2300 miles worth of alone time in my car gave me lots of time to think. which is good and bad. the good was the realization that one of the things that is currently putting my sobriety on shaky ground is this pesky knack I have for not talking about what is going on with me. It's not like it's a new revelation that i have difficulties with being congruent...i just haven't connected it with my difficulties with sobriety until now.
and with that revelation in mind I have had good intentions of opening my mouth and my heart...and each time I don't. but each time my heart and my mouth shut down. and maybe i'm overly sensitive, but it often "feels" like when I do start to make an attempt that the people around me just don't want to hear what i have to say.
so, instead i blog well past my bedtime.
perhaps another night i'll go on a tirade about how f'ed up it is that i had to make that trip to take care of a parent who failed to take care of me when i was a child and needed to cared for, nurtured, and protected. perhaps another night I'll write about the frustration of not having been in the parent role since i can remember. and how after my mother's 6-week visit to the psych ward when i was 11, instead of getting some sort of support from my siblings, I got a lecture about how I needed to take care of mom and keep her stress down...because I didn't have enough shit i was dealing with on my own as it was. perhaps another night i'll write about how normal it was to walk home with my dad in the middle of a winter's night because in his drunkenness he had driven the pickup off the road and into a snow bank once again. perhaps another night i'll write about the daily obsession with killing myself when I was a teenager because it seemed the only escape from the constant flashbacks that kept me awake at night.
tonight i'll just ponder why i bother thinking it might be of benefit to talk about any of this shit.
