Trying to un-stick the stuck

I'm writing a biographie. Wait, I think I just spelled that the French way. Biography. Whatever. You know what I mean.

I realize that I'm twenty, and it doesn't seem that I would have much to say. But I do. It's mostly a cathartic (I just love that word) experience, trying to rid myself of extra stress stuff flitting around in my head. It's kinda cool though; it started as a kind of journal, talking about current problems and frustrations.

Then it morphed. I started writing about my adolescence and why that time was so hard for me. The style is sardonic (not surprising), but I did kind of surprise myself in some ways. It's a lot more...honest than I expected it to be. I thought, since I write fiction, I would be inclined to fabricate, to make things more interesting. I haven't really done that so far. I've been honest, even if the honesty really hurts.

Here's an excerpt of said honesty:

"What I'm about to say may not sound fair; it may even sound harsh. But I have a hard time remembering those years [high school] without bitterness invading my words and leaving a sour taste in my mouth.

For awhile I truly believed that she could get better; she just didn’t want to. Sometimes I think I still believe that. I’m not sure. But what matters is that I very much resented her. After awhile I started resenting everyone. I resented my father for not saying enough or, more often, for saying the wrong thing. I resented my brother because he left for college in the middle of all this, when we (I) needed him most. I realize now that Alan had to leave. I would have done the exact same thing were I in his shoes, but I couldn’t see that at the time. The only thing I could see was him driving away without so much as a glance in the rearview."

There are things I don't think I'll be able to write about, but I'm going to try. This could turn into something; it could remain a prolonged journal entry. Either way, I think it's gonna be good for the heart.