If I see one more “New Year’s resolution” status on Facebook I think I will delete the damn thing as I’ve been threatening for years. (Who am I kidding though. My Facebook is going to stay because I love to creep.) That being said, I have a few New Year’s “goals” I’ve set up for myself so I can be a better me and all that yada yada stuff. One of them, since I consider myself to be a writer, is to branch out and compose a blog. This is a little daunting for me because I hate sharing personal things about myself. In fact, I despise it. I’ve been told I’m an enigma and that’s quite alright by me. So, to write my thoughts and happenings in my life online for anyone to read is a little scary.
I’m old school and still keep a journal. Hey, I feel I have to because my grandmother gave me a leather bound book to write in and I hate good gifts going to waste. But the main reason I felt like starting up my own blog is because I feel like there are people out there who may relate to and share some of the, for lack of a better word, problems that I seem to face on a near daily basis. Living with a mind that thinks the way I do; causes me to act the way I do; and just goes from happy to sad for no reason is frustrating and painful. Sure, I feel that it gives me a creative edge at times, but it also kills relationships I have with people and even myself. No one knows me. There are very few people I can really open up to. I spend most of my time with a fake smile and therefore I’m that girl who doesn’t have a single thing to worry about. And can I just say, just because someone doesn’t openly complain about their problems doesn’t mean they don’t have some struggle going on deep down inside them? Am I right? I know we all do and I’ve tried to keep an open mind and realize that.
I come from a family where everyone has issues and they openly spout them nonstop. I’ve been pounded over the head with everyone’s social dilemmas and health ailments until my head aches from hearing it all. I may not get a long with a few members of my family, but they are my family so I do care. When it comes to me, however, I don’t say a word about what is going on or how I’m feeling. Mainly because I would probably confuse the hell out of them. I confuse the hell out of myself most of the time! But as the years have gone on, I find it’s become a burden to keep everything bottled up inside. Man, maybe I should have visited a therapist a long time ago. They could have maybe shown me how to love, how to be happy, and how to keep this dark sick cloud from creeping into my mind all the time and causing me to lose it. Or maybe my mother is right, maybe therapists really can’t help us. Maybe we are who we are and we just have to deal with it.
I’m feeling a little tense as I look down at the “post” button. But hey, how can I expect to be a writer if I’m afraid to write about myself? So for one of my New Year’s goals, here I am ranting and raving about whatever happens to flow through my mind at the moment.
“Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.” Confucius