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Friday, February 26, 2010

Dear Diary...

I truly cherish being a part of the blogosphere.

Being a part of this bloggy world can be addictive, invigorating, liberating, and humbling all at the same time. I read blogs about religion, mommy blogs, grief blogs, party/wedding planning blogs, and blogs that my friends & family maintain.

The blog world is diverse, but the one thing that I believe all bloggers have in common is how much we value having an outlet to say what we have to say.

I started blogging because I enjoy truly writing...I have ever since 4th grade! My teacher made quite the impression on me back then and this love carried onto 5th grade and beyond. Let's take a trip down memory lane, shall we?

"My future dream is to...graduate from Harvard University, get a Masters Degree, and write a novel because I like to write a lot."

What I enjoy the most about this virtual world is the fact that I'm free to make grammatical errors and tons of literary faux pas without being penalized for it. It's a real 5th-grade-ego-crusher when you get voted "Best Author", but your teacher still marks up your paper in red pen because of a few misplaced commas. ;-) It has been an even BIGGER ego crusher to discover 18 years later that I wanted to go to friggin' Harvard, but NEVER even came close.

Such is life...

In addition to having a great fondness for Language Arts, I've also always kept a diary. Writing allows me the luxury to "just be me" without fear of judgment or regret. I write because it helps me chronicle memories and feelings that I don't want ever to forget. In fact, I still have the entry I wrote when I lost my virginity to John so that fact should speak for itself. (John has been bugging me to read that entry for YEARS. ) Everyone has their way to alleviate stress and writing just so happened be mine. I retired my pen and paper years ago when the almighty internet allowed me the convenience of maintaining a virtual journal.

That is exactly what this blog is -- my diary.

I'm really more of a writer than a talker in real life. Sure, I can pretend to be confident and social, but in reality I'm painfully shy and lack self-confidence. Even with my closest friends and family. What you read on this blog are really my inner most thoughts. the very least, the thoughts that I'm confident enough to share. Everything else that I write (and I write a lot) is "saved as draft" and remains there -- unpublished -- for my eyes only. Even though I write for alllll the world to see, I think I'm entitled to privacy every so often.

In all seriousness, this blog has turned into my only means of therapy ever since Ethan passed away.

Talking to a stranger psychologist never did a damn thing to help me grieve. So, instead of paying a copay to see a shrink, I chose to turn to a "long time friend" for help -- my diary. Since Ethan's death, I've written entries about my grieving process in addition to stuff about our day-to-day life, medical madness, randomness, and for the first time very recently -- to be mentally naked. I write about the serious things because I desperately need to get them off my chest. And when I share for all the world to see, I hope and pray that the intimate corners of my heart won't be ripped to shreds.

My blogs used to be nothing but pointless banter, but that part of me -- the carefree part -- disappeared after Ethan passed.

If I'm hurting, you'll see it on here.'ll never see me express myself in public. It makes me too vulnerable. Too frail. And the thought of people consoling me hurts my heart. When Ethan was still sick in the hospital, I was only capable of being strong if those around me were strong for me. John and I both lost our minds when the doctor told us that Ethan wasn't going to survive, but I was the one that had to tell everyone.

I will never forget the audible gasp that everyone made.

I had to stop everyone from crying or I would have NEVER been able to finish the awful news that was coming out from my mouth. I was the stronger one at the time because I can be strong when people need me to be strong. I was tough for that moment, but I would lose my fucking mind when I was alone. When I wrote....When I smelled his clothes...As I sobbed in John's arms...Whenever I remembered the life he was never meant to live past one week...

It is so very hard to pretend to be strong.

I am not strong. I am not immune to heartbreak. I am human. And my feelings are real. People often forget these things. I choose to share my ugliness on this blog because my life isn't "roses and sunshine" all the time. And I really believe that I would lose my fucking mind if I didn't have the freedom to write about it.

This is the sole purpose of my blog -- to heal my hurts.

I do not write to depress, anger, or confuse. If I write things that cause bewilderment, please do feel free to comment (anonymously even) and I will clarify or explain. Unfortunately, writing is my only means to heal my wounds. Internal bleeding isn't fun for an "emotional hemophiliac" like me.

Read on, but read with caution.

This is me in all of my ugly ass glory. But it is me. I have always been me and I will continue to be me. Even the pointless banter was me. As much as I wish I could be her again (fun, naive Tiffany the Blog Entertainer), she's gone for good. It has been years since I've written anything remotely close to "Clear Heels". (Some of you old school readers know what I'm talking about.) I just don't have that in me anymore. At least not right now and most certainly NOT the eve of Ethan's death anniversary.

I miss Ethan just as much as I miss the old me.

Life is so much easier when things are indeed "roses and sunshine" all the time. I miss not knowing sh*t about the realities of life.

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