Sometimes I wonder if blogging is bad for me. If maybe it allows me to indulge in emotions that should be allowed to just come and then quickly pass. If maybe I skew reality in here. If in my honest attempt to understand myself and life and people I am completely missing the point of life and instead am beating an entire farm of dead horses. If also- once I step away from the blog- everything is better and easier because I’m not over thinking the lamest of shit. I think I am fine and happy, and my life is good, and everyone is good.. and then I get to writing and I pick up on some weird feeling I get while writing and then I go from there and before you know it I’m writing myself into depression. Yes depression. I write myself into depression, while writing is also the only thing to at times get me out from under being depressed.
I never saw myself as a depressed person but I have to say there is an inherent sadness deep inside me. And it’s always been there. I don’t know why though.
And seeing as I go crazy with and without writing, I wonder if maybe I’d go less crazy if I stopped writing. If I just lived simply and stopped seeing things through “a writers eyes”. But it’s not a choice, is it? You are what you are.
It may drive me mad. It’s pencil rubbings on the sides of my hands. It’s my only constant.