Sending a reckless text is always a gamble because you never know who might end up reading it. The idea of anyone besides me seeing my emotional, irrational messages is mortifying; I shouldn’t even think those things, let alone send them.
Most people wake up from a wild night nursing a hangover, while I wake up with writer’s remorse. It’s a horrible, shameful, sickening feeling, usually followed by the thought (or a desperate follow-up message), “I shouldn’t have said that. Please delete!”
In the moment, firing off my most visceral thoughts felt like a release. But in hindsight, I should have let the crazy fog dissipate instead of giving it a keyboard. And just for the record, more than once at the end of our phone calls you’ve told me to “write to you” if I ever felt like talking about anything. Your lack of response contradicts that invitation.