Sometimes, I don’t think I’ll ever write anything again because I’m feeling so burned by the reaction to what I’ve written before that I’ll be second guessing myself forever.
This isn’t entirely sparked by the earlier controversy here, though it certainly applies. It’s just another general observation about me and my big goddamn mouth, my inability to breathe before I write, my insistence on being right over being a caring person.
I know who I am, y’know? I know what my intentions are, what I feel. I’ve been in therapy too many years not to be self aware to a fault.
It doesn’t give me the license to be so ruthlessly blunt that I hurt people I care about.
Most of the time, I hate myself. Sometimes, I just find myself bewildering. It leads to the question:
Am I more truthfully depicted in the eyes of others than I am in my own heart?
I hope not. I hope so.
Dark Matter 