I hate this. I hate this doubt and this insecurity and this fear. I fucking hate it all. But what I hate the most, what I hate more than anything else, is that it's all coming from inside my own treacherous self, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I often wondered, what will all this pain look like, when I finally can look at it from the outside? I know now what it looks like, and it's not very pretty. I think that, in some ways, being surrounded by it and overwhelmed by it was actually preferable to this, to this detachment that's become my crutch lately. At least back then, I felt like I was a part of something special, something unusual. Now, not so much.

I think about a couple of my friends who've recently started reading my 'blog. I try to keep things light for them - but not too light. I want to come off as neither a lunatic nor as a child. This is easier said than done. Especially when I'm both. I want to come off as insightful at times, and as brilliant at others. This is easier said than done. Especially when I'm neither.

I've begun to seriously doubt that I'll ever regain the ability to just shut the fuck up. I used to be such a quiet person, especially when it came to my feelings. But that was easy when I had none. Now I'm sort of like a born-again Christian. It's not enough for me to marvel at my own transition. I have to shout about it to the world. Some things I should whisper first, just to see how they sound. Just to see who listens.