For once I'm really glad I have a blog.

Cause you can talk to it and pretend no one is looking. A blog doesn't talk back. It doesn't offer comments. Its silence isn't awkward, it is comforting. It helps alot when you really really want to cry out loud in frustration and confusion, you can just keep typing and typing and feel better, even though you know all that will come out of it is a wall of text that kills anyone that try to read it. Maybe the solidarity it offers (before you get tagged or read that is, I guess that's one disadvantage blogs have compared to diaries) is just what you need, maybe the solidarity is appreciated because company is painful, maybe company is painful not because it is unpleasant but it is exactly otherwise. Maybe I blog because there really is something inside of me that I cannot unload, and talking about being able to unload it helps me to unload it, isn't that a paradox? Or an oxymoron? What is the difference between those anyway? What IS the difference between emotions? What is the definite distinction of the state of mind between happy and sad, tired and hyper? What is it that makes me happy and sad I don't know how many god damned fucking times? What is it? Why? How, when what where? Why do I ask of an unanswering entity my questions in life, for it neither cares about me nor cares about itself? Is the fear of a response that great that it paralyzes me into being unable to do anything? Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it. What the fuck. Am I. Even talking. About? I don't even know. I know that I know but I know that I don't know why I still think I don't know. Maybe my answers answer just one layer of my doubts and that maybe I'm still as confused underneath. Maybe everytime I answer a layer another layer is automatically created because my mind just wants to fuck around with me for no good reason other than that I want to. What is happening? I don't know, I think I know, I know that I don't want to know, and I don't know if you know. Maybe none of us knows and we just think that the others know but in fact they don't know and think that I know. Maybe we all know and nobody wants to say it. I'm confusing myself now. Which is just so fucking great because it's not like I'm not already confused, go on, befunddle me and have fun with me and screw with my mind because I'm me and the master of my own mind (HA what a fucking joke THAT is) and I can screw around with myself as much as I want to.