Even from a young age, I knew I had a talent for writing. It’s the only one, pure, and true thing I know about myself. I think it comes from not having anyone to talk to when I was growing up. I’m an only child. I was the product of an affair. My dad was married, and he met my mom, and then came me. I’ve never been truly certain that my mom ever wanted to have a child. That left me with a lot of time on my hands. When I was seven, my aunt bought me a typewriter, and that was when the pin was pulled. My typewriter became my best friend, and I began putting everything I ever wanted to say into that gray Brother machine.
I don’t feel that I’m that great in person. I often feel awkward, and I only ever say about a 10% of what comes across my mind. I’ve always been relatively outspoken, and that has help me to sift through the people in my life that should actually be there. People say that I am comedically funny. And as much as I love to make people laugh, most people don’t realize that I’m usually not attempting to make them laugh. Most of what I say is unexpected, and that’s what makes people laugh. Saying things that most people won’t. It’s become a crutch for me. Who doesn’t like to laugh? Once I found that humor was endearing, that became my riff. I’m the funny guy. Rarely do I feel funny on the inside.
I’m firing up my blog again because I need to exorcise some demons that have been building up inside me. I need to be vulnerable again. I need to put my insecurities into words. It’s the only self-care that has ever worked. And while I have not written anything significant in a while, I also need that to change.
I’ll be sharing everything I struggle to bring into the light through this blog. I don’t know how often I will update it, and I don’t know how long I will keep it active. This is not an exercise in pity. It’s not a cry for help. It’s not an intricate suicide note. What it is, however, is a means to get the tensions I live with every day out into the world as a means to express all the things I can’t in any other way. And I am offering you the chance to read it.
This is my therapy. You are my therapist. What I write won’t always be pleasant. But it’s going to be real. And I think that’s all we can hope to be in this short life: to be as authentic as possible in the minute time we have on this planet.