4 October 2016

Okay, I really need calm down with all these consecutive blog posts but now I'm thinking even more.

I just need to stop thinking.

What's the point of blogging knowing that nobody is reading. Like I ask these questions knowing I'm never going to get an answer from anybody, so why am I asking. Why not just ask some real person out there and not my imaginary friend Lizzy. I'm trying to remember why my imaginary friend is named Lizzy in the first place. I'm pretty sure I made her when I was in kindergarten or elementary school, but Lizzy?? I have this strange feeling that it was the name of one of the bears in that weird bear cartoon.

Another weird thing is that all the traffic on my blog is coming from porn websites. Why? It probably just has something to do with the strange place that is the internet.

Back to the point, some people say that blogging is therapeutic. Is it really though? At some point you have to wonder if having all these unanswered emotions floating around gets to be unhealthy. On one hand, you think that if everyone read your blog, you would be more likely to be fake. On the other hand, if you know nobody reads your blog, you would be brutally honest but who cares because of course you're honest if you're the only one that will ever actually read it. So either way, what's the point if you have to be either fake or just rant about shit you already know.

I know some people aren't necessarily "fake" when they have public blogs with many viewers. I can see how that can make people happy with people in comments discussing and sharing their opinions/agreement. People like it when others agree with them. Not so much when they don't.

I guess running an unknown blog can be cool for purposes of chronicling one's life and reading past posts to see how you've changed. Sometimes I read my past posts and it's like I don't even remember writing them. Or I think about how dumb I was back then.

Thinking more, even when I know nobody is really reading my blog, I still kind of lie to myself. For example, around March of this year, I made a mistake in my math class. I never really wrote out what the mistake was. I still can't write what it was, because I'm afraid of myself. It's like I'm hoping that one day I'll just forget about it, and that will somehow make it okay. I know that's bad. It's like when you're so convinced of your own lie, it becomes the truth. Even though it is still just a lie.

Sometimes I wish people I knew read my blog so they would know how I felt without me actually having to tell them. That's bad too. I should probably just tell them.

I'm a coward.