On Posts, Insecurities, Impromptu Advocacies, Existential Nihilism, Et Cetera

I need to stop worrying about what people will think about the things I post because

1.) nobody reads this (no seriously, there’s a Stat counter to prove it), and

2.) I made this for me. This is a journal, not a coffee table book.

My worry about being literary-analyzed or personally prejudged is stopping me from writing down the things that I want to see here for my own personal enjoyment. I mean okay, if people see my posts and think I’m cool then that’s great. But that’s not the point of this. To be honest I don’t know what the point is exactly—maybe it’s exercise—but I know for a fact that I’m not simply trying to show people I’m somebody else aside from myself (I don’t know who I am as of yet, but that’s a vein to be pursues in another post). It’s not supposed to matter what people think. It shouldn’t matter what they’re going to say regarding the things they see here; the only thing that matters is how it affects them, in themselves. Their emotions should not simply be reactions to how pa-cool I’m being, or to how anal my categorizations & tagging are. If they are going to read it, it should not be about me. They should read it in relation to themselves, their lives, how they relate to it. I’m not the focus. I’m only reacting to things I see in the world, and what I’m trying to do is to get people to do the same. Introspection and individuality (some would call it egocentrism but I beg to be excused) should be the takeaway, if anything. Not prejudice, not literary analysis.

I see I got sidetracked again. That sidetrack was a very insightful thing for me, though. I only realized that as I was writing it down. I’ll think more about it later.

But yes, back to the point. The point was, I should not have to worry, and if I can’t help it, then even if I do, that worrying should not stop me from posting what I feel, because this is mine, and my experiences and thought processes are unique. I don’t have to worry if I’m posting too much or too little (except if I’m doing it because I’m pressured by nonexistent readers; now that would be a real problem), or about scheduling what posts to publish when. I should not have to worry about whether what I’m posting is special or common, or if it makes me look jejemon or plain or whatever. This is me, and this is a mirror of what I am, though a very distorted one (my words can never do my feelings justice, mainly because my tongue is clumsy and forgetful). I don’t have to hold back because I’m afraid of pretending, because I don’t have to pretend.

Well I’m glad I got that settled.. It’s a bummer, though, that this time around, it’s not my insecurity that’s stopping me from posting; it’s my brain’s existential nihilistic tendencies.

Why is life as a semi-sane person so hard? *sigh*

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