Intervention

I’ve started three blog posts in as many days. This is the 4th.

I’m self-censoring. While some might say that’s just as bad as being silent, I want to be completely certain that I am sharing my own truth in a way that does not hurt others.

I’ve lashed out at the person who matters most to me, and I regret it.

I’ve lashed out at my parents, and I regret it.

I’ve lashed out at my friends, my relatives, and my readers. I’m so, so sorry.

I’m angry. I’m so angry. And I’m right, I know I’m right. I know my family is planning an intervention that they think is in my best interest. I don’t want to go.

So last night I prayed. I may not be an organized religion kind of girl, but don’t knock yourself out when your chin hits the floor, okay? I have a relationship with God or Goddess, Light or Life, the Love in the Universe, the Force, or whatever you want to call it.

I prayed about something I’ve heard a lot lately. “Would you rather be right, or happy?”

Well, Dr. Phil, I’d rather be happy when people appreciate how RIGHT I am, but whatever.

What God gave me is a reminder of my own truth. That I am happy with who I am, and if other people choose not to be, that’s their problem, not mine.

So I’m going to go be the best damn gay vampire erotica writer at the Thanksgiving dinner table. I’m happy about that. I’m proud of that. I love what I write. I love who I am. If my family can’t handle that, I will stand strong. I know the family I chose loves me for me, not what they expected me to be when I grew up.