I’ve written multiple posts.
“Hey…it’s been a year.” I was never really able to pass the humiliation part of blogging again. I felt like I couldn’t share my thoughts without feeling vulnerable, but I know and told myself multiple times. Writing is a vulnerable task. It will always be. Whatever statements you make, whatever word choices you decide. You will pretty much put yourself in a lose-lose position.
People will always overlook what your writing intentions are. I keep reminding myself that I should not care what people think because I will never have control over the thoughts of people but my own.
In all honesty, I love sharing my stories and love sharing my experiences. However, most of my writing is my open thoughts. How I’m feeling. How frustrated I am. Writing helps me explore my thoughts openly even though it’s on public platform. I love hearing opinions, feedbacks and advices, too. If I really want an audience or attention, I would seek it in other ways, but sharing my writing do not mean I’m asking for help. I’m writing for the sake of writing.
When I write, I write as if I’m speaking to someone who is listening.
When I was at the ages of 17-20, I kept thinking in the thoughts of sixteen-year-old. There was not enough time and I had to rush into everything to reach my goals by the age of 25-26. During this period, I didn’t recognize my racing thoughts, as anxiety. I denied that I was ever anxious. I would respond, “What do you mean? I’m not anxious. I just need stuff to happen and get done.” Sometimes, my racing thoughts would get in the way of my sleep. In this time period, I did a lot. I explore a little more. I wanted to learn everything and I wanted more.
Now I’ve reached to the age of what I thought I would have considered, “Made It.” I really haven’t made it to the point where I’m satisfied. Will I ever be satisfy with life?