It works, at least often, to release the internal build up and stop my psyche from screaming. After venting I often feel like curling up and going to sleep, and I'm pretty much guaranteed to feel better in the morning. I did just that last night, going to sleep at 9:20, and now it's 2:17 and I'm awake and will probably stay up so I can get this damned paper done. I hate these damned papers, I don't see why our entire grade should be based on what amounts for most people to a few hours of work. It puts undue stress on the student body and is not a particularly good way of teaching either. Just an easy way to grade.
On occasion I feel guilty about expressing angst and self-loathing in this forum, since I know there are people who read this journal and I wish I could keep it full of pithy humorous essays on life and politics or skewed observations about the world. That's not what this journal was created for, though. It was created, or at least perpetuated, because I was at an impass in my therapy and couldn't get out sentiments that I really needed to express. It's much easier to express onself in a journal where the decision to expose only takes a split second (the writing is not as vulnerable an act as the posting because up until the moment you hit the post button you can always just delete it and take it back) as opposed to the constant decision making inherent in talking. When you're talking you have to keep re-affirming the path you are going down or you can easily veer off into a different topic or into half-truths and dishonesty. In writing you CAN do that too but the impetus isn't nearly as strong. Up until that half second it takes to release it out into the wide world you have no reason to lie.
On the other hand I also wanted this journal to be more than just the senseless whinings of another disgruntled twenty-something. Often times it isn't. I've grown to be okay with that though, since it's my personal bought and paid for place for self-expression and thus it's alright for it to be about what I need it to be about at any given moment. If that makes people not want to read it, that's okay. If it makes the people who do want to read it uncomfortable from time to time, well that's just collateral damage in my own internal emotional war.
On the other hand I don't want people to think that I'm looking for sympathy. I'm not. I won't say that I don't appreciate it when it comes, but I'm not seeking it. I'm not looking for people to buck me up when I'm feeling blue or tell me that the sun will come out tomorrow. (If anyone offers to bet their bottom dollar I will be forced to take rash and irreversible action.) The act of writing, alone, is enough to pick my chin up and draw out a lot of the tension.
I do wish I was the kind of person who could comment on the fact that "Swoops" candy says on the box that it will 'evenlope your mouth in chocolate bliss' even though that means it will leave you like Neo in Smith's interogation room (first movie, towards beginning) only with chocolate bliss rather than flesh. They should call it the candy that tries to eat you, but gives up before reaching the nose or the chin.
I'm not that kind of person, though. I have a lot of darkness in me, and I need to represent the darkness along with the humor. Darkness and self-doubt are not the sorts of things that one can talk about with aquaintances so all that stuff gets shoveled here. When someone says "I just chased a squirrel around the lawn!" it's inappropriate to respond "Sometimes I think I'm unworthy of love and that I'll never be able to achieve or impress in the real world the real world like I can in an academic setting."
Another reason for that is the shallowness of people around here. I was talking to my friend Doug about all the friends he's made and he said that he had been burned a lot by aquaintances who he thought were friends but stopped making eye contact or smiling during semesters when they didn't have classes together. I think it's a combination of my school attracting the socially awkward but intelligent and the very ambitious and heartless. It's also part of being a young person. I get alone better with people who have a few more years under their belts. Maturity, it's a good thing.
Christ, I'm writing so sloppily that I keep skipping whole sections of sentences as my mind races ahead of my fingers. That's okay though, I'm writing and it's what counts.
I guess I wrote this as a disclaimer, to say that I'm not some emo boy looking for validation or love in cyberspace. I'm not on the verge of suicide, haven't been for many many years, and I'm not necessarily like this in real life. In real life I ponder why the cops never raid seders to catch underage drinkers and claim that children are best raised by monkeys.
There's an REM song on their INCREDIBLE album "Up" called "At My Most Beautiful." This is not me at my most beautiful, but it is me at my most vulnerable and in some ways my most honest.
Truth before beauty, it's not the motto of our society, at least not anymore, but I'll take it. There has to be some place where you can scrape off the pancake makeup of social appropriateness and just let yourself