The Mediocre Truth

The truth is, well, a pest as far as the circumstances of my life are concerned. It is not that I am purposely misconstruing the facts in order to reinvent the reality of who I am. It is merely a problem of appropriateness. Which facts are appropriate to include, publically, and which I should remove from the world’s view?

It isn’t like I am sharing information with a network of people because I have only just begun writing. But ‘who’ reads ‘what’ still remains to be unseen and I am feeling around in the dark for a good sense of my online voice.

Perhaps it would be different if I were operating in a normal, familiar environment. But I am not, quite truthfully, and as such I can’t quite wrap my head around the act of translating my reality in an appropriate, yet honest manner.

It is no secret that I worry too much.

At this point I am beginning to realize that if I am to write publically, to any extent, I need to be expansive in my search for the truth.

Perhaps I am fond of expressing myself with language because I have the option to use words anyway I want. However, it has become my creative flaw at this point because I find that I can use a thousand words without saying anything at all. I don’t want to create useless fluff.

My writing is not the only thing in my life to undergo a total transformation. In fact, I have become so tired of repeating the same problems that I have completely reinvented the world around me. It certainly seems ironic but if I cannot reinvent my words to complement my life, I suppose I ought to try to reinvent my life to complement my words. Anyone who knows what it means to be human also knows that we are only as sick as the secrets we keep. The conundrum for me is finding a way to make sure that my truth is (honestly) appropriate.


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