I’ve never been good at journaling.
Several therapists have told me that I should journal, but I hate it. I prefer writing things that other people can read. I could not begin to tell you if this is an overreaction to my mother telling me several times in childhood that I was the least important person in the room, or if it’s a pathetic plea for attention, or if it’s just that there are SO MANY WORDS IN MY HEAD that they are going to fall out if I don’t write them down and I cannot bear to keep them all to myself. Whatever the reason, I am writing again. I’m glad you’re reading these words, whoever you are. Buckle the fuck up. I have a lot to say. My dad came over for lunch a few weeks ago. I did not talk about politics, for which I am very proud of myself as several times I literally had to press my lips together and it took a great deal of effort to not yell at one of my four favorite people on the planet because he is happy that Trump bombed Iran. (I am Radical Leftist Scum. Are you mad? You should stop reading now. H...