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Not really sure what to say... i feel like i'm writing the awkward, "it's not you, it's me," letter.
i don't really feel like i'm at a place where i can share my writing (aka the innermost secrets of my soul).
After reading a book for school and having multiple conversations with people about it, i've found that my opinions and thoughts or feelings are very private to me. i don't like putting myself out there repeatedly only to be told i'm wrong. i don't like feeling so... exposed and vulnerable.
i don't imagine i'll be deleting this account anytime soon... i just want to feel like i'm still in control of some portion of myself... and right now, that means staying hidden.
i haven't been writing... i wrote a couple things but they were on my laptop which was stolen the first day of school. Things at "home" are difficult. i'm doing my best to stay strong. i'm still looking for work. i'm thankful for and annoyed at the rain. Walking in the rain isn't as graceful or pleasant as depicted in film.
i'm going to start writing again because i feel it tugging. i was starting to wonder what kind of writer i was if i didn't ever feel like putting pen to paper... what kind of writer i was if everything i've submitted has been denied publication. i don't know what kind of writer i am and i don't really even like calling myself one because i'm not very well read at all... but i'm going to start writing again. It's just not going to be anywhere very public.
i don't really know who i am right now, and i can't stand the thought of someone else figuring it out before i've had the chance.
i don't really feel like i'm at a place where i can share my writing (aka the innermost secrets of my soul).
After reading a book for school and having multiple conversations with people about it, i've found that my opinions and thoughts or feelings are very private to me. i don't like putting myself out there repeatedly only to be told i'm wrong. i don't like feeling so... exposed and vulnerable.
i don't imagine i'll be deleting this account anytime soon... i just want to feel like i'm still in control of some portion of myself... and right now, that means staying hidden.
i haven't been writing... i wrote a couple things but they were on my laptop which was stolen the first day of school. Things at "home" are difficult. i'm doing my best to stay strong. i'm still looking for work. i'm thankful for and annoyed at the rain. Walking in the rain isn't as graceful or pleasant as depicted in film.
i'm going to start writing again because i feel it tugging. i was starting to wonder what kind of writer i was if i didn't ever feel like putting pen to paper... what kind of writer i was if everything i've submitted has been denied publication. i don't know what kind of writer i am and i don't really even like calling myself one because i'm not very well read at all... but i'm going to start writing again. It's just not going to be anywhere very public.
i don't really know who i am right now, and i can't stand the thought of someone else figuring it out before i've had the chance.
hello, words
i haven't written in a while, i think my meds are helping me sort my feelings into thoughts for the first time in a while... when your emotions are the ocean, and you're just a granule of sand, it's hard to decipher one thing from the next. everything is wet. everything is saturated. everything is hurt, and ache, and stabbing pain. you can't breathe and at the same time your chest is on fire. there's an entire fucking ocean holding you down. i apparently have ocd. not so much the c part - not a lot of compulsion... unless it's sex... or spending... or starving myself... or over exercising and counting calories. lots of obsessive thoughts. turns out it's not suicidal ideation... or it is? but it's from ocd. anyway, now that they've changed my meds it helps with the suicidal thoughts... but i can hear everything else again and all of that just makes me want to die so i'm not sure it helps? baby's first journal/writing in a long while. i missed the solace of words. you ruined that
Devious Journal Entry
help me feel anything.
updates
i started a new job at a bank. it's not the worst thing i've ever done and i like my coworkers. it's not horribly stressful and the learning curve isn't super steep.
but they're already talking about the possibility of promoting me which is terrifying. it would come with more responsibility and i feel like i can only manage myself at this point and not others.
while i am flattered that they think i'm a human and capable of doing these things, i don't know how to respectfully decline. so i just nodded and smiled.
maybe i'll be shit at sales and they can like realize i'm not worth promoting.
i'm still waiting on disability in the meanwhile.
Devious Journal Entry
I dreamt about you and woke with an unfillable ache.
You'll never be mine again.
Why can't I forget you.
© 2014 - 2024 Hfeather53
Comments24
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Being published doesn't make you a writer. Not being published doesn't not make you a writer.
Stay safe, hon.
Stay safe, hon.