I need to stop censoring myself. This is supposed to be anonymous, no one knows who I am if they happen to stumble upon it. I could unload my deepest, darkest secrets, and yet I don’t. I type, then delete, write a paragraph, then open apple + a, delete button. I don’t know if I’m not ready to have my words out there yet, or if I’m too scared that one day someone I know will recognize it and know. Or maybe I’m just not ready to face them myselves, to deal with my own deamons. 27 years and I still struggle

I don’t like being alone, which is odd, as I’m sitting on the floor of my living room, watching my 8th episode of Leverage today. Thank God for TiVo. My other half is out of town, my best friend camping. My other friends, the ones I want to see, to spend time with, are all around the country, drives or flys away. People I don’t get to see nearly as much as I would want to. We email and talk on the phone and text and it’s just never the same. So often I just wish that they were here with my, close enough to touch, to hold their hand and watch them laugh and just sit on the other end of the couch as we talk or play video games.

Instead, I’m sitting here. Alone. Wishing I wasn’t.  Wishing I could stop erasing.