Who would have thought blogging my thoughts and feelings would be so therapeutic. Not quite having to say it out aloud, but putting it out there for others to understand. I have been able to make logic of all the thoughts that buzz aorund in my head. Typing words, using grammar, making paragraphs. I can now put full stops at the end of each sentance, end of each paragraph, end of each chapter- and close the book of my broken past, once and for all.
I can't say talking about it out loud is any easier than it ever was. I just don't think I can find the right words or flow to descibe it; like I can when I type. The second my fingers touch the keys, my brain is only used make it legible. My heart and soul is what tells the story. I lose all control, completely consumed by concentrating on an apostrophe here, and a comma there. I could have only hoped, that I would be running out of things to say. That the day would come, when my story could be yours to interpret without me having to hear it too; words said by my own voice. You can't hear my voice break when I speak, I can't skip the parts that I can't explain. Typing just flows until my head slowly stops, still. No more suffocation, I can breathe again. Relief.
And in years to come when you are looking into your grandbabies eyes wishing them all the best in their lives you can look back all that you have blogged and see just how much you have grown and how far you have truly come...
ReplyDelete