okay, but for real this time

This isn’t good for me anymore.

I am writing myself raw lately, because I am afraid that you will forget about me. (This has always been my biggest fear.) I am double checking my WordPress views and my Facebook likes over and over and over again, because those little thumbs up’s and little hearts feel so much like love.

(I know you love me. It’s okay.)

(I broke The Great Lemon Cake Bargain of 2020 already. Let us now enter a period of history known as The Grand Spicy Cheez-It Deal: I will stop, and therefore I get to eat this entire box of Spicy Cheez-Its. Tonight.)

This months-long panic attack, manic episode, actual emotional fucking rollercoaster… we are rolling back into the station, finally, I think, and now I need to take a break. I need to be able to care about and for myself even when I am not cushioned by the exquisite softness of WordPress views and Facebook likes. These highs have been some of the highest, and these lows have been some of the lowest, and these loop-the-loops have been truly fucking spectacular.

But I am tired, and my stomach hurts, and I need to get off this ride.

Lately, I have been writing SO MUCH purely for the validation of it, and it has become compulsive. I cannot sit still, cannot read a book, cannot watch a movie, cannot be quiet with myself, cannot focus. All I can do is write my guts out, and then hold my breath until I think you have read them.

And I am sad to accept this, because writing is my favorite thing. It is what I want to be best at, it is what I want to someday do for a living.

But sometimes what we love isn’t always what is best for us.

I’ve been writing here, especially, so much lately, because I fucking hate myself, and because this has become something like my penance. I don’t know. I do not feel smart or articulate tonight, only that I am only brave enough to confess it here. Perhaps you might help hold me accountable.

I know I keep talking about this, but I have other deadlines. I am not done writing words, am not done sharing stories, but this? This right here? This has gotten away from me, and I need to let it run its course in peace. I need to dare my own thoughts to live solely in my own head.

Not forever. I’ll be back.

I think perhaps that I wanted you to know all my ugliness, that it might never be an unwelcome surprise to you. But in this course, I have forgotten my beauty. And I am sad, and I need to take it back.

Thank you for being here. I am looking forward to coming back soon to yell about Star Wars, quote Walt Whitman, and generally be a big soft geek.

This has never been about forgetting. But I, perhaps, am ready to forgive.

 

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