I write whenever I feel devastated. This is how I cope with my everyday life. The content can be about anything; from movie reviews to my roller-coster feelings and emotions.
I hate thinking solutions to my problems or assuming reasons why people react this or that way towards me? Or questioning do I deserve this kind of life in this lifetime? Because I know, I am not wise enough to decide for myself and every time I choose to, it is a bad end result. I feel like people are laughing at me and make fun of my silly decisions.
Like life is throwing rocks at me and I am to choose which one is worth catching while most of it will render me bleeding at the knock of them.
With writing, I escape from ‘those’ train of thoughts. My mind will be fully occupied about the content of my writing and ways to embrace my audiences and readers (but I know my blog doesn’t have any frequent visitors). I have to tell my stories to one human so that the burden could be equally shared together but I don’t have enough trust to give in to anybody yet. So, this is the only place which I can tell my stories with no concern to anybody.
But telling my stories here is a futile way to cope with the stress. It’s only an ephemeral feeling of relief, in one thought that people actually read my blog. It disappears when the true facts are people are not reading and despite they are, they cannot response. Plus, I am vulnerable here. I shed off my masks here. I tell almost everything here.
What do you think, why I write this piece now?
Yes. Right now I feel devastated.