Pranksters, I miss you.
I feel like my life these days is one gigantic [redacted] symbol (if it’s not a symbol, it should be). Each day, I come here, sit at my computer for an hour, cursor blinking merrily on the blank page, as I try desperately to tell you something – anything. For years, writing here has been the only thing that’s kept me sane, and now, I’ve lost my words.
Day in and day out, I sit here, typing, deleting, [redacting] and eventually, publishing something that even I know is bullshit. It’s not for lack of trying, which makes me more infuriated. But my head these days is swimming, overwhelmed, full of the sads. I try to pluck words from the mush left between my ears and they don’t work together. They simply don’t fit. And I know it.
I hate living a [redacted] life. I’m not a [redacted] kind of person. I love being an open book. I’ve always loved being an open book.
But when shit gets serious, I retreat. I put myself in the [redacted] corner and pull inside. Nothing gets in or out. It’s the time I most need people and yet, I cannot even form the words to say so.
This is bullshit.
I cannot live this way. It’s become readily apparent that living a [redacted] life is more harmful to me than it is helpful. Retreating to my [redacted] corner leaves me shaky and hyperventilating.
So it’s time to un[redact] my life.
Pranksters, lock up your cupcakes and hide your vodka: Aunt Becky’s back.