LIVING NAKED

I never try to make sense of what I think about, I rather just try to not think about it which then makes me think about it even more. Okay, so I always try to make sense of what I think about all the time, infuriatingly so. Sometimes I think my mind just decided I was an overthinker so I would never know how a proper reaction to something should be. Which makes me a bit slow. Social cues save me!

Anyway, one of these things is my inability to accept Happiness. Well, truthfully like everyone else I want to be happy (don't get me wrong) but does anyone else ever get the sense that every time you are happy, and you share and show it, something bad happens? I try to always expect the worst, at the back of my mind that is, on occasion, not for very long, I let go and go about everything blindly. The so called; "We'll cross that bridge when we get there". However, as I continue my unintelligible (to some) rambling just know that most of what I write about will be as hard to understand or relate to as the importance of a pinkie finger to the hand.

DISCLAIMER: I am terribly bad at analogies.

Okay bad analogy, I read a lot of novels in a week a lot more stories in a day than I can count by the end of the week let alone the month. And although this is the way I am, I am not a very good writer, I fail a lot at expressing myself. So I am going to treat this book as my entry submission to the world of writers!

I envy some authors, the way they manage to capture every single emotion in a single paragraph and the way they use words to make me envision everything that happens so clealy. It truly is amazing, people's imagination and the creativity that oozes out of that to tell a story so good a lot of people want to buy it just to read it over and over again. That is until the book is lost in a move packed away in the attic of the new house in a box gathering dust only to be found and reminisced about years later before it is given to another. So I think that is why I am writing a journal, you can never be judged on what you write in your journal because it is akin to therapy, feels raw and unedited. Feels like you should be given grace.

There is so much going on inside my head, a lot of epiphanies that I feel I can share in my diary (in case I die that is). I realise now that my emotions (of which I have greatly relied on to govern everything in my life) have been displaced. There are a lot of things you understand about the people around you as well as your own self when you give yourself time away from the noise. In your cocoon.

I am a very encouraging person, I admittedly rely on my emotions and sometimes overanalyse a situation and people might believe this to be the saddest thing, that I don't enjoy life. But being alone gives me the view of everything going on around me and gives me the time to think about what isn't right for me and I am entitled to be myself no?

In this grammatically incorrect piece of writing, I am going to ramble and make no sense. I am going to write in first person and just play around with words until I get it write (right, you get it?)

Enjoy.