Hate-filled

Sometimes, I hate this blog.

It's the place where I spew out the mad jumble inside my mind. I've been honest here, painfully, terrifyingly, amusingly honest. I did that on purpose. I needed a spot where I can say the things that need saying, spew the thoughts that will eat my mind alive if I don't get them out.

A funny thing happens to me though ... when I'm writing about the pain, I'm so wrapped up in the writing...

Is that the right combination of words?
Does that make sense?

Is it clever enough? I really want to be clever about this jack-assed pain, does that sound clever at all?

...so wrapped up in the writing that I don't feel the pain. I re-read it sometimes (all the time) to see if it's still true, still honest, still clever. And most of the time I'm just reading about somebody else's life. I'm so disconnected from it that I no longer feel it.

Except when I do, and then there's this big fist around my heart. And it squeezes so tightly that I can't breathe, can't think, can't move around it. I can't shut it out, and it swallows me whole.

Sometimes I really hate this blog.