And it’s been a while.
I know, I know. It’s often that I come back on here and make an updated post on my life. Promising that I will start blogging again and blah blah blah. It used to be where I felt like I NEEDED to write things down and make posts. It used to be that it gave me anxiety thinking and thinking “Oh I need to check on my blog!!” When realistically.. no one was reading. No one was listening. And I was just yelling into the void.
But honestly — I don’t think of blogging anymore, and I don’t think of this blog and all the memories I have stashed in it. Like little nuts stored in a tree. I don’t think of all the times I had no one to talk to so I’d open up my laptop and pour my heart out to the internet knowing damn well no one was listening. I don’t. I don’t think about anything.
I’ve become this sort of zombie, you see. The last time I wrote on here it was short. A messy, tossed together post when I so badly wanted to be a blogger. I was lying to myself. A fake. A poser. Over the years I so badly wanted to do something with my life that I lied to myself and pretended, no FROCED, myself to do something that I didn’t want to do.
At one point I thoroughly did enjoy blogging, though. On my first blog before I deleted it. But then I made this blog and I realized I just.. don’t. I’m not a blogger. I never have been. I probably never will be.
I’m a zombie now.
When I started “blogging” (can I even call it blogging?) I was about 18. I had just graduated high school. I was in a relationship with someone who I THOUGHT was the love of my life (he wasn’t) and I was so desperately trying to fit into the world while simultaneously trying to stand out.
And now? I’m 26. I quit my job for maybe the 10th time. I have no direction. No sense of individuality. No sense of anything. The only thing I have going for me is that I’m alive. I haven’t killed myself like I so badly wanted to when I was wee ole baby. That’s my one and ONLY accomplishment.
And I DON’T feel accomplished.
Life is hard. Life is a bitch. And it just gets harder and harder the older you get. There is no end. There is no happy ending. There is no fairy tale.
There’s just misery day in and day out and that really SUCKS.
I’m not as miserable as I may sound though. I mean, SOMETIMES I’m happy. SOMETIMES I wake up in the morning and don’t hate my reflection. It’s so rare, though.
I’m a grumpy old woman stuck in a young adult body.
But you know what? At least I KNOW I am. I know what I am and I know what I’m not.
I’m grumpy and grouchy and I like my coffee black and I like cardigans and I hate children and puppies and kittens.
And I’m not a blogger.
And you know what? I’m okay with that.