🌐𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙷𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃- 𝙸 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚘𝚝

Writing is good for you, it makes you think.

I don't think I should think so hard. I find the more I think, the more I realize, more feeling, more regretting, anguish, spite and loathing teeming senses rushing through. I wish I were smarter. After so much thinking you'd think I'd be a little smarter but I am as equal a fool as I was as years passed, the world changes and my feet carry me forward but the foolishness lingers like a clingy stray in my shadow. I should write to get better at it, but I wish I could improve without thinking, not thinking about what I write, just getting better at getting words down, getting words right, but to write without thinking is just a amalgamation of slander, and ultimately some form of thought, perhaps more subconcious. But is it really thinking if I'm typing without planning? I hardly deem it thinking, maybe feeling, my gut is typing out. writhing and churning with discomfort as the mind regurgitates whatever vile sensation had been trapped and stewing. I don't like writing because it makes me think, that makes me feel bad. But perhaps it just makes me reflect that I don't necessarily like myself and just brings all the repulsive feelings to light. It makes me feel like a bad person. Feeling angry or sad. I've dealt with a lot of angry and sad people. Chronically. Circumstance is fine- but I learned quickly and early that I can never be a therapist. I don't like being the receiving end of people's emotions unless I like them quite a lot, but that just makes me hate expressing emotion even more because I don't wish to subject people to those same annoyances that I experience. I do not wish to be loathed, or troublesome, or burdensome. It repulses me to be reminded that I still need to experience these emotions and express them. That I still have my father's temper and anxiety, my mother's apprehension and fear, that the tears will spill no matter what, that I will still sink my teeth and hit my leg in frustration, I hate that as I write I will always have proof of imperfection, and that every time I write I will know that I will always lack in some manner, I am much more content when I am not thinking, forgetful and ignorant and happy and perfect and so so terribly lost.

-Sentient