Back in 2004, when I started this blog, the grand idea was that I have a place to just write. To "vent, bitch and story-tell". I have often felt that writing about a thing can often make it feel like less of a thing, that the act of writing about a feeling makes that feeling diminish somehow.
And suddenly, here I am, four years later, full. Full of stuff to tell. Because now? I can't here. Because you know me.
My greatest weakness is my inability to let you all in. There are maybe, maybe a handful of people that have seen me cry. Heard me cry. I get upset and I hold it so tightly, because it's my upset, that I end up choking it. Choking on it. Dealing with it completely alone. And right there is the reason I started this blog, to possibly let up a little on my grip. To open up a single inch in hopes that I could do that in real life.
It's not working. It's not working because I don't want to talk about things on here because they involve you. It's not working because the problem is wrapped so tightly in the solution that I will never free either of them. It's not working because I'm so good at being alone that I don't know how not to be.
I'm sitting here, thinking about how this all feels so much like a war with myself - I'm tired of being alone but I'm unable or unwilling or unsomething to reach for someone.
I don't think I can win.
And I think, that maybe, this blog is unable to serve the purpose I once had for it.