I like to talk to you

Recently, I told someone I had a blog or a "digital diary" of sorts. They seemed intrigued but then asked me why. I didn't have an answer at the moment (wasn't expecting to be introspective at the time) so I sat with it. Why the hell would someone feel like other people cared about what they thought? Especially mine?

I have been journaling for every year of my life since 14, not including scrapbooks and sketch books. That's 10 years of books, thousands of pages, hundreds of thousands of words. Not once have I figured what I would do if not a single person read any of them. But I have them, just in case. Maybe I'll develop some sort of amnesia and have to remind myself of who I am and once was.

I started my first blog after a very messy and shitty breakup when I was 19. There was so much I wanted to say to the world about my anger and pain so I just hoped that anyone would be willing to read. My yearning to feel heard led me there, and years later has brought me back. There's so much I want to say all the time about everything. It's exhausting. If I could set myself up in an empty room with a mirror, I could probably talk to myself for hours.

I still don't think I have an exact answer to the "why" although I like to say it's more for you than it is for me. I hope that in some weird parasocial fashion, what I say here can resonate with you, and you carry that until it lands on someone else. And, even if it doesn't I'll still be here, typing away until it resonates with me.