I hate everything I’ve ever written, even things on this page, even what I’m currently writing probably. I can’t stand to go back and read what I was thinking even a month or two ago. Can I really change that much in a month’s time? Even a couple of weeks? Maybe it’s that I can never really express what I want to say in a way that’s completely true, so it feels like what I wrote was trite or painfully forced into ambiguity. Ambiguity. My life’s been revolving around that word lately. I can’t make decisions, I’m not sure who I am, what I want to do, what I want to be. I have an idea for the future, but anything immediately pressing just weighs on my mind until I just shrug it off and do nothing instead. I should be doing a million things but I’d rather just sit here. I miss companionship and intimacy and close friendship. Maybe I idealize these things and I actually have some of these things and I just don’t realize it. I think about the past too much, about decisions I made even a couple of minutes ago, wishing I had chosen differently. Of course this is apparent just by reading the previous two entries. I want someone to pat me on the back once in awhile, congratulate me on something, just some sign that I’m not completely fucking everything up. I know in the back of my mind I’m not, but it’s nice to have some kind of confirmation.
Kevin said,
November 6, 2007 at 1:31 am
Its too hard for me to hate what I write. No matter how pretentious or ignorant I sound or no matter how much I feel differently about something later, its always nice to know I accomplished gathering my thoughts and my will enough to put them in line and express them satisfyingly enough.
Writing is a struggle for me. Having an existential crisis with few ways to get it out bubbles up into something fierce. What I write comes out as disjointed nonsense, and what I end up doing is throwing out the words THEN thinking of a structure for them. Theres nothing to be sorry for when you can capture a thought or emotion into a medium outside yourself, especially when theyre as clear, deep, and reflective as your entries. I hope you write a lot more than just this, its good to have notebooks that no one else will ever see full of the most idiosyncratic and dynamic examples of your personality that no one will ever in a thousand years begin to understand. Art fulfills purpose, even if youre an artist for an audience of yourself. This is art.