I''m sad. And upset. And exhausted. And I've no one to talk to about any of it. And so I will write. Or at least I will try to. Words kinda fail me at the moment. But there's so much going on inside me that I have to get it out, and this is the only outlet. I apologize if this post turns out a bit scattered.
When I was a young lad the siblings and I stayed home with our grandmother. We adored the woman, but she was sort of an enigma. She could be brash and you never knew what would fly out of her mouth, or she could be shy and quiet. I guess in that way I am her grandson since I seem to have taken on a good amount of that same personality. She could yell at us in Spanish to come inside the house for dinner in one breath and then laugh her way through dinner while listening to all our jibberish and stories. She was always very loving though. She was one of those who was most definitely a better grandmother than mother, but being a widow with seven kids had to be so overwhelming. Hanging out with only three kids all day had to be a vacation for her. I remember far less about my grandmother than I wish I did. Most of the earlier childhood stuff was taken away when I bumped my head (sounds so much better than brain damaged, I think) during the accident and now I only get back what the fam tells me. It's equal parts annoying and fascinating. Because it's scenes from my life but it doesn't feel that way. When I hear these stories it feels more like they're telling me about a movie or a TV show they saw. Doesn't seem like I was there at all. The majority of people don't have to be told about things that happened in their childhood because they have the luxury of being able to remember them. I wish I were one of them.
One thing I do remember from childhood is when I started to internalize things and take things out on myself. I grew up around a bunch of girls so in elementary school I didn't have the same 'girls are gross to be around' mentality that my male classmates did. Don't get me wrong, I still thought they were kinda gross but I had no qualms about hanging out with them. And I got teased a lot about it. My male cousins decided it was better to run with the pack than hang out with who they wanted, so they never took any crap about having girl friends. I was the only one being harassed about it and I didn't really have anyone to talk to about it so I didn't. Instead, I wrote about it. Fortunately, in third grade my teacher was very encouraging about my writing and that's why I write so much today. I don't know what I'd do without it since it's my main outlet now to express myself. But sometimes I wonder what it's like to be able to throw everything out there and share it. I've been told it takes some form of courage to write a blog for all the world to read but I think it takes more to be able to open up vocally to people. I don't do it nearly as often as I wish I could. Someone once told me there's so much going on beneath my surface and that it'd do me good to let it all come out in some other way, at least once in awhile. That may be good advice.
