preface: 'emotionally slutty' is a Sex & the City reference. As a general rule, I don't refer to things as 'slutty' in a serious manner. Aaaaaand here I go.
It's strange that I haven't written anything on here in 9 months. It's even stranger to think about who I was 9 months ago, and how that person isn't totally 100% familiar to me anymore, as corny as that may sound. I think that's part of why I stopped sharing as much of myself as I once had- because I developed this sort of fear that some people might find it Too Dramatic or Too Uncomfortably Personal- and I still worry about that, a tiny bit. But I guess I've just realized that some people tend to bleed where others simply make conversation, and maybe it's in my best interest to just accept that about myself and run with it. (Or, okay, maybe just jog at a fairly rapid pace with it.)
A few weeks ago, I was having a good old fashioned wine night with friends, and, as it occasionally does, wine night got the best of me. I ended up a sobbing mess on a bathroom floor (yeah, whatever, most of us have been That Girl at least once, OKAY) un-bottling (that's not a word, but it looks right to me, so) several years worth of repression of an incredibly personal past event that I previously had never spoken to anyone about, much to my complete horror the next day. My first reaction was to be incredibly embarrassed and decide immediately that I was never going to face anyone ever again- but once I got past that, I started seriously considering seeing one of those therapists that a few of my more self-aware friends raved about in casual conversation, like an underground hipster coffee shop that you 'totally just have to try'.
A lot of people say they believe that everyone who has access to therapy should utilize it, and I'm now fairly inclined to agree. I'm not saying it solves everything or works miracles, but in the same way that you take vitamins to maintain your physical health even when you're not actively sick, therapy and/or other mental and emotional health coping mechanisms and self check-ins can be helpful at any point in your life- you don't have to wait until you have a borderline breakdown before you do so. In fact, definitely don't wait until that point (And also, don't drink two bottles of barefoot pink moscato in one sitting. Like, ever. Or at least have better taste in cheap wine than me).
Anyway, if you're reading this and wondering what the hell my point is in telling this, I guess the point is that I don't feel like I need to have a point anymore. Sometimes there's merit in just spewing your thoughts out somewhere, messy as they may be. And so that's what I hope to do again. It's a bit late for new year's resolutions, but if I had to have one, it's simply to write things again, and to create again, and to be as honest as I possibly can. Even if the things that I make completely suck. Maybe even especially when they suck, to ensure that I'm not just doing it for a specific type of response. I don't know if my voice or my stories are particularly interesting or helpful, but they're mine. Maybe that's enough.
One of my favorite quotes says,
"You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should have behaved better." (PS, yeah, you should have behaved better, asshole who could potentially be reading this. But that's a different story for a different day, with vague detailing to protect the not-so-innocent, ha ha)
I hope that I can tell them in a way that's fair and authentic and with a bit of humor. And I hope at least one person reads a least a few lines of them. But I'm truly not expecting tooooo much, here- I mean, I'm just a girl who still occasionally drinks bad wine and now raves about her therapist like some underground hipster coffee shop.
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