Wisdom in the wound.

“What do you blog about?” is a question I get a lot. Well, truthfully I should just start responding, “Men and God.” Although, that feels very shallow. Or it seems overly pretentious like I’m writing the next missive that will unlock the mysteries of the eternal questions of who made us and why we’re here.


You won’t be finding that here.

My blog is more or less a diary. It’s where I take a lot of mixed emotions and pent up intellectual quandaries and lay them out on the dissecting table. How archealogists dig to unearth clues about the past, ascertaining cause & effects through time, I think this is my place to do that with my own psyche.

Frightening at times but always with the intention that no matter what kind of admission I make in this space, the point is to go through the exercise in an attempt to find light and resolution.

Wisdom in the wound.

That’s been the title of this post that has sat empty for probably over a month. While I’m not a big tattoo person, these words have stuck with me since I heard them.

The point of them is that you have to go to the darkest of places in order to make sense of yourself and by choosing to do that work, you will forever be changed.

While the phrase itself may sound heavy and dire, the actual meaning is the polar opposite for me. That regardless of any card that life deals you, you have to look for the lesson. And in doing so, you set yourself apart from the generalist category of victimization. Because when you only see the wounds that life has inflicted upon you and see no way to change or see no way to alter your viewpoint/outlook/opinion, you are openly casting yourself as victim until your death.

I choose not to be victim. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like a lot of vodka and pity parties from time to time. I put a cap and time limit on my own pitying. Then I know it’s time to do the intellectual work.

Regardless of whether I blog, go have drinks with my friends, see a therapist, have casual sex, eat a whole pizza, etc., I know that in the combination of all those things, is the healing. Another amazing lesson to have learned. That you can write and write and write, but until you put yourself back on the saddle and into practice, you’ll never get better.

My mother, who reads this blog despite telling me repeatedly that she doesn’t and is therefore a liar (yes, I just called you out), has a hard time understanding why I put this all out there. I mean, let’s face it. The internet is public domain. It’s not private. I’m offering up some delicate cuts of meat to the world.

However, the point of that is not about getting a response. I’m not sitting here hoping that 50 people comment on my blog, my writing, my life. I’m not out looking for sympathy or pity.

In fact, it’s a very selfish process, writing these little narratives.

But occassionally someone does stumble across the ones I feel most comfortable sharing and will tell me that they can relate and that it was helpful to read what I’ve written. I cannot lie and say there isn’t any gratification in that. It’s nice that from a place where I sometimes feel so alone, there are people who get it. Get me. Even if it’s just a digital beacon to let me know that there are other lighthouses out there. Empathy.

My therapist asked why would I blog since other people might see, namely people like lurking ex boyfriends, etc. I couldn’t answer. Why don’t I just sit and write in a Lisa Frank trapper keeper? One, it would be hard to find one these days and I don’t want to pay for it. Two, I don’t know.

I guess that part of writing this publicly is taking ownership of my own faults and faculties. It’s one thing for me to sit and write in a journal that can be full of vitriol but when putting things here, I do acknowledge the feelings of others in most cases. I don’t call anyone out by name. I attempt to see the grace of even those who I have felt completely burned by.

It keeps me responsible in a sense. To be fair in doling out the medicine instead of assuming that I’m right in how I feel and that I should interpret those feelings as fact. As the wise prophet RuPaul has said, “Feelings are not facts.” This is true.

In many cases, the arc takes place over a lot of posts. There are angry posts. There are sad posts. There are posts about finding resolution and moving forward. There are posts about missteps and regret. All of them together build to still only deliver to the read a slice of myself.

Someone told me that I seem so much happier and exuberant in real life. I am. Because this is where part of me lives so that the other person you see in real life gets to be present. There are times when they bleed onto one another, but I see my blog as more of a tool than a consistent outlet.

I understand where my therapist and my mother are coming from. Hell, I understand the limits that people should have when putting themselves on display on the internet. But I also believe that I’m not doing anything but being true to myself and true to the others around me.

It’s difficult when people who are in my life read this blog and want to make assumptions or decisions based off of what I’m writing without continuing a dialogue offline. To only use this as the prime source material would be flawed.

These things are not the easiest to dig into with people and it can be heavy to discuss which is why I tend to do the heaviest unloading through these words rather than in discussion. Perhaps one day that will change as I evolve and the people around me change and I find more comfort in opening up in ways I hadn’t up until that point.

The other caveat about this space is that it challenges me (and others) to realize as highly cognitive beings and emotional ones at that, we can change over time. Our thoughts today may be turned on a dime by tomorrow. What I believe right now to be scientific fact may be fiction by end of week. There is no such thing as gospel. There is only the passing on of intellectual polaroids. Tiny snippets and snapshots of space and time and milestones of growth and regression and hope and hopelessness.

So if this is the first thing you’ve ever read, welcome aboard. And if you’ve been reading on and off for a while, you may have come a little closer and thanks for going up and running your lighthouse on the foggiest of nights.


You oughta know.

Yeah, this sums up the kiss-off and the honesty that I finally copped to that you can’t lay waste to someone and then just keep waltzing back in without a care in the world, without any pretense of actually making amends or being aware of the mess you created.

It was time that you knew. And it’s time that you stop being so cavalier with the mess that was left.

However, I’m utterly thankful for the gifts I’ve lifted out of all of this, the phoenix that rose from the ash. I had to be broken in order to be set straight for others. But while I carry that gratitude, I also carry the heaviness of the knowledge you’ll forever affect me. And that’s why I ask for complete disconnection. Because you’re so unaware of how it all affects me and it’s my fault for not saying this sooner.

As I’ve said before, we all play the hero and villain from time to time. It just depends on who gets to tell the story.