After some serious thinking and desperately grasping at thin air in a feeble attempt at organizing my thoughts and trying to figure out some major stuff I have finally realized why I stopped.
I stopped so I wouldn't be subconsciously shoved any deeper into the incredibly dark areas of my mind. Down there is home to a frighteningly realistic view of who I really am. In writing so much, I had found the innermost part of my mind where the beginning seeds of both doubt and hope were growing in the same soil.
It was terrifying.
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Take just now for an example. I escaped to tumblr for 30 minutes to avoid writing what's on my mind.
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I feel a large hole somewhere in me. Like a large chunk of myself has somehow gone missing. I know picking up my journal again will help draw that missing piece back in to myself but being completely honest, I'm a little scared to start writing again.
The last thing I want to ever do is go through everything my fragile heart went through two months ago. Again.
*cue Rascal Flatts "Let it Hurt" because it just came up on shuffle. Strange how that happens.*
I hate battling myself. I know that if I write about it I'll (hopefully) get a little more closure. Maybe I'll understand it more. Or maybe it'll just bring up more unanswered questions, self-doubt, and negativity from the seed of doubt growing in my mind as I mentioned earlier. I might cry myself into oblivion again and end up singing myself a lullaby to get to sleep at 4:08am.
If I write about everything I'll at least feel better in some way. Even if only a little.
