I write to maintain my sanity. Often times I never publish or post anything I’ve written. My iPhone is full of notes to myself, to God, to people who have pissed me off so highly and I don’t have the ability to share my frustration with them in a healthy manner so I write…in hopes that my feelings subside.
I also write, not to be egotistic, but so that when I leave this earth, people know who I really was. I hate the fact that my father left nothing behind or that social media/Internet at the time was not as huge. I would have loved to read his blogs, tweets, FB posts, videos, IG pics and got a better grip on who he was outside of being my dad.
My entire life I feel like I’ve been “misunderstood” (not to be cliché). I was seen as a bully, when really I was just overprotective of my friends. I’ve been told I look mean & unapproachable, when really I was depressed and yearning for someone to talk to me. I’m often called rude when truly, I mean the least harm which is why I’m being honest and was never taught how to sugarcoat things. Nothing was sugarcoated for me. My whole life has been raw.
Life really IS short, and I’ve finally accepted that there are people out there that love me. I tend to be a very closed off person. Ask me and I’ll tell you anything you want to know…the trouble is that people are too afraid to ask. So, I call myself leaving these writings everywhere I can…as a scavenger hunt for my family, my future family…something they can remember me by. You never get to share fully who you are with everyone. Few are privileged with that, but I want to make sure the people that loved me got a chance to know me and maybe understand the reasons I couldn’t be perfect if I tried. When they google me, I want them to find more than an obituary, but a puzzle. I don’t want to leave anyone’s life incomplete the way mine feels when I check for my dad.
It doesn’t now, but, someday this will matter.