(no subject)
I was thinking yesterday while walking to building 2 to sign in. I don’t remember exactly along what lines of thought I came across this, but I know, in the end, I believed what I had conceived. All my thoughts will stay in my head, not for pursuit of privacy, but for lack of a medium to dispel them. I have so many ideas and desires I’d love to put into word, but I feel like they will fall on deaf ears.
I’m sick of writing. Writing my thoughts makes me feel shallow - as if I am vaingloriously putting on paper my thoughts as though they are actually noteworthy. To believe that my thoughts are actually worth noting is a matter of pride, and I hate pride. Pride makes me feel like an asshole. It’s degrading to character. And that’s hard because I have a lot to be proud of these days. I feel cocky saying that, but I do.
So what am I to do?
It was here - at this point - that I realized that I needed to talk to somebody about my spiraling and conflicting emotions, since invariably these were only the surface tensions to much deeper problems, and yet, I thought, I could not speak to anybody. I felt like I was merely all that I had, my own lonesome self. I don’t feel comfortable telling anybody else anything like those thoughts and feelings, not even James. And that’s just so dejecting.
I’m not writing this to have anybody reassure me that they are there for me when I need to talk or to plea for attention or to place guilt on anyone. I’m writing this because I honestly feel like I have no one to talk to, so I’m talking to myself on my journal. I need to communicate somehow, and this is a means. By posting this, I’ll feel as though I actually dispelled my thoughts, actually got it off my chest, so please, no pity comments.
toodles
I’m sick of writing. Writing my thoughts makes me feel shallow - as if I am vaingloriously putting on paper my thoughts as though they are actually noteworthy. To believe that my thoughts are actually worth noting is a matter of pride, and I hate pride. Pride makes me feel like an asshole. It’s degrading to character. And that’s hard because I have a lot to be proud of these days. I feel cocky saying that, but I do.
So what am I to do?
It was here - at this point - that I realized that I needed to talk to somebody about my spiraling and conflicting emotions, since invariably these were only the surface tensions to much deeper problems, and yet, I thought, I could not speak to anybody. I felt like I was merely all that I had, my own lonesome self. I don’t feel comfortable telling anybody else anything like those thoughts and feelings, not even James. And that’s just so dejecting.
I’m not writing this to have anybody reassure me that they are there for me when I need to talk or to plea for attention or to place guilt on anyone. I’m writing this because I honestly feel like I have no one to talk to, so I’m talking to myself on my journal. I need to communicate somehow, and this is a means. By posting this, I’ll feel as though I actually dispelled my thoughts, actually got it off my chest, so please, no pity comments.
toodles