Is Blogging For Me?

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I was looking at words I'd previously written and I felt sad that they weren't seen, but also that they weren't protected more by myself. I know they're just words but they're the building blocks of language and language allows us to communicate, and I have always wanted to communicate.

I was wondering if blogging was, at times, not really for me. I have no great want to be shilling stuff to people, I am just a small face in the crowd (with many chins). I only ever seem to feel the need to write when I am plagued by the big black dog. I thread my words across the screen, describing the big black cloud that has been following me from day one. 

 

I think of all the beautiful things in the world and can't feel them, but I can drag you down through Dante's levels of hell. I'm out here hanging out with Sylvia Plath, Francesca Woodman, with Goya and Agnes Martin in the middle ring of the Seventh Circle of Dante's Inferno. If you wondered, Dante decided those that killed themselves would be turned into bushes and trees and then eaten by Harpies. Which if is anyway real, doesn't seem to be so bad, considering.

 

Hello, I am your archetypal tortured artist, sitting on the floor in pyjamas thinking about death and philosophy and the end of the world. For good measure I also haven't washed today and there is a pile of washing up in the sink. (If I tell you it's soaking would you believe me?). This is all set to a soundtrack of Nine Inch Nails and Gary Numan.

I never meant to be the angel of misery, flying in and sprinkling everyone with my tears, but at times it appears I wear it so well, and at least I am consistent. Do you like me trying to put a positive spin on things? (It doesn't really work does it?)

 
 

The thing is, I have nothing to be miserable about, not really. That leaves guilt that greases my skin and will not wash away. I could lay in the bath for weeks and still leave as filthy as I started. It permeates every inch of my life and I struggle to see how I can succeed when the self hatred I have encompasses everything and I keep losing bits of myself everywhere. I should never have been this careless.