The Hard Truth.

The weird thing about the blogosphere is that you control what people see, read, and think about you. In some respects, that's awesome. You have complete control over your self-image and have the power to portray yourself in whatever light you desire. On the other hand, this power allows bloggers to create unrealistic expectations about life, about relationships, about working out, about that night's dinner, etc.

I have never wanted to be that blogger.

I love using my blog as a visual keepsake - I write about wonderful memories, document them with pictures, and write my feelings out so I never forget how I felt in that moment. Even more importantly, however, my blog is a place where I go to be me. I want this space to be where I come clean, a cathartic safe haven where I share my feelings and bare my soul.

So, in hopes of keeping that promise with myself, I need to tell you something: I'm miserable.

Lately, my blog has shown happy moments, positive blips on the radar, but it's not telling the whole story. In reality, I have never felt more devastated, angry, or lost in my life. My every day is spent worrying, every night is spent praying before trying to fall asleep with that constant, nauseous feeling in my gut, and every morning is spent remembering while my heart breaks all over again.

This is my life now.

Of course, there are still moments of happiness. Fleeting seconds of hysterical laughter on a couch with my two best friends, stolen smiles between bites of grape Italian ice, hand-holding during an impromptu stop at a candy factory. I suppose that's the way life works - it's never completely good, but it's never entirely bad, either.

But I feel the need to share the bad with you, too. It feels disingenuous to only post smiling faces and Happy Thoughts Thursdays when the majority of my life is spent in fear or tears. There may not be pictures to show or play-by-plays to share, but that doesn't mean these feelings aren't worth documenting.

If nothing else, this type of post helps me come to terms with how I'm feeling, helps me verbalize the constant battle within my mind. It is my own version of the desperate scream I want to unleash when I smile at a coworker or tell a stranger at the bank that, "I'm doing well, thanks."

Although I'd rather not endure them, these horrible feelings are worth remembering. You won't realize how far you've come unless you truly know where you used to be.