When I started this writing challenge, I didn’t think some things through.
I didn’t imagine that my heart would ache so much that I wouldn’t want to write about anything else. I didn’t think that I couldn’t mask my pain. It was a really stupid assumption. My writing, today and always, has been my constant outlet. Things I couldn’t whisper even came out effortlessly in words. To the paper, screen and keyboard, I made myself vulnerable. I didn’t ever make those words public before. They were private battles fought in closed rooms. Maybe I preferred it that way.
As signs of it emerge in my writing, I am uncomfortable. I find I am being sentimental. I am struggling to embrace that I cannot always be happy, cheerful or even wearing a perfect mask. I am learning to not be uncomfortable by others knowing of my sadness, even momentarily. I am trying to stop pretending.