I really was going to write something here, but then I realized something.
I used to write here a lot. You might remember that. But at some point, I slowed down. I attributed that to many things, but one reason I didn't realize was a factor until today was that, especially in the last few years, I had someone to tell my stupid anecdotes to. The time I would've spent putting my thoughts together in paragraphs ended up being time I spent just saying things until I end up releasing and forgetting.
Now, well, I don't. So it should mean I'd have the energy to write things down, but, well, no. Work and everything else aside, I am left with the feeling that if I do write these stories down, nobody ultimately cares about them, so I just let them linger until I end up releasing and forgetting.
Well, maybe I should start promoting this blog again, yeah? It felt nice, getting likes on social media whenever I post links to my newest entries on there. But the blow to my self-worth (and that's putting it lightly) inflicted by all that she did and all that she said was my fault - which was everything - meant that it's really difficult to move forward when you still have to lick your wounds and hope for them to heal. And, well, they won't, because, you know, scars. Stuff being reopened. My head not being as cooperative as I want it to be. I mean, my heart, it's doing fine. It's two, three steps away from I hate you. I don't see myself moving away from that. My head? Completely different story.
And so, I sometimes say, out loud, in the presence of the very few I do trust with everything, the words "this window is appealing right now". I don't see myself moving away from that.
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