When Characters Don’t Stop Talking: Part 2—Since You Asked... Here’s My Side

Touch was supposed to be Megan’s story.

I wasn’t supposed to be the one talking.

Probably smart. I don’t clean up well on paper.

Megan was the better choice. She made people care.

Kept things from getting too rough, too fast.

But there’s only so much you can see from the outside.

What it looked like isn’t the same as what it was.

And I kept showing up. Refused to shut up.

Now here we are.

That’s where the journal comes in.

I didn’t hand it over.

It got found—buried in my backpack when everything hit the fan.

I never said it was okay to read.

Pretty sure I explicitly didn’t.

Didn’t matter.

Next thing I know, people are quoting lines I barely remember writing.

Her dad. Her uncle. Some shrink I never agreed to talk to.

Even the FBI.

I hated it. Still do.

I didn’t mean to take over.

That wasn’t the plan.

But once I got the space, I wasn’t going to waste it.

I’ve spent most of my life being managed.

Smoothed over.

Censored.

So, when I started writing, I didn’t hold back.

I didn’t write for an audience.

I wrote for me.

And yeah, it gets dark. Messy.

Uncomfortable.

That’s how truth works when you’ve lived through the kind of shit I have.

You can call them journal entries.

Call them whatever you want.

Just don’t expect them to be nice.

Or tidy.

Or built to make you feel better.

Because I’ve got things to say. And this time, I’m saying them my way.

No filter. No sidestepping. No fade to black.

Some of it’s hard to look at.

Some of it’s worse than that.

If you’re here to feel good, you’re in the wrong place.

But if you’re here to hear it straight—I’m ready to talk.

And if it’s hard to read—

Good.

It was harder to live.

Think you’re ready?

Journal's here

No filter. No clean-up crew.

Just remember, I warned you.

Not ready for the heavy stuff yet?

Read about the day I met Megan instead.

That day's here