The hardest thing on the planet is making yourself vulnerable. Just bleeding emotions all over a page. I think it’s also the bravest and the wisest thing that you can do, and I want to learn how to do it. No, scratch that, I want to do it. I’m going to do it.
I’m going to do it anonymously, but this is the place where I’m going to put myself out there. There’s still going to be things I’m not going to talk about, probably, just because the thought of sharing them makes me agonize, but. Maybe someday.
Stories. Analyzing why certain stories get to me. My tangled thoughts on morality and religion. Poems. Scenes I write. My evolution, my fury, my grief. I don’t want to be censored.
Oh, boy. This is going to be hard. I can tell already. My entire self is flinching away from the idea of putting anything of me out for anyone to see. That’s a problem, I guess? I’m already trying to argue myself out of it.
But, look. I can’t say any of this stuff out loud, and keeping it in my private journals and inside my chest feels like suffocating. So, for now, the anonymous public gets to see! And maybe, someday, I’ll trust someone enough to give them the URL and say “this is me. This is my soul, bared and bleeding.” Or, who knows, maybe someday I’ll claim it as my own publicly. PROBABLY NOT THOUGH. YIKES.
This is either going to be really good for me or really bad for me. Oh, well. All of the best things in life are risks.