Snitches Get Stitches

Life is weird, right? One day, you’re trucking along on your path, minding your own business, and then a semi-truck blindsides you.

It happens to all of us.

We’ve all been shaken up by something and it doesn’t really matter how you choose to describe it, what words you use to help you define it. You get rattled to your core by some defining moment and then you respond.

I have chosen to respond through writing. One day, I’ll write a book. Every day that passes, I feel my confidence and determination grow.

I will be a published author one day. I feel it down to my bones. In my gut, I know this to be true.

Writing is magical for me. There is something that occurs between my thoughts and my fingers. I feel this immense release once I’ve painted these intangible reflections bustling about within my head into black and white, as words form sentences and sentences form full blog posts.

But not everyone finds my words magical.

In fact, I’ve been accused of exaggerating the truth.

I couldn’t disagree more. These are absolutely my truths and my reality. Every single blog I’ve written has been done so with raw, blunt honesty as I process through the shit storm that has engulfed my world. Currently, I don’t know how to live any other way.

My life was shrouded in such blatant deceit that the only way I can combat the feelings roaring inside is to move forward with pure and frank sincerity.

I also strongly believe in karma. And fully accept that I am not immune to it. So, let me tell you a little story…

While running down a pretty sketchy trail yesterday, I hit uneven ground and lost my footing, causing my left ankle to completely collapse. I fell directly on my right knee, with barely a moment to put my hands down. My leg got a pretty gnarly gash.

It wouldn’t stop bleeding all day, so tonight I went and got stitches.

And I haven’t been able to stop chuckling since. The irony is not lost on me. Karma, I feel you.

Snitches get stitches.

My ex hates what I write. I mean, H-A-T-E-S it.

Should I perhaps leave a little bit of my reality a mystery and not “air out the dirty laundry?”

Hmm, I actually don’t see the problem in what I’m writing. Because it’s real. And nobody is real anymore. How can anyone truly connect, human to human, without getting a little dirty?? You can’t. You. Simply. Cannot.

Now, what my ex argues is that I am not sharing 100% of the details of 100% of my life. I am not sharing stories about my dates (though, as I was talking with a friend this weekend, I think that would be a cool book option. I have had quite a few very interesting moments that would make for an entertaining read. And the stories I’ve heard! I love hearing other people’s stories! You guys are a fascinating bunch and some of you have lived more life than I probably ever will. I’ll never tire of hearing your stories.)

But here’s the thing: I am not sharing all aspects of all parts of my life because not all moments need to be processed to this level.

Blindsided.

Semi-truck.

Cannot catch the swirling chaos inside my head.

So I write.

And somehow, after writing, I no longer have the desire to attempt to catch the hurricane and shove it in a bottle. The pandemonium within all comes out in a relatively calm and coherent string of words that forms something you connect with – and not because you want to attack my ex, but because you understand my struggle and my pain. Because you’ve struggled. And you have pain, too. We are not alone – no matter how alone we feel.

It’s not about him. And anybody worth their salt will understand that when reading my blogs.

I write about this topic because this is what I need to process. I write to figure out how to ignore the text blasts of venom and still try to believe that I am enough (still actively working on that bit). I write to figure out how to get strong (emotionally) – and remain that way. Because I am so emotionally exhausted (at times) that I feel laden with literally tons of bricks, all stacked on my shoulders, the weight of my world heavy on my soul.

But because I write, little by little, the bricks are removed. One by one. One moment at a time. One blog at a time.

By, me. And, because of this connection, by you.

Because so many of you get it. You’ve been there. You read what I write and interpret it as you like, seeing how it fits your own personal narrative. Pain is pain.

And then you reach out to me and encourage me. You share with me. You connect with me.

When I write, people don’t come to me about what a lousy person my ex is (because, when you peer into his soul, you do see a kind spirit). You all just don’t read that. That’s background noise. What you get from my blogs, at least, what I have interpreted from your comments, messages, and stories, is that you feel it, too. In your own battles. In your own lives. And you reach out to me because you see that I’m hurting. You acknowledge and validate me. You all remind me, sometimes daily, that I am enough. So I can believe it, too.

You see me.

That’s what these blogs do.

What my ex doesn’t understand, but you all do (at least those of you that reach out to me) is that the motivation here isn’t to bash him. It never has been. This isn’t about him at all.

It’s about me.

My pain as I process this catastrophe.

My inability to grapple with the idea that I am enough.

My battle to fight for some level of understanding as I deal with the aftermath of the catastrophe.

A friend told me tonight that my colors had been dulled. And one day I’ll figure out how to sparkle again. She reads my blogs. She understands.

This isn’t for him. This isn’t about him. My writing is nothing more than an attempt to sparkle again. To process this reality in the best way that I know how, using the one medium I’ve been passionate about my whole life – through writing.

So I will continue to write.

I refuse to be silenced.

Snitches get stitches.

So be it.

I’ll end with the lyrics of one of my newest favorite songs, Speechless, which happens to come from the Aladdin Soundtrack:

 "I can't stay silent
Though they wanna keep me quiet
And I tremble when they try it
All I know is I won't go speechless."

These blogs have brought me through the darkness in a way that I never imagined. And I’m finally beginning to see the light. I won’t be silenced now.