But then something troubling happened. At first, opening up in those locked entries gave me the sensation of an immense burden being lifted. All of the indirection and subterfuge that my circumstances had led me to deploy here suddenly seemed both silly and toxic. As the responses to my confessions settled, however, different feelings began to intrude. I became disgusted with myself for having given so much away. Yes, revealing what has really been going on with me was a huge relief. Unfortunately, however, I began to think of this change of state as a "discharge" in the etymological sense, possibly necessary yet still unseemly.
To be blunt, I was disgusted with myself. And I still am, more often than not. I understand intellectually where this intense aversion to my opening up is coming from. I know myself well enough to know that the release that follows a state of tension tends to steer me into a space of revulsion. Hell, even the Giants winning the World Series, a major unburdening for a sports fan like me, led to me berating myself for caring so much about something so outwardly inconsequential. No matter how irrational I recognize this negativity to be, I am struggling to contain its effects on my psyche. Perhaps the solution is merely to force myself to write more locked entries, in the hopes of renewing my sense of relief. I worry, though, that taking that approach would hurl me into an addictive cycle, one in which each revelation led to greater revulsion at my need to connect with others.