I spent way too much time “trying to figure out what I want to write” and this blog isn’t shit for it. Every idea I had is still stuck in my drafts or trashed. Nothing I wanted to say felt like an original thought. Is there anything new to express, though? Probably not. So why is my take on the same old feelings any less valid than anyone else’s? It’s not, I suppose.
Truth is, I wanted to be important. I wanted my words to resonate in some way. But who am I? I am just another noise feeding into a cacophony of expression and emotion, and often times ill-informed opinion. I’m just another fucking person who wants to be heard; who thinks they have something new to add. I have nothing new to add. I only have something me.
I feel like I’m tired of being quiet, as though someone else forced me into silence. I’m my own oppressor. I’ll have to be my own liberator. I have to stop over-analyzing my words. I have to stop looking for ways to make myself more palatable. Who the fuck cares? Who am I trying to impress?