Some days I open up the file for my entry, and I know exactly what I'm going to write about. Other days - like today - I have no clear destination in mind. I just start writing and whatever emerges becomes the official record, no matter how convoluted or ridiculous it turns out to be.

Not that I don't have a lot on my mind, some of it quite important stuff. But I'm finding it hard to decide if I really want to say some things that I suspect just might need to be said.

What holds me back? Fear of crossing a line I can't uncross, saying words I can't take back - hurting someone I still really care about a great deal - even if that someone has already hurt me in countless ways - ways he is probably blissfully unaware of.

On the one hand, I don't think I stand to lose very much by just spouting out the truth of what's on my mind, even if it's a little ugly and bitter. You can't lose something you don't have, but maybe the concern for me is that I haven't quite figured out what exactly it is that I do have that I'm afraid of giving up. There is confusion about this person and this issue, and I can't seem to get clear about it to the point where I know what action I need to take to resolve my dilemma.

I have tried the route of just doing nothing specific, letting things evolve naturally one way or the other, but they haven't seemed to evolve into a firm and unequivocal direction. I tend to want black and white in my life; gray is too damned confusing, and I don't need more confusion. But all I'm getting is gray.

I hate that.

I know this all sounds vague, but for now, it has to be, until I have it clear in my own mind what needs to be done. I have lots of words in my head that I want to say to him, but I can't seem to form them into a coherent set of paragraphs that will convey exactly what I want him to understand. And right now, my fear of saying the wrong thing overrides my sense that I need to do something to make things better for me. I know exactly what that something is, I'm just afraid to do it, because in the short-term, it will probably make me feel really, really terrible.

I absolutely should not give a flying fig about hurting this person, or having him misunderstand me, or be angry with me - but I do - very much - and I hate that I do, because that is not ME - or at least, it didn't used to be the ME that I once knew.

I can let go of sixteen years in a heartbeat, yet I struggle with letting go of a few months.

I know one of the reasons why I haven't let go, and I suspect I know the second reason. It's the second reason I have the power to deal with - but I lack the courage to take the action, say the words, end it once and for all.

Because that far bigger part of me that doesn't want it over, finished, done with keeps getting in my way.

  

Here is a quote I found from Stephen King which I really identify with:

"The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them -- words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they're brought out. But it's more than that, isn't it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you've said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That's the worst, I think. When a secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear."

It's intriguing, isn't it? We think of Stephen King as merely a creator of horror, yet in this paragraph, he shows a depth that he rarely receives credit for.

I identified so much with this quote. I look back on some of the strongest feelings I've experienced, and how I was afraid to put them into words for want of an understanding ear. How finally doing so cost me dearly. How I got every response but the one I wanted the most. How painful it was to reveal my landmarks and have them ignored.

You'd think the shame of all that would fuel me now into anger, propel me to fight back, be a bitch to the one who rejected the treasure of my feelings.

Is it a sign of growth and learning that I have managed so far to behave myself?

Or is it a sign of damaged self-esteem that I have forgotten exactly how to say "Fuck that!" when faced with rejection?

All I know is, my life seemed much better when I was a full-fledged bitch. Except for all the drama it caused, haha. Now there's less drama, and more angst.

Not a great trade-off, in my opinion.