fridays are fucking fabulous

19 Mar

i think i’ll do a little catching up.

i’ve been reading some of my old journals, one my mother started for me when i was 2 or 3 years old. it’s a weird thing, reading about yourself. and it’s even weirder reading your own writing. it’s slightly horrifying and a bit facsinating.  at times i recognize myself and recall what some of the events felt like, but mostly it’s this other world.

i find myself sort of looking for something, some clue as to who i am now, why i do the things i do, if i was always they same person and i guess my anti-climatic answer is simply, yes and no.  i guess i’ve always been a bit dramatic. i’ve always tended to compartmentalize things (as evidenced by my several journals and now several blogs). i didn’t always hate my birthday. i didn’t always hate church.

was i always gay?

blank stare.

i guess part of me is still looking for answers.

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