Friday, June 1, 2012

Unknowingly Exhumed

Unknowingly Exhumed

I have always scribbled down random thoughts and observations. I saved some of them, but never in any organized fashion. A occasional, composition notebook, or small scratch pad, will show up from time to time. I still have a desk drawer filled with random, loose sheets of pages from a desk, that I threw away long ago.

A lot of these things have been put away and ignored. Especially, in the last few years of hiding my emotions with vodka. Now, that I am sober, I am going through some of these past thoughts. Some of them are quite difficult to read, when I know that it is my hand and mind that wrote them.

In addition, with my recent public offering of all of my thoughts, and personal misgivings it has been easier to follow me. I just tell people, "Google Donnie Wayne Todd, you'll find me." Words I never thought I would utter, but a reality nonetheless.

With that, I recently ran into a problem. Usually, it is someone my mother knows, or anyone that is not exactly up to speed on how to type in a URL. Its just easier to give one instruction to locate my stories. More than a few times, my mother has revealed to me that some of her friends thought my blog was quite disturbing. I thought nothing of it until she said, "The one on your MySpace page."

I was surprised to hear that, since I believed I had deleted it a few years ago. I went to Google yesterday, and there it was, on the first page of links. Not good.

When I opened it up, it was about 10 posts I had made at about five or six a.m. Undoubtedly drunk, or half in the bag, as they say. Alone and emotional, writing things such as a birthday note to my deceased Father about two and half years after his death. The words were angry, not with him, but with the woman who helped him break up his marriage, and lose his life. That's another story.

Most of the postings, however, were examples of the self-loathing, and disappointment in myself that I was going through. How I had not lived up to my full potential was the primary focus.

My point is, I wonder whether it was mentally healthy for me to regress back to those memories. Right now, I am telling myself the answer is yes. As I am digging deep into my mind and soul, there are demons I need to face.

On the flip side, wouldn't it have been pretty cool if Rain's "Kilroy scrawls" were placed in a sort of time capsule? Only after a few years of not seeing my own, it was like I was reading the journals of someone else.

Today, I just know that Rain's stories are just a few clicks away.
That works for me.

Self Portrait
12 years old

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