I’ll try to put a little something up here this week. I’ve written a lot. I’ve even sat down and written stuff to put up here. Trouble is; everything is coming out ugly. Ugly and amateur. It sounds like I’m 15 again, alone in my room and writing. Furiously scribbling out my lines about how “no one understands”, how “I am alone”. Shit that makes “The Cure” sound like “Huey Lewis and the News”. Oh man there’s some bad memories. How mindless are we at that age to really think that we know anything? Did some of us maybe forget to grow out of that phase? I think that’s part of the reason I destroy everything I write.
That’s something no one understands. How I can write and write for a year or two, edit and clean it up, then set it on fire and start all over again. Something I’ve been doing forever, at least since Jr. High. Now that I’ve taken to writing everything on the computer, I still print it out to set it ablaze. Something purifying in that. The fire cleanses everything. As much as I wish I were a writer, I’m not. I never will be. I don’t write for other people, I write for myself. I write for therapy. I write to appease the voices.
Teresa says that I should unleash the censor and speak/type my mind. That I am wrong for holding back. I say holding back is the only way for me to keep out of the doctor’s offices, probably the only way to keep out of jail.
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