Maybe I share too much with you. Maybe you only know half of it.
We all create our online personas carefully. I choose to show you my nerdy music side. In real life, this is an annoying habit. I am the one of your friends, who knows a song for almost every sentence you say. I am the one of your friends, who hears (and recognizes) the songs playing in the background and which are barely audible. I am the one, who hums along, while listening to you.
I am a listener, an observer. I give advice and make you think with a few well placed thoughts.
But that is only half of the truth. Because I am strongly opinionated. I know what I like and what I don’t like and I know, when to show myself and when to hide in the shadow. I choose people I let into my life (and to a certain extend soul too) very very carefully. I may appear distant and uninterested, but I am not. I think a lot and I think a lot about you and about the image I leave with you. Some of you left a deep impression on me. Some of you changed the way I see the world around myself and some of you make me want to give you a hug and take care of you.
I am a passionate person. I really am. I talk a lot, when I talk about things I like. My hands are all over the place and my eyes light up. I know that too and I have been told so too and apparently (I’ve been told so twice this last month) my smile lights my entire face up.
I laugh a lot, even if I am not in the mood. I am sad a lot. Sometimes, I know exactly why and sometimes, the sadness creeps up on me and hugs me like a comforting blanket. It sucks me into a darkness. A darkness, that I like and despise at the same time. It makes me creative, but it’s also paralyzing. Draining.
Most people in my real life, don’t know that I write. One reason, it being in English and a second reason is the nature of my writings. I write contemporary gay fiction and when I am not writing about two gay men and the obstacles they have to overcome, I write darkness and misery. My short stories are rarely invigorating. They make people cry and shake their heads, as does my so-called poetry. Hurt and misery are emotions, that are so easily to write for me, whereas love and happiness, fluff… they never seem authentic when I write them (or so I think).
I used to cut my arms. It was like a valve I opened once the pressure was too much and threatening to suffocate me. My new outlet seems to be writing and this blog too. It means a lot to me. The followers of this blog mean a lot to me and the readers of my books too.
I wonder if I am overwhelming at times. And sometimes I wonder why I do this at all. Who cares about me?! I am a small fish in a huge pond and what makes me different from every other writer out there? What makes this blog different and why should anyone come back day after day after day to read about my ramblings?
You don’t know me and I don’t know you. It’s a conscious choice to write what I do and keep some things hidden.
My soul and my mind is a deep abyss.
3 things not many people know about me:
1. I love to read biographies about famous people. The last one I read was about Richard Burton.
2. I am very self-aware and my self-confidence is low. I know that by writing and publishing this blog every day, I leave a virtual footprint. It is frightening to know that people will always find a trace of me in the world wide web and yet, isn’t it what we all strive to do?! Get recognition for what we do and being seen?
3.My biggest fear in life, is to be alone. I can deal with loneliness, it’s a constant companion, but really being alone… it scares me to death.
People who should read threads like this, never do…
reflections of an unquiet mind 