I spend a lot of time feeling very mixed about what I write here.  I honestly usually forget what I have written almost as soon as I hit post and I don’t reread things very often.  I use this space to dump the thoughts that are intrusive into the rest of my life.  They are the harshest things I think.  I’m aware that I am “mentally ill”.  Whatever that means.

It’s hard to not feel ashamed of myself for putting these things out publicly.  You are supposed to put these kinds of thoughts in private journals you later burn.  You don’t want to taint the world with any of this.  I worry about some of the processing I do here.  People don’t like finding out how deep my rage is.  It makes them uncomfortable.  I am going to, once again, alienate people.  Not everyone.  Not the people who matter.  But I will lose people who are only casual distant social contacts at best.

It’s weird to know that I have to live with the consequences of my words, for better or worse.  I say a lot of very harsh things.  I’m trying to walk a fine line between talking about the emotions I experience and why I have them and blaming other people for upsetting me.  I know I’m crazy.  I know I’m having a reaction that is out of proportion to our exchange.  But I’m still having it and I have to deal with it somehow.

Just doing deep breathing exercises is ineffective at managing my rage.  Writing works.  And so I will write about things that make me very angry.  And people will get upset with me.  I’m pretty sure this is an unavoidable fate.  Given what I’ve read today I feel like I should be braced at any moment for a death threat.  On one hand that makes my paranoia sky rocket.  Because do you know who is a credible threat to my life?  Pretty much anyone in my family.  Hello illegal connections.  Not to mention that the whole lot also has serious mental health issues and lots of guns!

Awesome.  I really and truly believe that my brother would never come after me.  I think he wants to believe he is above such things.  And his wife is awesome and balances him really well.  He married a really good woman.  The only credible threat is my sister.  She has threatened to beat me up in public in the last few years.  If I publish there is a very real chance she will show up on my doorstep out of the blue with a shot gun.  She’s pretty insane.  And she has done a lot of very bad for your brain drugs for a very lot of years.

Even though I want to puke on the floor thinking about that… I’m going to keep going on writing.  And internet threats seem so very non-threatening.  So laughable.  Really.  Does some wanker on the internet think that they can hurt me more than my family?  More than my father raping me?  More than my brother beating me, arranging to have other children beat me, and sexually assaulting me repeatedly?

I don’t think I will lose sleep over emails.  I’m already up.  Bah.  That’s a snotty ass thing to say.  I’m in a really bad phase right now in coping with my shit.  Some day I will go back to not dwelling on being less than.  I think.  At those times I will be vulnerable.  And it will make me lose sleep.  But I don’t really think there is much that can be done to cause me to stop writing.  Not anything in writing, anyway.  Not from fear.  I think I am kind of looking forward to that first burst of adrenaline.  I do love a good threat.

I don’t know if it is ok to talk about things that hurt other peoples feelings.  But I’m not sure I can help it.