Tonight, I wrote the next chapter in Journey, the one that talks about my first attempt at love, or something that I thought resembled love at the time. Surprisingly, it was a pretty easy piece to write. Of course, it helps that I've written about that relationship elsewhere before. (In fact, I may dig up those old diary entries and look into supplementing what I wrote tonigh with some of their content.)
Of course, this marks a point in my story that has me somewhat afraid. This is the point where I start talking about my experiences prior to 1996. It's time to delve back into some of those emotionally trying times, and the things my psyche did to survive my youth. And it's appropriate that I start writing about these things at this juncture. After all, it was towards the end of my relationship with "Chris" that some of those things started coming back to my conscious attention. Indeed, they contributed to the rapid decline of our relationship, as I was forced to deal with emotional wounds I had hidden for years.
I find myself in an interesting position. I want to go there, yet part of me dreads it. I'm not entirely sure why. I suppose it's in part because I'm afraid of what pain I might still find there. Will I be fortunate and only find the kind of "ghost emotions" I experienced when I wrote about the weekend I came out? Or will I find something more difficult to deal with?
Of course, there's also the fact that I'll be sharing some deeply personal things. And a much as I feel I need and want to do so, I have to admit the idea still scares me in some way. I won't let that stop me, as I feel it's right to press on. But perhaps a bit of tenderness towards myself as I work through this part of the story is in store, all the same.
That sounds a lot like what I do in regard to my deceased brother, for whatever reason, I find myself incapable of pulling forth the memories I have of him. I can talk about him, sure, but actual memories? Therein, lies the pain and things best left where they are.