My Writing
The more I write, the more I realize that the reason I'm having so much trouble writing is because not I'm supposed to tell anyone. And that's exactly what I'm doing. I'm telling someone, if I get it published then possibly millions of someone's. I don't know how to feel about that to be honest. The millions of people knowing. If I do get it published, it will come down from my LJ. I'll erase all the entries because they'll be in the book. And I'll be honest, if I can make money off the pain and suffering, it's the least I deserve. But that's a long while off. And not more than 5-6 people actually follow my journal on a regular basis, as far as I know. At least according to my friend's list and the ones I know that don't post to LJ anymore and don't read either it'd be about 5-6 people. My little flag counter has shown a sharp increase in the users who have viewed my journal but those could just be people searching for something and my journal got caught in there because of a keyword. So I'm not putting much stock in the idea that many people are reading this. Which is fine. I don't need people to read it. I write it for the person who's lived something similar but can't give voice to it out of fear or shame. I abandoned shame long ago. They saw to that. So I'll keep on writing and, hey, maybe one day you'll see my book on the shelf and think, "Hey, I know that guy." But I honestly don't want any personal press from this. I'd rather my identity remain in obscurity. I do it because their story needs to be told. For my sake and the sake of others. And my story needs to be told so I can heal and be a whole person again. I've been this fragmented, disjointed, pasted and glued monstrosity for more than half my life. It's time that ends.