Learning to speak again.

I don’t know how to speak beauty anymore. I don’t know how to feel my soul anymore, how to express…anything.

I feel like a creaky machine, rusty and noisy and broken.

I do not know where to start. How to get my words back, my voice back.

I have random words. Pain. Ouch. Ah. I have words that express nothing well, but are the only words I have for this unending, inexpressible pain. I won’t edit, but I didn’t like that last sentence. I don’t like a lot of my words, they don’t, I don’t,

It’s been 10 years. 10 years since I started editing myself. 10 years since……I got married.

I got married 10 years ago, but I didn’t tell you I don’t think.

Even the people that know, everyone in my life, they don’t know what it’s been like. I’ve been more open recently, slowly, over the last 2 years, and very very very open for the last year?

I can’t make this short. I don’t even know what I’m saying yet, but I’m doing what I used to do when I was young. Just stream of consciousness letting it come.

Open Diary was a form of savior for me when I was a kid, 16 or 17 year old. It allowed me to delve into my pain, and unknowingly into my dissociation, and I became who I was because of those writings.

I have nothing now. I don’t feel myself. I don’t feel myself. It’s as if the last 10 years, ha with pain in the laugh, it’s like I went back to my childhood — frozen in the pain, numbing from it, acting happy and having no idea what was going on in me.

I threw away being open. Because I couldn’t take/the reality/that I had a bad marriage.

I shut off, and I didn’t know why I had a bad marriage, I shut off the spout, and got gunked up inside, and got addicted to the internet more and more, and shut off from my “wife” more and more. If we are married, we’re only beginning to be married now. I couldn’t say this 10 year ago, having spent a lot of time not marrying the wrong person, not going to repeat the mistakes of my father, and then I get married and something was wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

Wrong.

But I was in, and my first reaction was run. But I would not run literally from the marriage, because my dad did that. So — I just dissociated from my wife. Starting on the honeymoon. Because that’s when she got weird, and that’s when I got weird.

I understand it now. I understand why it went wrong. But I didn’t tell anyone. I could barely admit it to myself, it was just wrong.

Wrong. What does wrong mean? I don’t know.

But I stopped writing to you, about 2 years before I got married, because, I mean probably for good reasons. I was repeating myself. I got stuck, got hurt and writing for this place became like a not fully genuine performance.

I think the 2 years before my marriage, I, I guess I started getting hurt. And uh, hurting others too. I don’t want to feel shame for hurting others. Don’t want to flagellate myself. I let go of bitterness for that.

Yeah, anyway, I don’t care. I don’t care that I hurt people. I was hurting. I was hurting I was hurting, my desire to be a good person, to believe I was, yeah, that’s gone. I want growth, I want life, but I don’t want to fake being a good person. I am a hurt person.

And I haven’t cared about others because all the matters…..Is That I Am Hurt.