Honesty and diary entries and shit...

I was looking through a few diaries today... of course METHY gets my kudos. Any who haven't read her story yet.... PLEASE DO. It's great. Excellently written, completely compelling and draws the reader into her words. I highly, highly, highly recommend it. BUT, the content may be objectionable to some.

Regardless, I went and checked out Genesis's diary today. It was a slightly older post, but Genesis was talking about quiting writing. I went to the message board/guest book and signed it and just had a flood of ideas and thoughts rushing through my head, so I'm going to post my comments here and expand on them.

I know that my opinion may not count for much and all... But I think that you personally will be more fucked up if you really stop writing.

The purpose of a diary, whether online or not, is to express, confess, deal with and think about the trials and tribulations of your life, as well as the wonderful things. If someone can't handle the blunt honesty, they can't handle being a friend.

A true friend understands honesty. And sometimes it's just not possible to be truly honest in person. Sometimes you have to reserve that honesty for your diary.

I highly recommend continuing to write your diary. BUT, you may want to create a new one and not tell anyone the link. It's strictly your choice, but I have had a lot of experience with shutting up because I didn't want to hurt anyone else.

I don't know you, you don't know me, but please, don't stop writing. Don't stop keeping a diary. Even if you keep it all to yourself.

Sometimes being bone-honest is really, really hard. Specifically when you're looking someone straight in the eye. However, it's necessary to keep your outside and inside on the same track. You have to match, and if what you feel on the inside is NOT what you're saying... you're not being honest.

*shrugs* But, again, it's not like we know each other, and my opinion may not count for much. But I do care.

Peace unto thy heart.

Tig

So, that's what I wrote on Genesis's board.

And I mean every single word.

Part of my divorce was caused because I was unwilling to be really honest. People can not have legitimate and worthwhile relationships if there is no honesty within them.

*smiles softly*

I remember holding my tongue because I didn't want to hurt my ex. I remember saying nothing when I felt like my heart was being ripped apart. Hell, I remember walking down the aisle in my wedding gown, my father at my side, feeling so terrified and on fire with fear.

I remember wanting nothing more than to escape. And yet, because there were 150 people there, and because I could see the happiness in my Ex's eyes... *smiles sadly* I said "I Do". I wasn't honest. I wasn't real. And I quit writing.

The further I got from who and what I really was, the less I wrote out my thoughts. I've kept a journal for a long, long time. I started the most helpful version 11 years ago. I called it my "To Whom It May Concern Book" and I always wrote in black notebooks.

---I guess that's one of the reasons I really identify with Methy's story. The main char, Liberty, wrote in a notebook. It was her most prized possession. It seems my own journal was the same for me. It kept me alive.---

Anyway... the first time I tried committing suicide, I started writing. I wrote up my will in my book. I still have that book. It's ripped and dog-eared and scarred and such... but I still have it. I wrote out the recurring dreams that I'd had... those three... they were nasty.

But, I wrote for about three months as I got worse and worse and worse. More depressed and agonized about who and what I was. Feeling like a complete failure with nothing left to live for. I was done. I was gone. And I'd given up.

Then, I made my final attempt. I set out that book. Cleaned my room. Prepared completely. Had two towels set out, razor blades, the whole bit. I sliced. And sliced, and sliced. And I ripped the shit out of my left wrist. I bled all over that thick beach towel until it was filled with my blood. The smell of blood was thick in my room.

And I passed out.

And then I woke up the next morning.

*smiles softly*

At first I was dissapointed. Then I was angry that God had refused the only thing I had left to give. I hadn't realized that God had GIVEN ME the gift He wanted me to have. Life.

*smiles softly again*

I pouted and was angry for a while, but then I started writing again. I started being completely honest with who and what I was. I didn't know what I was. I didn't know who I was, but I wrote. And I wrote. And I wrote.

Hell, I've got a three ring binder filled with poems and thoughts and feelings and ideas from about a year and a half of writing. I think there are 400 or so poems and things in there. Many of which will never be seen.

Regardless... the point to all of this... As I continued writing, I realized that my life was turning around. That I wasn't really depressed anymore. I was still dead inside, because I was denying music. Music is what I am. I am music. That's why Andrea Bocelli is so important to me. I am THAT kind of music. (not classical, but the power and emotion and passion in his music...)

I started coming around. I started living again. ANd then I started singing karaoke. Allowing the tiniest fraction of my honest life to shine through. I was there. I could feel it, and I could feel some form of life.

I met Duncan and kept writing. I wrote how I felt about him, how I felt about life, how I felt in general. ANd I was becoming real again, honest, alive.

Now, there's a lot that happened in the interrum and I don't really want to write that all out now, but if you're interested, let me know and I'll write it sometime in the future.

For now, just know that when I started writing again, I realized that I had life. That I could be a human again. That I could like myself again.

I hated me for a very, very long time.

But, through good friends who converse with me, and through people who stand by me even when I'm bitchy and crabby... And mostly, through my writing. I'm alive now. I'm alert and happy and getting very healthy.

Folks, don't stop writing. Everyone in this world needs a way to express themselves. Sometimes you can do that simply by being alive. But most of us need to express ourselves in order to feel alive. And most of us on this board use writing as a form of that expression.

Don't stop writing, folks. Don't stop reading. And don't stop being honest.

One of the things I really wanted to say to Genesis that I didn't really remember at the moment was this...

If other people can not take you at face value... if they can't handle the true, brutally honest, REAL side of you... they aren't worth you.

I believe that.

I do not want to hurt anyone here... but really, if you are offended by something I write, that means you're offended with a part of me. If you personally can't get over it, then don't read me, don't befriend me and don't complain at me.

If you can not handle who and what I am, leave me the fuck alone.

sometimes I will hold back what I think and feel so that I don't make waves, but this is MY diary. These are MY words. These are MY thoughts, feelings and ideas. If you don't like what you read then stay the fuck out of my soul.

*smiles sweetly, batting her eyelashes*

And for those of you who think I'm full of shit... for those of you who think I'm low class or less worthy than someone else just because of my size (specifically Brad Pitt who left a message on my review page in reference to my complaining about being a fat bitch... If you think that size makes me a different person, then you're a shallow and fucked up asshole who has no right to condemn me for who and what I am.

If you like being the person you are... then BE THAT. If you DON'T, then change yourself until you LIKE what you are. You're opinion is the only one that really matters in your life. If your critics are assholes, don't listen to them. If you want possitive comments at all times, buy your friends.

I may not like the way I look, but that's my problem. And I DO like the person I am. I really like the way I feel about other people and the fact that I DO care about each and every person I have ever come in contact with. I like the expanse of my heart, which eclipses, beyond belief, my physical body beyond any shadow of any doubt.

You don't have to like me. You don't have to like what I write. You don't have to agree with me or give a damn or think anything. But by the same token. I don't have to give a rat's ass about your opinions.

I like who I am. And I'm not going to stop being who and what I am just so that someone else can be less offended. These are our diaries. If you don't like what you read here, either get over it, or don't read them.

That's part of being mature.

Peace unto thy hearts.

*steps off her jumbo sized soap box, quoting Richard NMN Marcinko*

End of sermon.

Tig