Nobody Makes Me Bleed My Own Blood, Except Me
Sometimes I’m embarrassed for myself. Why do I share what I do? How can I tell people how fucked up I am? What will they think? Who am I to tell people anything?
I do it for me, no one else. Sharing my issues opens up my wounds. Allowing me to inspect them and process what’s happened. Giving me the ability to grow and heal.
Once I put it out there in front of everyone, no matter how embarrassing it may be, it rarely hurts anymore. No one can find out my secrets and use them against me. I already owned them. I have the opportunity to correct some of my mistakes and move on with my life. Possibly helping others do the same.
We find strength and power in other people we didn’t know we had. Some of my favorite writers bleed in their writing. I want to bleed too. They expose the sides of themselves that aren’t so pretty. Sometimes it’s downright ugly.
I’ve seen people post their pain in hope of finding help or peace. Not seeking attention, as some may think. Asking for help is a sign of strength. I find power in that. Sometimes I don’t even realize what I’ve read or heard has helped me until many hours later. It’s selfish, but true. I’m OK with being selfish in this regard.
When I’m not scared or embarrassed to share my thoughts I know it usually won’t be as good as when I am. It lacks a sense of rawness. When I write something and I think to myself, “this is gold”, it tends to be garbage and not well received. It’s usually trite nonsense anyone can put into words and show to the world. I’m not risking anything or taking chances, I’m playing it safe.
Usually its a bullshit attempt at motivation without any real emotion. I’m grabbing at straws talking about something I don’t have a lot of real experience with. I’m being phony. There’s nothing I despise more than people who discuss what they have little knowledge of. (more…)