Life has been, quite frankly, a bitch. Stressful circumstances bring out the worst - and the best - in people. Much as I’d like to say that I’m in the latter category, that would only be true part of the time. I’m grateful for that part, at least. It’s the only thing that keeps me going some days.
I realized something last night, during the six hours that I had between getting home from work and needing to get up for work today. I have a lot of things swirling in my mind and some of them scare me. I want to write about them, and yet I don’t. Writing about them might make them too real.
On the other hand, yesterday L and J and I were talking about irrational fears. Most people have at least one. I have one that I’ve never written about, but it still exists: If I see a spider (or other creepy bug) in the house, I can’t kill it. Not because I have a great love for all things in nature, but because I’m afraid I’ll miss and it will come back for revenge.
Writing about it didn’t change anything. A bug is no more likely to come back for revenge than it was before I stated how I felt. (I hope.)
I need to be more honest with myself about the things in my head and less concerned with what might happen if I actually brought them into the light.