Isn’t it weird how you wake up with the oddest thoughts on your mind?
Once upon a time, a decade ago now, I had a Xanga…then something happened and I stopped blogging there.
Honestly, the entire incident was stupid and it left me feeling quite bitter. I still feel bitter about it or I wouldn’t have woke up thinking about it today.
It still affects what I blog about today, here, and that bothers me. I used to write more openly and freely but now I monitor my words. I’ll type up an entire entry then not hit “Publish” because I’ll think back to that day, so I end up with a bunch of what I consider rather vanilla entries. There’s no substance or personality in any of them.
I didn’t write anything offensive at the time either but some people in authoritative positions over me at the time passed judgement on it and didn’t bother asking for my side, and honestly it pissed me off. One of the people even said there was nothing offensive after my personal blog was reported to them, just called it all “dumb”.
…so I stopped.
I lost that part of me — the part that could unleash my feelings on a page and then send it out into the world for my friends to see. The part that would share the whimsy of my day and voice my opinions.
I don’t like that I still let that feeling have power over me, so I may try to cut a little more loose now. I don’t have anybody who really can or can’t tell me what to do anymore. I *really* don’t like it when people try. What repercussions could there be?
…a part of me is still afraid though. The damage was done and I fear that I’ve let it fester for too long.
Stitched Roots 