Excessive

I sit here feeling as though my heart is about to explode, feeling full of anxiety and discomfort. I'm dizzy and disoriented, feeling alone and never quite so unimportant. Simple pleasures? Happiness in the small things? These are the things I've learned to direct my life towards - to appreciate and seek out and raise up to special.

No one reads this, I know that... I'm not stupid. There was a time when people were interested in the things that I had to say, even a time when people I didn't know read it, commented on things and contacted me, but times have changed. It's nothing more than a monologue now, an empty room I shout into to feel better, a pillow I can punch to get my aggression out in a healthy way without hurting myself. The question that needs to be answered is am I okay with that, and I haven't quite figured it out yet. I still censor myself for fear of the wrong people reading or taking it the wrong way, and that censorship makes me feel angry, ripped off and pissed because I'm leaving out things that I'd want to read in the future. Yeah, I could fuck around with the privacy settings and hide posts and stuff, but then I figure, if I have to go to that trouble, and if someone did stumble to my website to read, the content would just be hidden and what was the point?

I am not good at talking, or explaining myself, especially when I feel under attack, or slighted, or even if I'm simply in a bad mood, and I'm definately in a bad mood. Writing just comes naturally, and I can translate my thoughts effortlessly to words whereas with speaking I stumble and get caught on words, anxiety rises and I just get worse. It leads to shitty arguments, that go on until enough time has passed for me to write out my feelings so that they can be properly understood.

336 words