Torn

When I began this blog 3 years ago (has it really been three years?), I didn't want it to be a xanga-typed 'look guys, I'm so important that you'd want to know every little thing I did today' journal. I thought it was silly and ego-centric. Too many censors that kept me from knowing what's really going on in their minds. I didn't like reading those "superficial" posts, and strived to steer away from that.

I wanted some place where I can let some steam off. Some place where I can express myself to my content. Some place to record my thoughts. Some place to let others decide whether they are interested in what I have to say. Some place to open myself as if I would to a...I don't know. A place to throw my image and face and whatever I've built around myself away for a bit. It worked, for a while.

Without even going back on the entries, I know I've shed some of that "I-must-not-show-weaknesses" layer, if only just a bit. Perhaps whether I made myself open up or not made no difference in these three years (afterall, I did became more involved with other activities and grew more comfortable to this setting with these people), but the growth is there, as minimal as it may be.

I still dislike being "not good enough", "not better", and "faulty." It still plagues me. But I've stopped mentioning it and other darker stuff that I used to expose. I stopped writing when I really should. Censored.

Perhaps I felt I exposed myself too much and too little. Perhaps I felt my thoughts worry others.

But me just having a fine, fine life was—is—definately not the case.

I can blame it on the comments thing. I realized, whether I want to or not, I care what these readers feel after the post. I don't want them to think I'm inbalanced, chronically depressed, perpetually unhappy, or that I need cuddling. Becoming aware of these readers...scared me. I don't want them (you) to see me at my worst, at my ugliest. I don't want them (you) to see how selfish, how disgusting, how queer, how...imperfect I am.

I laugh and make fun of my own faults, but it's a strike to myself every time I do it. I hated every time I see myself being ugly.

Nonetheless, I am grateful for the comments. They make me feel just a little more important.

I have a frighteningly low self-esteem.
I am afraid, deathly afraid, of being forgotten.

I wanted to fix this.
I still want to fix this.

I thought this writing would help.
I still think this writing can help. A little.

I don't know what else I can do.
I don't know how else I can stop using the word "I" and stop being so selfish and ego-centric and disgusting.

I'm fucking pathetic.

...

...

...

I know this is treated like a keep-in-touch blog. Even I'm treating it like so now. Things that I want people to know, things that I think are interesting go into these posts. I still refuse to detail my life in this, but that's only because I'm easily bored by having to repeat my day all over. Just a matter of taste, I guess.

And this is the way it should remain.

But too much I leave unsaid. So I will dump the darkstuffs somewhere else. I can't bring myself to not let anyone read it, nor, I've realized, should I force them to choke on the poison I threw up. Not out. Just up. For the same reason I can't bring myself to disable comments. I made the decision to let it out. They (you) have the right/choice to respond. I like the silence just as I like the attention.

Things will change a bit. In the future.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.