Hey, old buddy... itās been a hot minute. Look at you... youāre still kicking, despite the porn ban debacle, and Yahoo screwing you over. Somehow youāre still here. I can respect that. Admire it, even. Youāve managed to get some foothold despite all the shit thrown at you. Me? Iām no worse than I used to be. Did I change? I think I did. Everyone does. Time makes everyone change in some way, or form. Do I think Iām any better than I used to be? I guess... I am, in some form. I just wanted to come back, at least for one post. I donāt expect anyone to read it - really, that suits me just fine all the same. It... is kind of nostalgic, though, isnāt it? Using you as a venting mechanism... a confessional of sorts for the āhardshipsā I face. Are they hardships at all? I donāt know. I can fool myself thinking they are... and maybe someone will agree with me, someday. But I canāt go on to think people will care about my problems just because I air them out, do I? Thereās always some people who have it worse. Better off just keeping it to myself. Which is, I guess, why I came back to you, huh. I can just... scream into the void. I donāt have to care if people read or not, because I already know people wonāt. Itās just another vent, right? One amongst tens of hundreds of thousands all across the internet. Iām nobody special, everyoneās got problems. Iād be an idiot to think mine suddenly carry more weight, and it suits me fine to talk to nobody than to have any of my friends worry about me. I should... get to the meat of what Iām saying. If you have to ask me - not that you did - sometimes, I just donāt feel okay. And people say that itās okay to not feel okay, which makes sense in some fashion. But that very idea itself... to be okay about not being okay, sometimes feels like just āforget about it and donāt bother usā fluff. And what happens when thatās all that youāre given? ...I showered, today. I know, itās a little too much information. Or maybe it isnāt, and I was merely raised to think it was. Thatās why I keep to myself. Why Iāve always kept to myself. I donāt want to bother anyone; never wanted to make a fuss. And thatās been going on for... years, I think. Has it been that long? I want to assume yes, because ever since I left school Iāve done nothing but repress my memories of it. Maybe thatās why I have such a poor memory - everything I do that I feel screwed up just serves as another thing to repress just enough to not remember it - only bringing it back up when I want to feel anxiety and fear from repeating that same mistake. Iām going off-base, as I generally do. I wanted to tell you a story I thought about of, in the shower, that... I think likely strikes close to some people. Thereās a house, in a desert. Itās a house that talks through the history within, because of course it does. This house is a little broken down, but still feels relatively habitable; and it serves as a sort of shelter from the hot days of the desert. Now, many people come and go to this house, some even repeatedly, for shade. But this house isnāt perfect; no house is. But, whenever the house isnāt sheltering anyone, it can ārelaxā. You can hear the house creaking, the wood snapping with small cracks as the house āunstraightensā itself, and it can finally ābreatheā, knowing that it doesnāt have to show this side of itself to the people who come to it for shelter. And when the time comes that people come for shelter, it can go back into hiding its imperfections, keeping itself āquietā and with its proper āformā as people pass by it. And despite this, the house continues to give shade as needed, loosening itself when the people move away. But as much as the house loves to help people get shade, sometimes these people get angry at the house for not being good enough at doing that. The house doesnāt want to slip that it has cracks, that it creaks loudly, or that it isnāt as straightened up as it should be, so the house just takes the anger in silence, understanding the frustrations voiced. The thing is, the house... really wants to show its imperfections to the people that house it, but the house is also absolutely terrified of doing that. The house knows that if it voices its concerns, it could go absolutely wrong. The people that find shade under it could no longer be interested in being under that houseās shade, or even being in the same desert as the house. What if, when the house creaks, the person reacts so poorly that theyād sooner prefer the cold embrace of the North Pole over the shade of a meager house in the desert? So the house remains silent when folks come to it for shade, keeping the charade up in silence only to crumble into disrepair just that little more when people continue their path. Maybe someday, the house will be able to have the strength to show its cracks to someone, and maybe it can be helped like its helped so many others. Some day. Thatās whatās been going on in my mind, buddy. Iām glad that despite everything, youāve stuck around to be here. I feel a little better, even if no one else reads it, because you silently accept what I have to say, without any judgment. If nothing else... I at least know where to turn to so I can voice out the worst aspects of my existence, somewhere where I feel at ease just... talking. If I said it to anyone else, theyād feel guilt or worse, and itās... not their fault. Itās nobodyās fault. Iām not here to make anyone suffer. My own suffering is something I have to take care of, I donāt want to be selfish and rely on other people for it. I donāt know how else to... properly end this post, but... thank you for being here still, despite everything, bud. Iām glad you listened.



























