It’s easy when I’m at my most depressed and suicidal to write honestly and prolifically. Feeling that I’m going to die gives an importance to what I say and write in that time and takes away anxiety about any real world consequences.
When I’m getting better though it’s tough to get passed even the first paragraphs because whenever I read over what I’ve written and start to edit I get caught up in the idea that this is pointless, I’m annoying people, start to mind read and predict who will think what if they read it, and then it gets deleted or sits in a draft for days.
So I started doing the ten minute blogs took shake myself out of the habit of false starting. And of course a few things that started as TMBs got momentum and became 1000 word stream-of-consciousness essays.
It still happens though. That arrogance essay got to 700 words in two 10 minute bursts between episodes on Netflix and then I read over it and got stuck for 3 hours trying to make sure it was clear, doubting myself, erasing things and re-writing them.
So what’s the point of all this? I want to put myself out there, try to be understood by others to better understand myself, and to leave a narrative of my life people can easily find when I’m gone. And 2, I mentions things in conversation, even with casual friends, that I write about here but I’m not that guy who makes conversations heavy and self-centered, I hate that guy. We all hate that guy after we’re about 16.
Anyway I thought installment of 8-bit philosophy and it’s piece about confession captures what I’m doing here.