I just want something more. I don't know what it is, why a part of me is empty somehow. It's a feeling that makes me want to run away and be by myself. Because the only way I can fantasize about what I wish I had is when I'm alone. And I'll walk through a mall or a restaurant or drive down a highway, and pretend I'm rich, pretend I'm married, pretend I'm someone else. Because it's so freeing to be walking around where no one knows you. No one in the Rockaway mall knows I date Billy. They don't know who he is. They don't know where I work. They don't know my family. They don't know me. And it feels so good, so unburdened.
What am I burdened by, you ask? I have no idea. Everything in my life is really good right now. There are a few things I'd change if I could, but nothing is horrible. Nothing is weighing me down, noting is making me miserable. Yet I still feel heavy, tired of fighting, tired of feeling like I'm never doing enough. Like I'm not enough.
I don't know why. I just know that I watch other people get what I want and it kills me. And I don't just mean book deals and oodles of money. I mean less tangible, more obtuse things.
Billy told me last night that my last post sounded like I was "complaining." And I tried to explain that I wasn't complaining, I was just writing. It was supposed to be funny. But we couldn't agree. And, at the end of the conversation, what irritated me wasn't that we couldn't agree on the tone of what I'd written, but that I was defending it again. MY writing. MY blog. Something that I'M proud of. Why am I constantly defending it? Why am I constantly ashamed to bring it up? Ashamed to admit I'm proud of it? Ashamed that it's even there?
I'm not writing very well anymore. I moved a really good post because I was afraid my ex would see it and get mad. I worry constantly that I'm going to offend someone. This site isn't even my own anymore. It belongs to everybody else. It belongs to the people whose opinions I value. It belongs to an ex that I'm still, apparently, afraid of. They're my words, but I don't own them.
You know when I was good? Back in the early days, when no one I knew knew that I had a blog. When I had three readers. When I was unafraid and still hiding behind a veil of pseudo-anonymity. And now, everything but my last name is out here. And I love it. I love that I've met incredible people through this blog. I love that I'm part of a little sub-culture that understands me. The hard part is the people I know in real life tuning in. Not because I want to bitch about them, but because it's hard to read something from any other point of view than how I intended it to be read. And the last thing - the last thing - I want to do is hurt anyone's feelings. And, as far as I know, I haven't. I'm just hyper-aware that it's always a possibility.
I'm not saying I'm quitting, I'm just saying it's going to take me a bit to get back in the swing of things. To remember that I started this for me, and I should continue it for me. To realize that if I want to write, I have to understand that not everyone is going to love it. I'll snap out of this soon. It'll just take me a few days.
In the meantime, thanks for sticking around.