bring it all to a he said/she said situation, and I will not be able to take it. It is too much as it is, even now.
I want to put everything down and just walk away. Not only him, and I have taken steps away already, but more.
Set everything aside and walk away. Leave the things that bring me so much despair behind. Lock away all stories, and for once guard my heart instead of leaving it so open.
Clinging to what hurts should be pointless. And I face things and I try to face things, but at some point it must surely be enough, at some point I must have done enough.
I want to turn away. I am so tired of facing all these things, and too tired to keep trying. I want to call so much a loss and walk away and not turn back, to go to places where there is no turning back from. Some things might be pointless to keep facing, and some things can never, ever get better. I feel like I might be one of those things, a useless thing, wrong and tainted and beyond fixing, and that nothing I do will ever matter.