Pressure Cooker
My head's like a pressure cooker. That's why I keep this blog. My thoughts about myself (past, present and future) and the world need to spill out. It is an outlet. It is for me. If people read it and get something from it, that is nice and I welcome it, but I am not here for anyone else, just me. I don't care about links with other bloggers or building an audience, I care about keeping my sanity and feeling better.
My uncle died/killed himself when he was 29, long before I was born. He kept a journal towards the end of his life and I read it last about 10 years ago and the parallels to my own life (at that time) scared me: the substance abuse, the highs and lows, the creative thoughts, the inability to focus, the bad breaks, the guilt, the feelings of superiority and inferiority. Sometimes I can't help thinking that he would still be alive if he had an outlet like this, something more interactive.
My father had another brother that died under mysterious circumstances as well long before the other brother. He was a lot older than my father and my father still thinks of him the way a 10 year old would think of a 17 year old that paid a lot of attention to him. My mother seems to think that he was gay. There's no way of knowing anything like this and it does no really matter.
My father's side of the family is filled with "kitchen sink drama." that is, run of the mill tragedy of deaths and illness and children born out of wedlock. My mother's family, meanwhile, is filled with Machiavellian scheming and feuding sisters and missing jewelry and forged wills and lawsuits and paper bags filled with cash found in basements.
I've never been able to figure out who I am more like: the sentimentalists on my father's side or the manipulators on my mother's. Maybe writing this will help me figure it out, even if I figure out that it's not the least bit important.
My uncle died/killed himself when he was 29, long before I was born. He kept a journal towards the end of his life and I read it last about 10 years ago and the parallels to my own life (at that time) scared me: the substance abuse, the highs and lows, the creative thoughts, the inability to focus, the bad breaks, the guilt, the feelings of superiority and inferiority. Sometimes I can't help thinking that he would still be alive if he had an outlet like this, something more interactive.
My father had another brother that died under mysterious circumstances as well long before the other brother. He was a lot older than my father and my father still thinks of him the way a 10 year old would think of a 17 year old that paid a lot of attention to him. My mother seems to think that he was gay. There's no way of knowing anything like this and it does no really matter.
My father's side of the family is filled with "kitchen sink drama." that is, run of the mill tragedy of deaths and illness and children born out of wedlock. My mother's family, meanwhile, is filled with Machiavellian scheming and feuding sisters and missing jewelry and forged wills and lawsuits and paper bags filled with cash found in basements.
I've never been able to figure out who I am more like: the sentimentalists on my father's side or the manipulators on my mother's. Maybe writing this will help me figure it out, even if I figure out that it's not the least bit important.
posted by Bart at 12:16 PM
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