I cant breathe anymore.

Dearest,

There are things I havent been telling you. These things have been weighing on me and adding to the pressure of everything that keeps piling up because, honestly, I cant bring myself to do anything these days. I'm worried and sullen and plain scared. I'm petrified as the piece of tree that rests on your mantel over your fake fireplace in your living room. The same fireplace that has provided us warmth whilst watching countless movies during those cold months and the same fireplace that watched us scurrying around during those warm ones, often without much on. Why I have spent so many words describing what the fireplace has seen is beyond me.
I'm home with nothing but the hum of this computer that keeps me going and the varied banging from the children downstairs. They claim to be cleaning the basement but I'm nearly convinced that they are only trying to get into the bedroom where all the Christmas presents lie. Why is that relevent? Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps I fill my paragraphs with things not pertaining to the topic to distract you from what I'm really trying to say.
I find little comfort in the fact that you dont come here to read what I have to say anymore. I'm writing you this knowing that you wont read it. I dont want you to read it. But I want you to know what it is I'm writing. Yet I knot that if you did know it, I could ruin anything we have right now. Oh, if you could know the nights I've been up crying about this, how many times I've been screaming driving down the road, or the number of panic attacks I've been plagued with knowing that this is inside of me and I can do nothing about it. I'll continue to be as vague as I can about it, until I have nothing else to fill the time, and then reveal it.
While I am writing this, I have done everything I can down stairs, I've checked the competence of various data cds, I've changed clothes, taken bathroom breaks, and texted you. I keep avoiding this because it's huge, because I'm scared, because there is nothing else and if I get rid of this, I could have nothing left.
Enough of this nonsense, now, I ramble far too often. I've come to the conclusion that the feelings I have been experiencing are not going to leave easily, if at all, and this is why I have to tell you of them. They involve you so greatly that leaving you out would be ridiculous...


Almost as ridiculous as writing this on the internet, for everyone to see. Especially since it's such a private matter. As is why I am discontinuing this post.