Brutally

Unspoken


I live in a world
Where nothing's
Quite real
And I feel just
Off center
Off kilter
The filter broken
I don't say...
Can't say
Not quite real
We must
Leave these things
Unspoken

Christopher McQueeney.  2:03 pm. 6\4\14


After my injury I pulled in all my feelers. I thought I needed to protect myself. Sitting on the shitter today it dawned on me that I needed to get back to the writing that drove me before the hurt and fear and obsessive need to be safe. I am an alcoholic, I grew up poor and beset by dammaging experances, was driven by a disease. Immature I lived isolated even when surrounded by other people...when I learned to write i was freed in a way from that sad existance. I write raw and from the hip unafraid of the impression you may have, or rather I did, but in my need to protect myself, my children, and my little world I wrote from fear. At times the real writer would come out and I would brutally apraise myself, but inevatably the fear would return. I am an alcoholic without alcohol, have suffered a tramatic brain injury, and have survived. I plan to write about the last two years but I am going to give it some healing time; I want my writing raw, not me.