18-Journal-last-entry

My pen can’t keep up with my brain. Throwing words on paper. Not knowing what each will be, until it is written. The thoughts come too quickly. Ideas abound. Jotting notes on loose sheets lest they be forgotten. Trying to decipher a few mere hours later, what they mean. Loving the adrenaline rush this new outlet gives me. Passing time when it stretches out in front of me. A path through a wood with no start and no destination. Infinity. This wonderful art form, discovered at such a middle age. How did I not notice before, that this was something I could do. Do well. Flow free. Release, from putting down most inner thoughts. No concern who I offend, who knows my truth. Truth is all I have. All I want. If you turn away, you were not a friend to me anyway. Some have said I should not write with such liberty. They are scared to share their inner core. I am petrified, but still the need exists. I must purge the devil residing in my core if I am to be free. Risking everything by baring my naked self on the altar of truth. Typing up and posting for the world to see, to judge, to learn, to love. I am not brave – this is a necessity. Layer after layer, until I reach the molten center of my being, though even I am unsure what it is made of. My inner soul, so difficult to know. Unsure as I am, I still must write, and write, and write. To vomit it out in the only form I can. Speech is good, but is washed away, before it has barely left my lips. This more permanent form helps me examine, poke, prod, reorder all. Hoping that insight is within reach. Why do I do what I do? Say what I say? Think what I think? Feel what I feel? Sometimes joyous, usually sad. Each as important as the other, to know thine own true self. I wonder for my children, if I should be so honest. If they were grown, it would be blatantly clear. I run the risk of this exposing them to my frailty. That no child should see in their perfect image of mother. I play the tug-o-war game, over and over in my mind. My need wins, and that is when my ink turns to pixels before my eyes. This time my fingers cannot keep up with my eyes. So eager am I to share my truth with the world. A need satisfied, a wish fulfilled, fear calmed just a little bit.

Let me get back to you. I have a great idea I must write down…

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