I don’t publicize my blog.
I don’t recommend it to people I know.
Honestly, I hope there isn’t anyone in my ‘real life’ that even knows about this blog.
Because I’m embarrassed.
I feel like a whiney, weak loser when I write. I normally only write when something is bothering me enough that I have to ‘get it out’ before I explode. And I feel judged. By my own psyche. No one in particular is making me feel this way, but my own personal narrative that plays on in my head.
I’m difficult. I’m opinionated. I’m passionate. And while those things aren’t horrible in themselves, I know I am also highly disappointed in my life and myself.
And I don’t want anyone to know that about me.
I don’t want people to see me for the failure I feel like at my core.
I honestly don’t know how people are always so positive natured. I can be happy. I can have fun. I can see the good in many things. But I feel my ‘realism’ towards life is unacceptable by social norms telling me I need to ‘find the positive’ or ‘forgive and forget’ or ‘live and let live’.
So I hide.
And I certainly would be decidedly ashamed to know that my ex had happened upon my revelations.
Not that I’m afraid to speak my truths in real life. Don’t get me wrong, many of my frustrations have been shared when I choose, but not one has seen the entirety of my manifestations of emotion.
It’s overwhelming to me to even feel them, much less burden another being with them.
So I write…to no one. For myself I guess. For my psyche. To unleash the beasts that reside in my conscience.