December 15, 2008

• I made a livejournal a while ago, in the midst of the worst time of my life and yesterday I decided to make it all private and stop posting on it because I like xanga so much better. Because of this, I had to go back to the beginning and individually change every entry to private because I am not someone who pays for online notebooks. Consequently I read a lot of the early entries again and it made me feel terrible.

  I really don't want to think about it every again. I was an awful person. I thought about deleting the entries and I wish I could erase the memories from my mind, but at the same time I think we need all our memories, not matter how painful, because they make us who we are. While it was something I would never want to relive, I still acknowledge that I learned from it and I think that makes me a stronger person in the end...

  ...but I'm still not strong enough to let go. I still can't let go of what I feel I lost in the whole ordeal. I can't uncurl my fingers from the crumpled scraps of ignorance and innocence that I still fleetingly remember. I can feel myself using the past as a crutch sometimes, weighing the present against it like they are apples and apples. I blame things on my past like it was so horrible, but in reality it is like a white sheet with a tiny wine stain at one of the corners compared to a white sheet covered in blood. How can I pretend that my tactless dealings in love and friendship can have ANY effect on my present when people who have been paralyzed from the neck down or who have had friends and family gunned down on the street continue to function? How can I be so selfish to think that only my tiny little problems matter in this world?

  What's more, why do I post them all for anyone to see?

  Maybe it's because blogs function the way I wish the real world would. When I pass people as I'm walking I smile at them and look into their eyes, secretly wondering what they are thinking about, where they are headed, what they plan to do with the rest of their day. I analyze their outfits, their purses, their backpacks, their hair, their faces and wonder if they do the same to me. But none of my questions are ever answered. All this happens in a few seconds and then the moment is gone and I may never see that person again. Do they think the same thing about me? Do they secretly regret not pausing to speak with me as I do them? Do they realize that I secretly miss them after they pass out of sight, like I've just made and lost a friend in the same instant? But with a blog we can share, we strangers who pass each other on the information superhighway. We can know what the other is thinking, where they are headed or what they plan to do with the rest of their day. We don't have to miss one another because we can go on discussing and sharing even after we pass each other and are gone from sight. Yet we remain strangers, and that in itself holds a unique pleasure about it.

  And that brings us back to my original statement. I think I really shut my livejournal down because too many people I knew in the real world were reading it. I didn't want to post all the things I think about for fear that they would think less of me. I suppose I shouldn't care, but at the same time people can be so cruel without realizing what they are doing that I didn't want to risk being hurt. I felt more restricted then set free when I posted on that journal, having to censor every line, having to make sure I didn't say anything incriminating about my beliefs or feelings or sexual escapades. Here I can say whatever I need to set my mind at ease or get something off my chest or just to rant and rave. Here I am free. Here my posts will always be everything I wanted to say and I like that feeling. I need that feeling. I need my little blog world where strangers stop and talk with me.

  Thank you.

  • 9:47 pm
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