Writing a blank…

I realized something on the drive home tonight. I’ve never known what is is to truly love. No, really. I’ve never missed home, I’ve never missed anyone outside of masked insecure feelings, I’ve never longed for a safe place I’ve ever known. Sure enough, I’ll get criticism for this post but it’s my blog, it’s my life and if you don’t like it click that cool little ‘x’ button on the window or do whatever it is you gotta do to quit.

As I’ve realized recently, I love being around people yet I kinda despise people. Some people. I work at a Coffee shop in one of the richest neighborhoods so you may imagine I can already tell some stories of the disgusting attitudes people spew. On the flip side, I can also tell you stories about some of the most amazing people I’ve met at this particular location. Life isn’t all about the assholes that make their presence well known. Sometimes we just have to look past it.

I’ve had a pretty good life. I lived a fairly sheltered childhood that kept me safe from boogeymen and the molesters that would inevitably take me if I strayed too far from home. I always had a roof over my head and was fed and all that kinda good stuff. I know my family loves me in their own way and that isn’t something I want to take away from them.

Truth of the matter is, I have felt empty for a lot of years. A lot. I’ve learned what guilt is and I’m not a fan of it. Suicide has been pinned on me and ya know what? Good for fuckin’ her… It had nothing to do with me. How dare someone put such a horrible emotion into someone else. I try as hard as I can to avoid even playful guilt trips with people. If someone doesn’t want to feel the way I want them to, they have every right to that. I will never fault anyone for that (or at least I’m going to try my damnedest).

There’s a lot more about my life that I have to save for the journal that must be burned after every entry. I think about things a lot when I get to the end of my day such as right now. I’m not OK with certain things that have happened to me, and I’m not here to point fingers or place blame because in the end, my life as it stands is because of my own actions.

This kind of blog entry is what happens when I truly have writers block. I tried to avoid venting about pissy people or experiences with un-passionate people. As I wrote about in my last entry, I sit in front of the blank canvas of my life and try to open myself up to inspiration. I look for it in my dreams, yet sometimes those don’t seem real enough for me.

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