I haven't been on here in a long time.
I am trying to see what it was about this place that pulled me in. I absolutely adored this diary. I adored the people I read. they made me cry, and laugh, and want to live, and bought me textbooks. this place sustained me for a time.

what does that now?

I don't delve deep with people anymore. I don't spout philosophy or psychoanalyze over the phone at 3 in the morning.
and why not?

I like thinking on that level. I miss it. that is something this diary very much kept alive in me. I felt totally allowed to wax poetic. sometimes I need to wax poetic . . . alot of the time.

maybe I am yearning for past times that aren't real?

But I look back on these old entries, and notes people left me and that I left them. there were connections to people on here that made me feel . . . i don't know. worthy.

It's nice to matter. In that big, grand way.

I wonder about hte girl who wrote this diary. I read these entries from this poetic, virginal, closeted girl, and I don't feel like she is me. On alot of levels I suppose she isn't.
I have chronicled, here on the internet, the most interesting part of my maturation process. I use a whole different set of adjectives for myself now. I am no longer virginal. Everyone knows i'm gay. i don't cry non-stop. I can count the number of itmes I have cut in the past 3 years on one hand. I don't remember the last time I wrote a poem.

That last one upsets me. Poems used to leap out of me. Everyday i had a new and interesting feeling that had to be chronicled. Now? am I too busy living and functioning to feel?
I am afraid that if I dig too deep i won't be so happy?

yes.
and yes.

so, am I talking in the dark? When I come back and look at my buddy list only a couple have updated since I last checked, and that mus thave been a year ago. do the people who have me listed as a buddy even use diaryland anymore?

back when I first started this I liked the idea of shouting in the dark. Now I don't. I actually do what an audience.