Probably the hardest thing I battle in my desire to write these articles is my own censorship. I try to consider whoever might be reading these and omit details accordingly. That works well when what I write cannot otherwise be interpreted to involve someone in particular, especially negatively. But some of the stories that need to be told just, well, can’t be.
I forgot to omit my name when I created this blog.
I made the mistake once or twice of thinking that since it was my blog I could put in it whatever I wanted. I guess that’s only true to an extent, though, because I learned a valuable lesson from it each time I got brave and carefree. So it’s not so much the thought of writing about the experiences I’ve had that keeps me from actually doing it so much as it is the thought of the fall-out once I’ve done it.
Especially the ones I write out of anger.
I guess I could write them all out now, while I’m still able, and tuck them away for future posts during that someday when no one else is left who might object. It would serve my need to get it out of my system, provide some much needed healing, and enable me to move forward. It would also serve to show restraint by not publishing the masterpieces once they were created. I assure you that you would be riveted.
I don’t think I possess the requisite amount of self-control.
But there are some things I just don’t want anyone to know. There are also things and events I prefer no one remembers. And, of course, there are things I’ve done for which I doubt I’ve been completely forgiven.
What happens if I write those things down, commit them undeniably to paper, and then I die? Whatever poor soul is going through my stuff afterward finds them, that’s what. It’s all a very complicated, private, and sometimes sordid, mess.
There’s a little lunacy involved, too.
So until I can figure it all out, find a safe place, and commence telling it for real, I guess you’re stuck with the lameness that heretofore has constituted Kat’s Den.
Thank you for reading.