It’s time to be brutally honest. You gloat over your virtue in truthfulness and yet are secretly flogged for what is no less than a lie by omission. You are not honest with yourself – you are afraid to be. You think things, and recoil in horror at them, and don’t write them. It’s too scary, too painful, you say.
But is it? And isn’t it ridiculous that the fear comes mostly from some future imagined embarrassment at being read by someone else who might think you’re stupid, or – god forbid – CRAZY? Do you know how stupid and crazy it is to think that?!
No one can ever possibly understand it in your way, just as no one can fully understand another. When you describe a dream, you are alone in it, in a way. Yet also still sharing SOMETHING, but what that something is, is up to the other person, isn’t it? Depending on which of their eyes they use to observe it? Isn’t that so?
So why worry.
Plus, it’s so vain to think that anyone would ever read this. Is that (I mean obviously) just some made up crap? An excuse I’ve fooled myself into believing so I can be what, lazy? That doesn’t quite fit. Sounds more like I’m paranoid of persecution.