As always, there I was, trying to figure myself out. Then I realized what I was doing. As I was thinking about the feeling that there's a gaping hole of loneliness set in my chest, I was deleting previous blog posts. Things that I wish I hadn't said because they're embarrassing, shameful, or misplaced were being erased so simply. I realized that I often delete my blog posts. I'll leave them for a day or two in case a few enjoy them or because I forgot I wrote it in the first place. Then I'll go back, reread, criticize, delete... so that whoever the post was about, if they hadn't seen it yet, never will or never will again. Or if it was personal, which they often are, I'll delete them so that I don't have to see it again... and so that part of me can still be closed off.
Does this mean I'm not being real?
It's my choice to open up in the first place. Who gives a fuck anyways?
No matter what I share, whether I end up deleting it or not... nobody will ever know me it seems. Not like this anyways. I need a face, a brain, a beating heart and an intellectual mind that can handle the struggle of my deepest thoughts.
First, before anyone accepts me.
I need to accept myself.
