People misunderstand me. I think everyone thinks I’m publishing my writing as a personal vendetta towards them when that isn’t the case. I’m simply writing my truth. They have the option whether they want to believe me or not. I’m not trying to get anyone in trouble or accuse anyone of anything. I don’t want people to think ill of me but I have these fervent need to write my story down and get it out of my head. It’s unfair that people assume I’m just trying to make false accusations and personally attack. I’m just stating my truth. Isn’t this how the story goes though? Woman speaks out about abuse and is met with anger? I’m only serving as the mirror looking back at people. If they don’t like what they see, it’s not my fault. I have to remember I’m brave and my story deserves to be told. I have every right to share what’s happened with me. I know that doesn’t mean everyone is going to love it. I just wish my family didn’t think I’m trying to spread lies. There’s nothing I’ve said that isn’t true. Atleast, from my point of view. I’ve added disclaimers when telling other people’s stories because I can only speak on what I’ve been told. Im not trying to be underhanded. Why does it have to be this way? I never asked to be a catalyst. It’s seems as though I serve as one in almost every persons life I enter. It’s exhausting. I don’t want to be a mirror anymore. I’ve eased back on diagnosing people and trying to psychologize people. I know im not a professional and I shouldn’t try and manipulate others as if I am. It’s always been with good intentions. Maybe selfish reasonings. I can’t help that I find people interesting. I like figuring out the root of what makes them tick. I want to know everything. I’m hungry for information about human beings. Which is ironic considering I also have a deep hatred for humanity as I feel like I’ve been wronged by humanity more than once. Im working on changing that mindset though. Humanity is just a scapegoat for my problems. I’m making things more macro and I need to make them more micro. I’ve avoided conflict with so many people for years. I can’t just hunt down every person I’ve abandoned and made to feel a certain away so I can apologize just to make myself feel better. That’s selfish…right? And I don’t have the time or resources to do so. My uncle commented on a couple of my Facebook posts. I’m paranoid everyone in the family has read what I wrote. Am I doing the right thing? It was my mom who suggested I write a book about my life. Maybe this isn’t a book but I am writing about my life. My intentions are not to demonize anyone. I’m fact, I feel like mature adults would understand that there are multiple sides to every story. I’m only providing one. It’s not my responsibility to coddle anyone’s emotions about what I’m writing. I am more than willing to have a discussion about my work. I would love to talk things out with people. I’m really trying to keep my writing neutral and not spend the entire time casting blame on anyone. My life is my own. Well…maybe I’ve been blaming my grandpa for a lot of things. I guess I didn’t realize it until just now. Maybe my uncle is right…maybe I do need to stop blaming others. I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I’ve been feeling like there’s a curse on my family and that I’m doomed to live a meager existence. Someone pointed out online to another user that it was a feat in itself that they hadn’t become part of the “27 club.” I keep telling myself I just gotta wait til next month and I’ll be 28 and that means the worst of it’ll be over right? I’ll have surpassed the worst of my life and only better things lie ahead in wait for me. I’m tired. I’m not trying to shift blame. I’m at the point that I need to take responsibility for my life. It’s hard to come to terms that the decisions I’ve made are my own. Even the ones made during a manic episode. No matter the intentions behind any of my decisions, some were poorly executed and hurt people. It’s difficult to take responsibility but I have to. I don’t want to be 80 years old, blaming the world still for how cold I turned out to be. That’s not who I am. I know I’ve done bad things. I know I’m capable of evil things. And I know in my attempts to continue surviving, I may have chosen wrong. Many times. I’ve never meant to hurt anyone. I care more for others than I’m willing to admit. I have trouble letting people in to see the real me. I think people assume they know me because I’m open about my trauma and I’m willing to share my story. That’s never been hard for me. I’m an honest person. I have trouble lying. Even in situations where it would be best for me to lie. I struggle. I’ve been taken advantage of because of it. But it’s also a strength of mine. I pride myself on having integrity. That comes easy to me. My morals may be a bit askew. But I’ve always been able to come clean about things in the end. I’m done carrying this weight around. I’m sorry world. I’m sorry I’ve hurt you. I’m sorry I abandoned you. I thought I was saving you. I thought I was doing good by staying away because I’ve only ever thought of myself as a monster. My love injures. I thought the only way to love people was from afar. I can’t go on like this. I’m tired of meeting wonderful people and then abandoning them because I love them so hard and I know my love will hurt them. I’m starting to realize love is pain. Love isn’t meant to always feel good. To love is to feel pain. And I’ve been so set on avoiding more pain that it’s kept me from experiencing the beautiful parts of love. Yin and Yang. Where there is dark, there is light and vice versa. I feel so stupid. Now that I’ve declared all of this…where do I go from here? I don’t think I’m capable of letting people in right away. I’m scared. I don’t want to get hurt. In times like these, I wish I could talk to my nana but that mean calling my grandparents and I’m not ready to face that. I can’t avoid it forever. I’m sure they know what I’ve written by now. I feel like maybe I should regret it. But these secrets have been holding my family and I captive for so long. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else down our familial line to release them. I’m freeing us. I’m tired of feeling guilty and ashamed for things I didn’t do. I refuse to pass this on to anyone else. If I choose to have a child or even just foster kids, I have to work on myself and release these demons. Even just harboring friendships means letting go. I want to put this all to bed so I can live a happy, healthy life along with those who come after me in my family. Being honest means potentially sacrificing relationships within my family. Which sucks. It feels so lonely sometimes. I want them to be proud of me. I know it’s their own shame and guilt that’s getting in the way. I’ve done nothing wrong. As for things I did do wrong? I’m working on making amends. I’m trying. God, am I, trying.