With shovel in hand, I attempt to make it happen

So, I've decided to take the plunge and write something. I'm not calling it a book...simply because that seems to daunting to me. It seems too much and too overwhelming. I haven't come up with an appropriate term for what I am doing yet. So, I will just stick with calling it "writing something". I am finding it difficult and yet easy all at the same time. It's easy, so to speak, because the words just keep flowing and it is constantly on my mind. Since I have decided to do this, I find myself going about my daily tasks always thinking about what I want to write next. It's like this constant urge or need drawing me to the computer making me want to just hurry and get all the words and feelings out of me before it's too late. On the other hand, I am finding it extremely difficult because I'm having to go back to that dark and frightening place in my head of when Emma was diagnosed. I am trying to get all of the true feelings out so I'm attempting to dig up all of those emotions that I've worked so hard over the years to bury. It feels like I am purposely and intentionally torturing myself. I'm grabbing the hand of that naive and meek version of myself from nearly 3 years ago and dragging her along. I'm forcing her to take hold of the shovel and dig through all of the muck and horror of those first few days. I'm standing there at the edge of the hole she is digging...just yelling at the top of my lungs at her to keep digging...keep moving...keep going!! There she is covered in tears and sweat and filth...and I am forcing her to keep at it. It's hard. I know that I am the only one standing in my way. I know that I, more often than not, am my own worst enemy when it comes to accomplishing something. So, I hope that when all is said and done, I am able to finish the job. I hope that I can find the right words to express what I am feeling. I hope that I can force myself to just keep digging. I hope that what I write will be good enough. Most of all, I hope that it will help someone going through the same things I am going through. I feel selfish though because it is honestly helping me too. It is turning out to be an extended version of my little blog therapy sessions. After each writing session, I feel better. I sit there typing away, getting the words...the story...the memories out of my head, with tears streaming down my face. Once the words stop flowing and I put it away for the moment...I feel better. It's a long process...and one of the most difficult things I have attempted to do so far, but I think it is the right thing to do. Even if I am the only one who ever reads it or likes it, I think it will be worth it.