So, honestly, I haven’t been posting because I forgot this blog existed. Then, when I logged on for the first time in two months I felt this huge fear that someone had actually read what I’ve written, and I didn’t want that. It terrified me. I started this blog because I’m so bad at opening up to people in my life, and I thought maybe being honest about my thoughts and feelings in front of strangers would be easier, but it sort of isn’t. The internet is forever, and the anxious part of my mind keeps saying that someday this will all get traced to me and somehow ruin my life. But the rational part of me thinks my fear is stupid and knows this blog is the best terrible idea I’ve had in terms of helping myself face it.
On a different note, when I woke up this morning I had this memory come to me and I’ve been thinking about it all day. It was Junior year of high school, and I had decided to quit the debate team when our season ended in January. But I was so scared to tell my parents, the coaches, and my friends on the team that I just… didn’t. After the last round of our final tournament, the entire team was gathering around my friend (the only Senior on the team) talking about how weird it was that this was her last tournament, and reminiscing about their favorite memories from the past couple years. And I was sitting with them feeling sick, because it was my last day too, but no one knew that and I couldn’t bring myself to tell them. I wanted nothing more than to join in and talk about how conflicted I felt walking away from the team after three years. I just sat there and felt awful instead.
I don’t even know if there’s a moral to that story, but it’s on my mind. There is a certain strangeness to everyone around you trying to care for someone else when you’re going through the exact same stuff.