Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about why I write blog posts. Or really why I do anything. Not for any specific reason but mainly because I find the thoughts amusing. What merit do any of my actions have on Earth? in the Universe? to others? What I’ve come to conclude w/r/t writing is that I write to myself, for myself. There is no other reason. That is the sub-stratum beneath every single post I have written and perhaps everything I will write from this point forward. Does that mean I should continue? I am not saying that your opinion matters in this case. I am questioning myself. I am questioning everything that I surround myself with every single day because I cannot explain it.
There are so many things that I – nor anyone – can explain. This doesn’t mean it isn’t worth a try. After all, it’s fun. It makes life a little more interesting. A Saturday night spent engaging in lively conversation about the point of your existence would certainly prove more beneficial than a Netflix binge of “The Good Place” but that does not mean there is not room for both.
I’ve become increasingly hard on myself lately. I do not know why. There is something at the back of my head screaming at me telling me to do better. That I am not enough. That I will never be enough. I’ve come to see these screams as whispers and disregard them as subconscious notions of self-improvement motto’s that have been drilled into my head over the past couple years. This does not add up. I am really tired of feeling like I am not enough because I know that it isn’t true. I just want to sit in my room alone and contemplate my existence without having to remind myself that my existence is useless and everything is futile. I feel like Jon the Savage, D-503 or Winston Smith: like society forces me to behave in some fashion and I must do my best to refute that ideology while adhering to it. It’s a somewhat painful way to go through life and I can’t say I enjoy it all that much in retrospect.
Even this blog – which started as a project with potential for self-discovery, introspection and a novel way to express myself – has become a tool to project myself into mainstream media while I allow my thoughts to be judged by people I barely know. I admit this is becoming somewhat of a manifesto, which was not my intention. I suppose there were just some things I needed to say.
I do not care what anyone thinks about the things I write. Until I learn to become separated by the facade of mainstream media I will not be posting on this blog. It does not feel right.
I do not endorse this Tortured Artist Fallacy. I do not have to resent myself or the society in which I live in order to create great art. I think there is far more to my existence than meets the eye of the Internet. Until I feel comfortable with that existence and my ability to write about it, this is The End.
The last ten or so blog posts of mine have been a rant with myself about how overwhelmed I feel and how little I seem to think of myself, or at least that is how I’ve seen and felt about it. That is not okay. Although, as I mentioned earlier, the sub-stratum beneath every post is myself. That is why I write, for me. But that doesn’t need to be the case. I don’t want that to be the case. Or at least I don’t want to make it so blatantly obvious to you. This blog is not a place for me to complain about my problems and vent. It is a place for me to express myself and the issues that I see arising in society (or in my own head). But I feel like I have been complaining far too much and that does a disservice to everyone, including myself.
So, with a tinge of sadness and regret,
goodbye, blog posts.
They’ll all still be here of course. Just goodbye for now I guess.