How personal is too personal? I mean, it's a blog, right? It's supposed to be narcissistic and completely focused on my life. But there are things that I don't want to share with just anyone. I mean, I put it up here, and with the right combination of search words, people halfway around the world could read this. Again, I ask, how much is too much?
There are thoughts in my head that I just want to scream out, and then I'll never have to think about them again. Then there are other thoughts that I want to sift through methodically, one at a time, no interruptions. There are some that hurt too much to even think, let alone talk about. I once thought that typing them out, then never reading them again would be the answer. Wrong. Then they're there forever, almost haunting in the way they linger.
It's these thoughts that keep me from falling into the depths of despair while simultaneously pushing me further and further towards the brink of self-implosion. If I sound like a mess, it's because I am. I feel like a Picasso painting. A portrait of something common, then distorted with askew angles and arms in bizarre locations, painted in primary colours, juxtaposing the simple palate with the complex shapes.
This wasn't supposed to be it.