Ladies and gents, my parents now have access to my blog.
Or they will, as soon as I post this and send them an invite.
I know, I’ve harbored huge reservations about allowing my parents to read this blog. As much as I love them and as much as I love sharing my writing with them, the goal of this blog has always been brutal honesty, and the thought of my parents reading that kind of stuff from me made me cringe a little.
But I’ve learned something about honesty lately; mainly the fact that, no matter what I claim, I am far from honest and authentic with those about whom I care the most. (Conversely, I have no qualms about baring my soul to strangers on the internet. How does that work?)
That’s the one downside to being raised to develop a self-reliant and indomitable attitude: you learn to rely on yourself so much that you forget how to rely on other people (and God); you forget how to (and come to hate having to) ask for help; you would rather stumble over your own pride than admit you don’t know what you’re doing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always known I can rely on my family and turn to them if I need help, but we tend to be a tad inclusive. It’s in the blood, on both sides. This has resulted in me having trouble retaining friends and developing deep relationships with people.
Lately, a number of things in life slowly worked me into one of the darkest places I’ve yet seen. I was stuck inside my own head, feeling helpless and inadequate. I was back to going through the motions, having lost interest in any of the things which used to excite or intrigue me. Instead of reaching out for help from people I know have been there, I spent all of my time either keeping quiet or lashing out to alleviate some of my frustration.
It was a while before I realized I was doing this, and it took even longer for me to admit I seriously needed help. But I never found the courage to speak up, so I got more and more frustrated and bitter.
Thankfully, Mom showed up and I forced myself to speak, even though what I had to say hardly made sense to myself. I just had to get it out and relieve some of the pressure on my chest. Then I admitted I needed help to work through this.
Thus the invite to my parents for them to read my blog. I have always had an easier time sorting out my thoughts on the page than through the spoken word, and many of those thoughts – strange, quirky, dark, and sharp – end up here. Being my biggest advocates, I believe Mom and Dad deserve to share in this. Frankly, I miss having them among my audience. Also, I have no desire for them to read my personal journal, nor do I think they would be able to decipher my handwriting.
I suppose this was going to happen eventually, so I guess it’s a good thing I’ve got all of the introductory posts out of the way.
To Mom and Dad:
Thank you for loving me. I can promise you none of what has happened lately is your fault. I’m a mostly-independent adult, I know my own mind, and I have always been confident in the fact that you are there if ever I need you. Please don’t blame yourselves for not realizing what I was going through; I know I’m normally an open book, but I took extra pains to conceal this battle.
Also, in the spirit of anonymity and my best attempts at transparency, I’ve been blunt at times about some of the moments we’ve shared. I kind of want to apologize for that, but at the same time…. Well, I’m not going to delete any of those posts.
I do still love you more than anything.
To everyone else who, for whatever reason, has decided to follow this blog:
Thank you for reading. I have always written for myself before anyone else, but it is nice to know that at least some of what I write resonates with other human beings.
Now it’s onward and upward to brighter things!
Edit: There is one song which almost perfectly describes how I’ve felt lately (like, for the last year). That song is On My Own by Ashes Remain. I know, it’s not what I normally listen to, but it speaks too clearly to me for me to write it off based on the style.