I’ve been writing pretty consistently for the past seven months. None of what I’ve written is in here though. I don’t know why that is but as I type these words and these phrases come together I’ll have given you an answer. I hope.
It’s scary writing things out. It’s scary, to me, because there are no omissions to make when you’re writing to yourself. No lies or half truths. You’re verbalizing the mirror that you look at yourself with. Stripping yourself of every “build you up” compliment that anyone has ever given you, whether it’s the truth or they’re simply inflating your ego. You have got to deal with what you are. Do you like yourself? Yes? No? Why? Explain it. I gain a tremendous amount of clarity through writing. I feel as though I understand myself a bit more, but in the sense that I’m capable of so much that I really don’t know myself at all. I also develop a keen sense of awareness, regarding certain things. The moment that I’m writing in, the emotions that I feel while writing those words and the mental note of being in that situation, for future use. A lot of times, I wonder to myself “Why am I even writing these things on this blog? NOBODY CARES!! The point is kinda for people to care but, I mean, is it really? I do this for me, more than anything. Because I just don’t have a bunch of people I can go to and spill this to, and I feel as though I’m being more discreet in the sharing of said information by not bombarding anyone that doesn’t want to hear it. Let’s just omit the fact that the blog is on the internet.
I am no one and nothing, but not in a negative way. I am the balmy conditions that cause you to become restless in the ante. I am the sudden gust of cold wind that knocks you off of your feet in January.I am the stillness of the jungle.
I don’t do this for any recognition, I just want to talk to myself and be there for me when no one else can, through no fault of their own. The stuff I’m saying may not even resonate with you, but that’s okay. It’s great even. Good night.