Before I begin, I would like to start by apologizing to you, dear reader, for my lack of eloquence. As much as I have always enjoyed writing, putting my thoughts into written word has never been my forte.

I need a place to escape to, somewhere I can put down all my thoughts and feelings. I want this to be my place for secret whispers, fleeting, and not so fleeting thoughts. I want this to be my safe place to run to when I’m feeling lost and out of control, which happens far too often than I care to admit to myself, let alone anyone else. But here I am, finally admitting these things to myself and anyone who may come across this page of mine, although I’m doubtful anyone will – or if you do, it likely won’t mean anything to you. And, that’s okay. I want it that way. This is for me.

Right now I’m listening to an album, titled ‘—-‘ by the artist ‘—-‘. (I can’t very well tell you what I’m listening to, you, dear reader, might discover who I am). All you need know is that I like it, I find it incredibly calming, yet exhilarating at the same time. It reminds me of how I feel witnessing a storm, I feel calm in the presence of it’s raw power, I feel safe. It’s okay, I don’t expect you to understand. Most people don’t. I barely understand it myself, but if I give myself a moment to think about my reasoning behind this, I can only come to the conclusion that I feel safe knowing there is absolutely nothing I can do in the face of it. In contrast, I panic and feel unsafe in situations where I feel there is something I should be doing, that I should somehow just know what action to take, and I don’t. My worst nightmare is uncertainty.

Have I scared you off yet?

Uncertainty, this feeling is what brings me here. Writing here. Spilling my jumbled thoughts and feelings onto this page. Forgive me if this makes no sense, my thoughts rarely do. It’s something I’m trying to get used to, trying to accept in myself. I haven’t reached that point yet, and honestly I don’t think I ever will – is that normal?

I feel too young to have so much pressure put on me. Why can’t I cut all ties and just leave, why is it not that simple? Or is it? Or am I doing my typical ‘over-thinking’, and my brain just won’t let me accept that? So many questions.

Uncertainty. Isn’t it great? …sorry, I forget sarcasm doesn’t translate well over simple font.

Whisper from my heart – One thing I am certain of, I care for you. More deeply than I thought I would, more deeply than I should. The irony of that?, it causes more uncertainty. Should I try to fight this? ..yeah, probably. I’m fairly certain you don’t feel the same way. I have my doubts you quite remember how, or perhaps you’re too afraid. We’re both a bit messed up that way. Will I get hurt?, more than likely. It’s not love, not yet.

I hate myself for this, I fall quickly. Do you think that’s right? Do you have the same problem? Or is this just me, my stupid brain leading me down yet another path it shouldn’t? …probably the latter.

Do I care too much? You’ve no idea how much I want to be the person you can run to. My heart aches when you tell me you’re fighting a panic attack, or depression. You’ve no idea how much I want to wrap you in my arms, whispering how much I care, into your ear. You’ve no idea how much I want to be here for you. But, I’m not that person.

Do you have that person? I think everyone should. I don’t. But everyone should.

Are you still here, dear reader? Are you still reading because you’re somehow, strangely fascinated by the crazy thoughts that run through my head? Or can you relate? I honestly hope it’s the former.. being able to relate to these thoughts is not something I would wish upon anyone.

Have I scared you off yet?

I always doubt myself. My abilities, my intelligence. Sometimes I prove myself wrong, those days are good. Some days, most days, my doubt, my insecurities become overwhelming. Those days I want to curl up in a ball, pretend life outside the comfort of my bed just doesn’t exist.

I’m sorry, if you’re still here with me, still reading – I never promised this would be a happy entry.

Happiness. I feel that sometimes. It’s a strange, beautiful sensation, when I get a taste. It makes me want more. But I don’t know how. I can pretend I’m happy, it becomes easier to pretend when I’m with you. But you don’t know this, I haven’t told you. How can I? That’s too personal, you don’t feel the same way.

Sadness. Uncertainty. Numb. Panic. Confusion. These are feelings I’m used to. And I hate that. I’m sure that you, dear reader, if you’re still with me, can’t help but I think that I just need to ‘stop’ feeling this way. That it’s all in my mind. That I can do something about it if I simply tried to. That I’m not trying hard enough. If I’m right, if this is what you’re thinking then okay. I’m used to that too. Maybe you are right. Maybe I’m not trying hard enough. But it gets to the point where trying, it becomes too hard.

Don’t worry, these thoughts are nothing more than that. Thoughts. And feelings. Nothing will eventuate from them. I’ve become brilliant at pretending around people, even those who love me. I’m normal, most of the time. At least that’s what they think. But now you, dear reader, know me better than most. I’ve let you inside, you’ve seen part of my soul.

Have I scared you off yet?

This isn’t all of me, I am so much more complicated. I’m crazy. I’m weird. I’m clumsy. I get tongue-tied. I suffer. I hide. I love. I care. I fall, but I pick myself up again, every time. I am me. But this is not all of me.