When I blog instead of sleeping

There is a lot on this blog I no longer identify with, a lot I no longer want to be part of. Such as scrutinizing my parents´ behavior, or blaming them for my troubles. Or maybe not so much this, as everyone makes mistakes or does unfortunate things and I´m sure so did my parents. What I have recognized as fundamentally wrong now, though, is the idea that they had deep-seated hostile intentions towards me. I´m sure there were negative feelings at times, but what I had in my head was some kind of conspiracy theory.

What those years have left in me is the feeling that just by trying to tell the story of my life, I can bring huge guilt upon me. I could tell it wrong. I could say something that isn´t true, and all of a sudden I have compromised innocent people. I frame them just by internally writing my autobiography. I always feel like I should be more wary of what I say than I am right now. I feel like, with each assertation I make, with each entry I write, I´m doing something bad – for purely selfish reasons. For entertainment. For having something to say. So many everyday life actions are associated with feelings of guilt for me.

The fear that I cannot speak without telling a lie lead me towards being unable to get out a straight sentence. Large parts of my former diaries are essentially incomprehensible. And to this day, what is incomprehensible to me is how I could be in mental treatment at the time and yet my therapist did not notice what was going on. I must have appeared more collected than I felt, or maybe the fact that my confusion itself disabled me from communicating the extent of it got in the way. Or maybe he was just an incompetent twat, but that belongs elsewhere.

I don´t know if anything I write now sounds clear and easy to comprehend. Often my blog sounds like to me like the ramblings of a lunatic. I forget most of the time that my readers cannot feel the sense of wrongness I feel when I post here, making statements about myself as if I was sure of them. Reading this must feel quite different from writing this.

 

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One Response to “When I blog instead of sleeping”

  1. i’ve only read a couple posts. i’m trying to dig out too. i have been you so many times… like last week. i want out tho, i’m not wanting to give up. i’ve been all alone fighting for my life for 4 years, nearly completely isolated. but i have moments where i have the answers in my hand, and then it just slips thru my fingers. i wanted you to know i ijust found you, and i easily disappear, but i wanted to tell you i want to know you and i wish the computer didnt’ have such a stupid voice for narrator cuz i could listen to you, but my meds make it hard to focus on reading even when the material means alot to me. but i can literally write all day and not notice the time. its like dancing in my head to get it down instead of repeating it to myself over and over and over.

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