Can you feel me holding back?

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My therapist warns that divulging myself completely may be damaging.  She worries for my career.  She worries that a university may shy away from someone who is mentally ill.  She worries about a lot.

I worry, too.  More than once I’ve halted in my typing to consider what was just written.  Do I want the world to know that?  Do I want this much of my life open to the public?  It’s a psychological argument as well as a literary one.

I appreciate raw, naked, honest prose as much as the next reader—but are my stories hackneyed?  One of my doctoral advisors reads my post about Whitman and comments on his destroying of his papers: “more authors ought to follow W’s example and tear up stuff that shouldn’t be read!”  Was that a stab at me?

I am feeling rattled.  I am feeling frightened.  I am questioning my own wisdom.  This blog could be a huge mistake or it could be my greatest blessing.  I don’t know if I should continue, but my ideas come faster than ever.

I should tell the whole story of my marriage—without flinching—from beginning to end: every humiliating decision, every minute of sobbing confusion.  I should just spit it out and get it out forever.

I should talk about my father’s violence: all the violence I’ve witnessed, all the violence I learned, my drive to violence whenever I’m threatened, and the discipline it takes to resist that.

I should talk about my relationship with my mother.  I should talk about how we became emotionally fused on the night I saved her life.  I should talk about my drive to save every woman I meet.  One of the women I’m dating says I attract emotionally unavailable women.  I cant deny it.  I love lost souls, and some women are such achingly beautiful, weary lost souls.  I want to take them in my arms and run.  I want to help them feel safe.  I want to rescue.  It is very unhealthy.

I know I am holding back.  I’m sure my readers can feel it.  I’m sorry.  I will try to be more open.  I will try to be more honest.  I will try to just say what I feel.  I will try to be brave.  I will try, I promise.  Maybe.

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  • http://thatsmessedupblog.blogspot.com poeticdesires

    I’m anticipating you’ll never read this. I’m kind of hoping you will, and also hoping you won’t.

    I become incredibly attached to people too quickly. I create relationships inside my head. The slightest of gestures or courtesies is viewed as affection. I’ve been stuck in this mindset since, well, forever. But I know this, and I’m working on it. And it has gotten better.

    The worst part is, as soon as anything real happens (I straight up ask him if he likes me or fuck him on a whim), my fantasy comes apart. When I’ve asked, he’s said no. When I’ve fucked, I find I can’t accept his not living up to the fantasy and my infatuation melts away.

    I know I do this. I’m trying to do better. Right now, I’m trying to be an ethical slut, and not letting my emotions run away.

    I’ve done this with you (not the asking or fucking, obviously, but the infatuation). I know I shouldn’t.

    I’ve held myself back; I’ll continue to do so.

    You wrote an entire post on wanting to be more open, so I felt the desire to write something raw and real. I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.

    Either way, I’ll continue the not bugging you.

    Well, I’m working on it.