((Private Post: Locked to Bram, Frankie, Minnie, and Lettie)) Can you even look me in the eye?
I've spent a long time being angry. And I've been thinking a lot about why I'm angry and who I'm actually angry at for everything. And I'm angry at our government for what they're doing to their people. And I'm angry at my parents for encouraging me to go in the Marines instead of taking a hockey scholarship. I'm angry at a lot of other people for various things. But mostly, I'm angry at me.
Why? Because throughout this whole thing, I've been the one stealing away parts of myself that are important. Sure the events have been tough, but I'm the one in control of my reactions. I have to accept my part of the blame. And that doesn't mean that I can't work and be active in response to the reasons and causes, but it also means I have to work on me.
If you can see this, for one reason or another, I trust you enough to help keep me accountable on something. I can't hide anymore. I can't hermit up and try to avoid people. I want to do it. But I can't if I'm ever going to get any better. And being willing to do this doesn't make me well, but it's a start. So if you see me hiding away? Come smack me around with something heavy, okay?
And as part of that, well, I used to write poetry in high school. Not sure I'm any good at it, but I always enjoyed it. Lettie, if you tell Whit, I'll kill you dead. So not only am I writing again, I'm going to share a poem with you guys. Please, um, don't tell anybody? The other guys on the hockey team or the police force would tease me mercilessly.
I'm told that time heals all and makes us whole.
That it carries away the blood and tears.
That it restores the things tragedy stole.
And that we are left with our scars and fears.
Our scars will fade and blood will wash away.
But fear is ever constant and so true.
It gnaws and pushes at you night and day.
It steals your joy and takes your hope from you.
And all the while it wastes away your youth.
Trapping you in your doubts and in your grief.
It seeks to hide the sad and sorry truth;
You are the victim, but you are the thief.
And that is the lesson that time bestows.
We are the only author of our woes.
Um, you don't have to tell me it's good or anything. I just...I thought it was a good idea to share something personal because it means I'm reaching away from isolation. Or so my therapist says.
Why? Because throughout this whole thing, I've been the one stealing away parts of myself that are important. Sure the events have been tough, but I'm the one in control of my reactions. I have to accept my part of the blame. And that doesn't mean that I can't work and be active in response to the reasons and causes, but it also means I have to work on me.
If you can see this, for one reason or another, I trust you enough to help keep me accountable on something. I can't hide anymore. I can't hermit up and try to avoid people. I want to do it. But I can't if I'm ever going to get any better. And being willing to do this doesn't make me well, but it's a start. So if you see me hiding away? Come smack me around with something heavy, okay?
And as part of that, well, I used to write poetry in high school. Not sure I'm any good at it, but I always enjoyed it. Lettie, if you tell Whit, I'll kill you dead. So not only am I writing again, I'm going to share a poem with you guys. Please, um, don't tell anybody? The other guys on the hockey team or the police force would tease me mercilessly.
I'm told that time heals all and makes us whole.
That it carries away the blood and tears.
That it restores the things tragedy stole.
And that we are left with our scars and fears.
Our scars will fade and blood will wash away.
But fear is ever constant and so true.
It gnaws and pushes at you night and day.
It steals your joy and takes your hope from you.
And all the while it wastes away your youth.
Trapping you in your doubts and in your grief.
It seeks to hide the sad and sorry truth;
You are the victim, but you are the thief.
And that is the lesson that time bestows.
We are the only author of our woes.
Um, you don't have to tell me it's good or anything. I just...I thought it was a good idea to share something personal because it means I'm reaching away from isolation. Or so my therapist says.