There are many things I want to write...

...but this is neither the time nor the place for them.

There are some things I don't talk about.  And to me it seems really obvious what they are, but that is, of course, because I am the one who doesn't talk about them.  So I understand that most people might not know what they are or why I don't say anything.  And to be fair, I'm not at all sure why I don't say anything about them.  With some of them, at least, it's because I've tried, and it hasn't done anything except make me uncomfortable and even less willing to say them.  With others, it's because I've said everything that can be said, and it's gotten me nowhere, and it makes other people uncomfortable, so I just gave up on talking about it.

And sometimes I do want to talk about these things that I can't or won't talk about.  But here's the thing.  Some of these things will hurt people.  Others will make them uncomfortable.  And still others, well those just won't make any sense, because more often than not, they don't even make sense to me.  The problem is that I have nowhere to write it.  I could veil it in vague, confusing words, shroud it in long, convoluted sentence structures, and put it all here, but it's all too significant for me to just dress it up in that many layers.

I want to put it down as it is.  Raw.  Honest.  Hurtful, really.  Because that's what's in my mind.  It's like poison, slowly leeching through my brain, and containment only does so much good.  My thoughts are venomous and treacherous.  They seem to reach that point every time I let them steep in my brain for long enough.  Because now I can't sleep at night, and I wake up every few hours starting at five or six in the morning, and I can't sit alone with my thoughts for more than a few minutes, because something always starts clawing at my gut and I get that feeling where your stomach is trying to fall through your body and into the floor.

So clearly, my own mind is not the best receptacle for such things.  And it seems to me that they need to be flushed out somehow.  What this is really telling me is that I need a new place to write.  Not to replace this blog, but to supplement it.  Somewhere to put all of the caustic thoughts that don't belong here, to spill the corrosive contents of my brain that shouldn't be there anymore.  Because I really don't think I'm going to talk about it anytime soon.