Not real sure why I’m writing this, other than lacking someone else to talk

>to, I guess. Funny how the Internet and anonymous (to me) words can strike

>one’s soul.

>

>

>

>Your blog disturbs me (we’re going to come back to this). Not for the

>reasons some other fuck-holes are likely to complain about – and in a way,

>for exactly those same reasons. Your blog is messy. Your life seems messy

>and complicated. Why do you write all that stuff that you do? Aren’t you

>afraid people will read it, and will see you (I mean the real you, not just

>a photo of you, I mean like your soul)? Doesn’t that scare the piss out of

>you?

>

>

>

>Hear me out. there’s actually a compliment here if you get all the way

>through to see it.

>

>

>

>I’m almost crying as I write this. You see, I have a messy life. I’m an

>underachiever, even though I’ve been very successful. On the outside, I

>look like a composed, intelligent, somewhat sensitive guy that has a lot,

>has done a lot, is admired – and on the inside, I feel like I’m dying every

>minute I breathe. People at work hate me, even though I only work so I can

>do good for them. My family feels more like a bunch of people you run into

>in a grocery store – “Hi Mary – how are the kids?” – than anything intimate.

>Nothing feels good/right. Less feels worthwhile. I rarely see a light at

>the end of the tunnel, and when I have, a fair number of the lights turned

>out to be trains.

>

>

>

>And then again, simple things sometimes turn into a few minutes of joy here

>and there. God, I live for those moments. I just feel powerless to create

>them.

>

>

>

>So. your blog disturbs me. Because its real. Because you’re probably being

>honest when you write it. Because you don’t give a flying fuck who reads

>it, or why. Living in the cage of my mind, its incomprehensible that

>someone could just write like they mean it, and be working on themselves as

>they go along. Stop writing it – it shows me my own flaws, my own

>shortcomings, like a funhouse mirror. Please don’t stop – even fucked up,

>its good to see a little glimpse of myself in someone else. Feels a little

>less lonely that way.

>

>

>

>That’s all. The compliment here is that in today’s world – in my world –

>there’s so little honesty, so little true friendship, so little compassion

>for another that it makes me sick. So I come to your blog to feel those

>things. Sick, and therapeutic at the same time. Thanks for having a brass

>set of balls, and not minding having them polished by a bunch of people like

>me that lost theirs a long time ago.

>

>

>

>Anonymous – sort of.

>

>

>