One weird reason why I stopped writing some years back;
I once had a Facebook account where I posted my shit and all. The Friends I had in it were mainly people I knew in real life.
Every damn thing I posted was from the heart. Straight outta my core or nothing.
Then I hit a depressive phase and I deleted the account. No backup. No stored files. Everything from my youth up, gone with the wind.
A few years after grad, one of my dudes back in school texts me up, said how he missed me and most 'specially my writings. Said it kept him going through his down moments in school.
Dude then makes a call and fucking recites a piece I wrote during my scribbling era... Recites from his memory...
Said he memorized some of my entries while we were in school, and he still falls back to them sometimes when he thinks of me...
That should, normally, give me a boost, right? But I was fucking scared to my bones... I got goosebumps immediately after he dropped the call.
We talking almost 5 years of no contact and you're reciting stuff I'd completely forgotten I penned down? Nah. I was scared as fuck...
Overthinking kicked in. Negative thoughts about what I might have said/written that could have affected somebody the wrong way... How I held that level of influence in another's life in blindness.
I bailed on myself again, and deleted my existing account, again. My thoughts back then were mostly worst-case scenario shit.
Now that I think about it, that call might have been a fertilizer for my mind and writing if my base was solid positive. It is what it is.
I'm done with that phase now though. I've morphed to memoiring. It's fucking personal and has real names and real events in them that might put the happiness of some loved ones at risk. It's why I don't share as much as I used to.
I still write, but not for the public again. I write for self.
💝❤️🩹
