A thing to talk to
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I got some messages today from a kind stranger here. I had almost forgotten that this is a public diary.
I'm glad they could make sense of some words that I had written in some entries, though I don't know how any of my writing could help anyone... It's just full of rambling thoughts that wiggle around my mind.
I don't write anything with good intentions btw. I don't think how people would feel reading it or would it be offensive or triggering to others. Because honestly, I treat the entries here just the same as my own personal introspection paper diary I used to write before. Because I need to keep myself sane.
The biggest benefit I see of writing/typing here is that you can edit it perfectly i.e just press backspace if you want to delete something. That's not possible in a paper diary. The ink leave its print. It stains... Like events of life. You can't undo it, and it serves as a constant reminder of how you messed up.
I don't like staining things. It leaves a mark. It's like putting something somewhere it doesn't fit.
There were days when I would hesitate putting down my words into my paper diary, because I knew my hand was not ready to follow proper clear instructions from my brain while my thoughts were everywhere—a havoc.
Those days I would simply stare at an empty page.
And the empty page would stare back...
Those would be the days I would try to write down exactly what I felt...the "it."
Somehow, unintentionally, those empty pages makes sense now.
I could not have described "it" any better.