I’m surfing through my old word documents to find something inspirational that I can post on here, and I realize that I’m totally missing the point of my blog. I have this thing so I can write. It’s supposed to be my outlet. Because I’m not working on a book right now, and because I have a hard time writing in my journal most nights, this is where I go.
Maybe I’m missing the point about a lot of things in my life lately. I feel like I’ve kind of given my soul to the Machine, the rat race that everyone finds themselves running sooner or later. For example, getting an education. I’ll be honest, the main reason I’m in college is so I can get a good job afterwards. I’m not really here to learn. I’m not as passionate about learning as I wish I was–and I’m pretty passionate.
Speaking of passion, I feel like I’m missing the point in my relationships as well. Sometimes I’m just so exhausted by existing, and I’m so traumatized by my past relationships and friendships that ended like the Hindenburg, that I can’t summon the mental fortitude to love unconditionally, the way I used to. It saddens me, to be honest.That part of me, that sweet, innocent, love-filled Maney is gone. She’s been gone for years. But I know she was there. I remember… I remember remembering. Just like you know you must have been a child once, because suddenly you realize you’re not one anymore.
I’m terrified, though. I’m looking for her, but I’m afraid of what I’ll find. Because when I lost that Maney, it wasn’t pretty. It was scary. And it hurt. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to love, because I don’t think I’m strong enough to feel so much pain again. I wonder if I’m the only one who is too scared to love freely again.