Unsent Messages and Unsaid Words

A long, long, long time ago, I won a book in a contest by a Twitter friend Regan Leigh. It was called Other People's Love Letters and I  loved this book... it totally made me feel like a voyeur, but I still loved it. There is something about reading something you were never meant to see that appeals to the sneak in me.  It's like people watching in someone's diary.  I find human nature and psychology fascinating so that book was one of the best books I've read this year.

I bring it up because I was hunting for something yesterday, and I suspected I'd emailed it to myself to remember it.  It's a trick I frequently do because my memory is lousy... it's even worse on meds, but it's not spectacular either way.  Instead, I stumbled across a few other things I'd sent myself--weird emails that both fascinate and disturb me.  I send myself is things I say, but don't say--like blog posts I don't post because I'm not brave enough or crazy enough.  There are emails to people that I need to get out, but don't need them to read.  A few years ago, I stumbled across a letter I'd written to an ex-boyfriend who'd just dumped me... one that was never sent.  Between all these different things, I've got quite the correspondence with myself that isn't to me.  There are all these things I've said, but never said.

It makes me wonder... how many sealed envelopes are out there that are never sent?

I know other people do this.  Sometimes you need things to be said but not said.  I've had therapists recommend this to me so I can "let go" of things that my OCD wants to obsess on, so I know it's a practice used by other people.  There may be millions of these letters, emails, and so on... gathering dust.  They're the roads left untaken, the opportunities for vehemence or confession left behind.

How different would my life be today if I had said these things?  If I had sent these letters, emails, posted these blogs posts what would have happened?  Did I make the right choice?

I don't know, but it intrigues me.

One of the blog posts that I didn't post in its entirety was written almost exactly one year ago.  I'd been talking about getting off the meds. (I hit one year four days ago... and I think that's part of why it's been so difficult for me recently... those stupid date benchmarks.)  It's very dark and that's why I didn't post it.  It's dark and pessimistic, and I was afraid it was too honest. It still feels too honest... but it is interesting.

Here is a portion of what I left unsaid last year at this time:

I've been cutting back on my meds for a year now... because I hate letting anything control me. I'm stubborn and stupid that way... and it's everything to do with OCD also. Control is a commodity in my mind. I'm down to just one med... and its side effects. The one med I'm down to controls the dark, paranoid thoughts that are a hallmark of OCD. It's the reason why memory loss is a possible symptom. If you live in the current fifteen seconds, the rest of your life doesn't eat you alive. So, naturally, going off the meds means that I'll be plunged back into the hell that is the mind of someone with OCD. 

I'll probably be moody the next few weeks... and distant and pissy... and angry at the world. I'll be frustrated as it settles its claws back into me because B also has OCD and it's probably as severe as mine is. In a few weeks, my strange sense of humor will overcome my pessimism and I'll pull on my facade of mental health and we'll all be happy again.

It's not an easy decision... and it might not even be the right one. Anyway, so there it is. Dr. Jekyll is sick of controlling Mr. Hyde after three years. We'll see if my dark mind can behave itself enough that I can be off meds for long enough to store up some long term memories for when it's time to go back into the cage.