Flashes of memory assault me and I feel like I’m underwater.
I reach deep and force myself to think of something else, anything else. The easiest thought is this. Writing it down. Making out of it something someone might enjoy reading some day.
I hate how I feel it's only things that make someone uncomfortable that are thought to be interesting objects of study or literature. It’s those things, experiences, ideas, feelings that are prone to catch someone’s eye.
And yet, I exploit it.
Sometimes I make up uncomfortable situations, other times I exaggerate the ones I've lived. But other times, like this one, I just let it out, hoping they'll stay out and give me some peace of mind.
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