A Little Honesty

Nikki B
1-19-05
Hebdomadal 1


I love to write…most of the time. I like writing for me. I don’t like having to drone on about topics that I don’t find interesting. My favorite kinds of writing are these crazy rambling that I do every once in a while. They are stream of consciousness, every thought passing through my mind, utterly useless other than for myself kinds of writings. The only purpose they serve is honesty.
These little writings I do force me to be honest to myself and examine the situations I am in and extent to which I am being reasonable and logical. Sometimes I need this honesty. As much as I appreciate the freedom of honesty in my writing, I can think of many who have not.
One such unlucky soul was the first boy to break my heart. It was middle school and I couldn’t have been more fragile. My pre-teen concepts of love, life priorities, and place in the social ranks were all hit by the garbage truck when Mason, the love of my pre-teen existence, told me he didn’t want me to be his girlfriend anymore, and then scampered off to third period.
I hit the third stage of grieving from our breakup in 10 minutes flat. Denial and inward anger didn’t seem that satisfying. The third, outward anger lasted a whole lot longer. Seeing as Mason wasn’t in my third period class, this outward anger had only one was out and that was through the pen in my hand. Every reason he didn’t deserve me, every reason I hated him, every reason why he would regret what he had just done to me, spit all over the page in pink sparkly ink. It was then carefully folded into a perfect triangle and placed into my pocket where it would wait in anticipation of scarring Mason as he read each word.
I can’t say that my letter quite served its purpose, seeing as Mason moved on with his life and is not a shattered individual still graveling at my feet. Fortunately, I am now glad that my writing didn’t have the profound effect that I wanted it to have at that moment. I got over it and expanded from my pre-teen world.
Since then, with a little practice, my writing has become a little more concise and easier to follow, although I still attempt to maintain my raw honesty. My words loose their sugar coating when they are written and not spoken directly. Writing allows me to be blunt. In a fit of rage I tend to forget parts of what I want to say and with writing, my words tend to be more carefully chosen. I guess that you could say that my written words are more meaningful than my spoken words.
My writing is often not what others or I would like to hear, but it is always as truthful as I can make it. I love that about writing and I love that in other writings as well. Frills and sweetening of words doesn’t do anybody any good and only clouds the message from author to audience. A little harsh honesty is better than a life of illusions.