12 hours. Two posts. Is it possible to be a born-again blogger?
I’ve never kept a journal. I’ve never wanted to. Re-reading my thoughts at a point in the future would be far from cathartic. The realisation of my precise ignorance, at any given time of life. Choices which were wrong. How easy failure could have been to correct. It’s never been particularly appealing.
Which is why despite doing so, I’m still struggling to see the benefits of publishing my most intimate thoughts for any and all to see. And it looks like people are reading this.
Thank you truly for your time and your comments. It’s nice to realise there is shared understanding, at least partially, with some of you who may read this.
My thoughts, this situation, aren’t unique. This I know. This isn’t somehow more significant simply because it’s being written about. This is a perfectly common occurrence.
But it’s my situation, and it’s not common to me. A single aspect of my life has become so important, so absolutely relevant to me, right now, and I can’t let it go. There is so much advice. So many different recommendations about how to reflect and move on to better things. And I can’t take any of it. It’s not possible to explain, but moving on this soon, would be wrong. It feels wrong.
Does that make it any less selfish? Any less egocentric? I can’t say. I’m willing to listen, to take heed. But, as much as hate all of this, as much as I want to return to my previous, assured, self, I can’t give up entirely.
I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want pity. This writing is for me. To resolve my thoughts. As odd as it may sound, it’s helps. The point that these entries are for my benefit, may be a little overstated, but it’s honest. If people read this, my intent won’t be entirely apparent.
I’m worrying about moving on, what happens next, and it hasn’t quite reached that stage. At what point does uncertainty, another individual being unsure of their thoughts and feelings, jeopardise any possibility of a future? When do the chances we take become futile and counter-productive?
Most importantly, is it even possible to genuinely connect with another, if you’re unsure?
For this to work, I have to show a side to myself that I’m unbelievably uncomfortable showing. And being uncomfortable about it, can only really be detrimental. K being unsure, isn’t her problem, it’s mine. It’s understandable, and justified because I’ve been detached. I’ve detached myself from the girl I’ve fallen for, and I’m not sure there’s a way back.
She could become the best partner I never had. And that scares me. It’s consuming.