<p>It’s not really so much that I have the need to write about what happened, even, as that, after something of such import, I feel the need to expose myself through writing, to force ideas out into the open whether or not they actually have anything to do with what’s going on.</p>
<p>In this case, after all, I felt the need to actually write about what really happened. I tried the whole “write about something else” thing and it didn’t work; it didn’t relieve that pressure within myself that needed to be released.</p>
<p>It didn’t work. It kept the pressure from becoming unbearable, perhaps, but only for a few days. After that, the weight of it — of how easy it was, of how quickly I snapped to, of how badly I could have fucked up — became too intense to ignore once again.</p>
