Some things just can't be said.

Have you ever wanted to tell someone something but known you didn't have the courage to actually say the words? Have you sat alone reciting what you would say to yourself only finding that, when the opportunity arose, you were too scared to say what needed to be said? Then, a month or a year later, you think how things would have been different if the words had come out.

Until recently I kept almost everything I had ever written at the bottom of my closet, and on days when I was feeling particularly bored or upset I would look through all of the forgotten notes, letters, and stories. One thing that I found I had a lot of was letters that had never been sent. In these letters I would say everything that I had wanted to say to people and at the time of writing them I had every intent to send them. Things like 'I'm really mad at you. I can't believe you didn't tell me about....' or 'You don't really want to be happy do you? Or else you would have gotten away from....'. After reading these I would remember (and feel) the emotion behind the letter and I would always find myself wondering if it would even make a difference.

Just over a year ago I wrote a paper for my creative class on my relationship with my dad. The last piece of the paper was a letter to him that stated that I knew things weren't going to change and that I was just writing the letter for myself because I never actually planned on showing it to him. A couple months later I decided that by showing my dad the paper I might actually be helping him. I emailed it to him and told him to read it. He had known about the paper and he had known (or I thought he had known) that I never planned on showing it to him. About half an hour later he called me and told me that he had, had to leave his office because my paper had made him cry. I took this as a good sign that maybe things would get better. I hoped that I had finally managed to get my words to him in a way that I couldn't do normally.

Yesterday, I cleaned out my closet. I took out all of those notes, letters, and stories and threw them out. I decided that I wanted to start clean. I wanted to try and let go of all of those situations and teach myself in some way that nothing I could have said would have made a difference. I say this because my paper didn't make a difference at all in the situation with my dad. I pretended that I had gotten over it and it was forgotten.

Like any person, I have these dreams of how I wish things would change. I used to spend a lot of my time thinking about how these dreams might have been reality if I had ever gotten the courage to speak out. Now I'm trying to get passed that. I know that the things I thought wouldn't really have been able to change much. So I'm ok with all of that now.

There are still things I want to say. I still have feelings that I don't show because I don't know how too. The hard things are just that. I can't tell people my deepest thoughts and I don't think I'll ever be the kind of person that can.

The things that absolutely have to be said aren't often things that are said by me. I can't talk to people. It's something I want to work on, but I don't think I have to work on it by going through the hard things. I could start by trying to get the other things out. The things that aren't difficult at all. That's where I'm going to start. I still won't be able to make the other things known, but, for now, I'm ok with that.