At first, I was going to get rid of the archives.
I was gonna toss every single entry like emotional trash, proverbial spring cleaning, if you will.
Because everytime I re-read them, and I do re-read them more than I will ever admit to anyone who isn’t a mental health professional, it’s like tearing open old sores with my fingernails, watching the tears I cried bubble up over the jagged skin not quite healed together prettily.
I’d be lying if I said I was over it all.
That I’d dealt with all of it appropriately or totally.
But then I thought, they’re my scars. They’re my stories.
So forgive me if I don’t regale you with tales of my day or the books I’m reading or the joys of cheese stuffed chicken. If that’s what you’re looking for, this is not the place for you.
And if you’d like to judge me for my content…