There’s been that old saying that if you’re upset with something or someone especially - put it in a letter and never send it. Write it down, throw it in an envelope and don’t send it. Throw it out, burn it or rip it up. I think that was before the digital era, or before it became all consuming.
I’ve done the write it down and throw it away. It’s never done much for me.
As email and text took off, our phones had note pads to write on, well let’s just say I wrote shit on there. And I didn’t delete it. I sent it. Opening a doorway to more bullshit. More anger or hurt feelings than when I wrote it. It didn’t help to send it, it opened Pandora’s Box.
From my last blog, one can see how mad I was, in fact, there were so many spelling errors it was apparent at how filled with disdain I was. And not just at the driver. I took some time off the grid, traveled after that. Did too much thinking, spent too much time going back to dark places and feeling burnt.
My head spiraled out. I wrote 3 different messages I planned on sending but didn’t. I came close to sending the last one I had written sitting on the tarmac in Chicago on a layover. I was beyond hurt and angry. My fangs were out and had tunnel vision.
Instead I decided to turn it into a blog. This, what I’m writing now was going to be part of it, and the message was going to be a part of it. But after getting home, kicking jet lag, I realized that was a shitty idea. Granted it was an example of what not to send, but the person might still read it, and there’s the box opening again. And I already wrote a book airing my dirty laundry on relationships, which I removed because to move on, how can I have that there, seeing it every time my royalties coming in or go on my website? I wrote that book, put it out there. Now, it was a story I needed to tell at the time. But like the message I was going to put on here it wasn’t necessary anymore.
I don’t know what clicked in my head, it was just like when I cleaned up. Out of nowhere I just said enough. No more sending my grievances. And I found peace in that. Something, just like being clean I never thought possible. My vengeance runs deep and my voice is never quieted.
We can still write out our feelings, write those letters. Just not hit send. Hit delete. Move forward, take the knowledge from the pain and turmoil and run down the path it has directed us to for the better.
So no more hitting send for me. And what a fucking relief. Even at 31, I’m still maturing and learning new things about myself and how to be. We think we’ve matured at a certain age, but really we never stop. We learn more about ourselves and how to live our lives for the better everyday, and will until we’re six feet underground or burned to ash.
Put your mind at ease. Write out how you feel, purge. But don’t throw up all that over the person or situation, throw it in the trash. You have a trashcan on all your devices.
Blessed Be
For further reading:
Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
There's No Good Campfires Left In Hell on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H7CZ590
I’ve done the write it down and throw it away. It’s never done much for me.
As email and text took off, our phones had note pads to write on, well let’s just say I wrote shit on there. And I didn’t delete it. I sent it. Opening a doorway to more bullshit. More anger or hurt feelings than when I wrote it. It didn’t help to send it, it opened Pandora’s Box.
From my last blog, one can see how mad I was, in fact, there were so many spelling errors it was apparent at how filled with disdain I was. And not just at the driver. I took some time off the grid, traveled after that. Did too much thinking, spent too much time going back to dark places and feeling burnt.
My head spiraled out. I wrote 3 different messages I planned on sending but didn’t. I came close to sending the last one I had written sitting on the tarmac in Chicago on a layover. I was beyond hurt and angry. My fangs were out and had tunnel vision.
Instead I decided to turn it into a blog. This, what I’m writing now was going to be part of it, and the message was going to be a part of it. But after getting home, kicking jet lag, I realized that was a shitty idea. Granted it was an example of what not to send, but the person might still read it, and there’s the box opening again. And I already wrote a book airing my dirty laundry on relationships, which I removed because to move on, how can I have that there, seeing it every time my royalties coming in or go on my website? I wrote that book, put it out there. Now, it was a story I needed to tell at the time. But like the message I was going to put on here it wasn’t necessary anymore.
I don’t know what clicked in my head, it was just like when I cleaned up. Out of nowhere I just said enough. No more sending my grievances. And I found peace in that. Something, just like being clean I never thought possible. My vengeance runs deep and my voice is never quieted.
We can still write out our feelings, write those letters. Just not hit send. Hit delete. Move forward, take the knowledge from the pain and turmoil and run down the path it has directed us to for the better.
So no more hitting send for me. And what a fucking relief. Even at 31, I’m still maturing and learning new things about myself and how to be. We think we’ve matured at a certain age, but really we never stop. We learn more about ourselves and how to live our lives for the better everyday, and will until we’re six feet underground or burned to ash.
Put your mind at ease. Write out how you feel, purge. But don’t throw up all that over the person or situation, throw it in the trash. You have a trashcan on all your devices.
Blessed Be
For further reading:
Hi, Have You Met Me? on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00B009W1M
There's No Good Campfires Left In Hell on Amazon/Kindle http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00H7CZ590