Pulling the covers off of old wounds

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Last night drifting off to sleep, I was thinking about how I actually enjoy writing this blog. It’s nice to be able to chronicle what I’ve been through and am currently undergoing. I’m starting to feel a sense of purpose and get a glimpse of community. While we all navigate this stuff alone and in our own way, it’s comforting to know I’m not the only one with this disease or the feelings that go along with it.

There are times, though, when I post, that I become a nervous wreck. I hear an all too familiar voice. The one that asks me what I’m doing. That tells me no one will ever read what I write. And if they do, they won’t get me. Or even worse, they’ll get me and they won’t like me.

Well, the truth is I don’t have time for that voice. I’m sure it is there as some form of protection, but it’s a protection I no longer need. So instead of the usual internalization I’ve done in the past, I am making that voice public. Airing it out so that the thickness of it thins and loses its power.

…With this post I thank that voice and and respectfully ask it to move on.

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