I was telling a friend the other day that my blog was stressing me out. He asked why. I told him that I didn’t have a freakin’ clue. And that’s totally not true. It’s just that I didn’t want to think about why it was stressing me out.
“Well”, he typed over Gchat, “Isn’t your writing supposed to be therapeutic?” I thought about it for a second and realized my writing has become anything but. At one point a long time ago it was a form of therapy. I was young and I was lost and I discovered that putting those two truths down into words helped. A lot. Looking back on those posts I probably sounded like a nutjob, but weren’t we all at 22?
When more than my Mom under a fake pseudonym started reading my blog, I got nervous. I was afraid that people would think it was some lame-ass teenage-esque diary of a young woman who needed a can of “SHUT THE HELL UP!” . Something I wish they actually sold in grocery stores so I could strategically leave outside college student’s dorm rooms in the (more…)