When I started this blog, I really thought it would save me from myself. And in a way, it has. It’s made me more inclined to put myself into creative situations. As thankful as I am that I’ve been able to come out of myself, the idea that I would magically transform into a happy go lucky character from this outlet was naive and a bit pretentious. I’ve stuck to the typical blog recipe of antidote, revelation, and the all important give away lesson in the end. I was really comfortable with that. I’ve seen it work very well for many writers and people seem to respond well to my usual posts. But sometimes, I have no antidotes. The revelations are nonexistent and there is no magical perspective that I can share. I’m simply unable see the good in my situation. My days are simple and I’m doing my best just to exists. I cannot write because I have simply been living the simplest life I can possibly fathom right now.
I truly wish I could say I have all the answers. It would be so convenient if everything I have figured out was well thought out into 500 words that I can post once week. But I can’t. I struggle to write. I struggle to see my situation in positive light more times than I would like to share. So I don’t. I’m not comfortable with it. I feel like I’m failing people who are rooting for me or even myself by keeping my thoughts to myself. It feels selfishly blue.
I’m not sure the true purpose of this post. I suppose it’s an effort to be truthful to myself and to everyone who finds anything I write someone what relatable. My blues are real. My blues can get dressed up and dance all night. They can close themselves off to everyone. They can decided to write from morning to even. They don’t make sense to me all the time but they exists.