Things I do not say

People who have “known” me my whole life are shocked when I tell them that I have ADHD. They are shocked when they learn that I experienced depression and suicidal ideation when I was a teenager.

People who “know” me will tell you that I am outspoken and that I gave zero shits about what other people thought, that I was going to do what I wanted when I wanted, regardless of the opinions of others.

To an extent, they are right.

What they don’t understand is that every action I took, every word I spoke (at least when I wasn’t under the influence of any intoxicating substance), every sentence I have spoken, was run through a filter. The gymnastics in my brain are impressive, busy, and meticulous.

How do I say what I need to in the most concise way possible?
How do I want people to perceive me?
What effect do I want to have here?

My most personal thoughts and feelings are rarely spoken; they are tucked away inside my brain, organized, acknowledged, and then locked away.

When the storage space is limited, I will release these thoughts from their captivity onto the pages of a journal or typed away in a note.

My deepest feelings are handled like hazmat: contained, carefully handled, and sequestered from outsiders.

For the longest time, I have held onto them because of the pain they might cause to others.

What I failed to realize about my thought storage system is that hanging onto all of the painful content would hurt the most important person: me.

There is no longer storage space for nuclear feelings inside my brain or in my

body.

There is a saying for people in recovery: “Secrets keep you sick.”

I understand now. Holding onto all of this pain has done some damage, and I am afraid the only way to stop the damage is to say the unsaid things.

I am ready to start.