a vote in favor of censorship
Censorship in relation to myself, that is. The freewritings we do in class always end up being ... overly charged. Angry to an extent that I've denied myself. Or so sad that they almost make me cry. The first one today almost made me cry: write about what you were doing around the time of a loss. Then a week later. Three months later. A year later. Then finally write about a moment when your relationship to that loss changed. That was hard. But not as hard as the second prompt.
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't say what needed to be said: yes, you made me miserable. Yes, you've put me through enough hell to exponge all my sins. I only loved you because you stood in the emptiness where he should have been.
You knew about him. You were suspicious when I started talking to you again, sait it always seemed to come after I'd been jilted. And so I told you, clearly and simply, holding nothing back. You recognized my longing for him and willingly put yourself in his place, taking a love that was never meant to be yours.
I never loved you. It was my love for him, and you intercepted it.
I cringe now, thinking about it: my failure. We were my failure and I never tried to correct it, tried to explain. I feel responsible, no matter how many people tell me it wasn't my fault. I let you be wronged, I let you be desperate, I let you trap and confuse me beyond all measure.
But I didn't let us fail. I fought, damn it, fought for months, and you never saw. I failled to make you see, but I didn't fail the fight. You, selfish ass I allowed you to be, failled to see my scars.
Ouch, huh? Not just the topic - who wants to admit having screwed up? - but the tone that came out. My writing gets all scrawled and frantic, and the spelling at some points doesn't help.
This is what I censor. All that raw emotion that would make people hold their hands up, say "Whoa!", and then back away slowly. All this pent-up shit that just keeps rolling around. (I said shit in a casual sentence. Todd is a horrible influence on me.)
The stuff I discussed with Andy today also helps add to the stress. The influence for one of my short pieces, and the stuff he said "makes for a good story, as horrible as it sounds." And it does. Just read Karen's explaination; that stands alone. Stories galore, all simmering under the same lid.
Plus I'm getting rid of Jack this weekend.
Anyone want to add anything else?
I couldn't tell you. I couldn't say what needed to be said: yes, you made me miserable. Yes, you've put me through enough hell to exponge all my sins. I only loved you because you stood in the emptiness where he should have been.
You knew about him. You were suspicious when I started talking to you again, sait it always seemed to come after I'd been jilted. And so I told you, clearly and simply, holding nothing back. You recognized my longing for him and willingly put yourself in his place, taking a love that was never meant to be yours.
I never loved you. It was my love for him, and you intercepted it.
I cringe now, thinking about it: my failure. We were my failure and I never tried to correct it, tried to explain. I feel responsible, no matter how many people tell me it wasn't my fault. I let you be wronged, I let you be desperate, I let you trap and confuse me beyond all measure.
But I didn't let us fail. I fought, damn it, fought for months, and you never saw. I failled to make you see, but I didn't fail the fight. You, selfish ass I allowed you to be, failled to see my scars.
Ouch, huh? Not just the topic - who wants to admit having screwed up? - but the tone that came out. My writing gets all scrawled and frantic, and the spelling at some points doesn't help.
This is what I censor. All that raw emotion that would make people hold their hands up, say "Whoa!", and then back away slowly. All this pent-up shit that just keeps rolling around. (I said shit in a casual sentence. Todd is a horrible influence on me.)
The stuff I discussed with Andy today also helps add to the stress. The influence for one of my short pieces, and the stuff he said "makes for a good story, as horrible as it sounds." And it does. Just read Karen's explaination; that stands alone. Stories galore, all simmering under the same lid.
Plus I'm getting rid of Jack this weekend.
Anyone want to add anything else?