I'm having one of those moments where I keep reading what I wrote and trying to figure out what I've done. Sometimes I'm more than amazed what get written down and sometimes I'm actually in a state of marvel that I can write this decently. It kind of hurts me a bit that I can't write fiction for shit, even though I have so many great ideas, I can not make them live the same way as I could retelling life or simply trying to get a point out that I do not have the strength to say.
So I'm just rereading it and dealing with what comes up and reliving some hard moments where I would rather just forget it. And yet, forgetting never has really worked for me. I just hope that when I'm done writing all these things down that I can find some sort of peace or at least solitude in the end and not the nightmare that when I'm done I'll still be the same person only with my inner fears written on the walls.
That kind of reminds me of the time someone asked me if I ever worried that someone could read what I wrote and figure me out enough to have their way. I've told them that it's been done and it's happened time and time before. Chances it will happen again and I just don't care. It's on the level of taking advantage of someone throwing up. You can and if you want you are able to do so, but you are just a douche and you are going to be seen as a douche and like all douches they get found out and they get the label of douche placed upon them that seem to follow them.
And yes, I've love my fair share of douches. Or did they become douches after the fact? Who am I to judge douches? I'm just content to find them out before they can do major douchey damage.
Well, whatever I guess.
If these were my fears I would never write. So....yea.
Just trying to see where to go next from here. It's not a finished tale and I still think I can pull more out before I can exhaust the issue.
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