I am writing for myself. There are a few ideal readers I put in my mind when I compose the sentense, but after all it’s all about me. That’s not pretty, and here is another thing that adds to it. I think the best metaphor to describe my writing is excretory. Sweating, bowel movement, leak, puke, masturbation, whatever that comes out of my body and whatever that makes me feel better afterward.
The difference between writing and real excretory is that I can live without the former. But if I don’t write, something is still needed to be flushed out of me in some way, for example anger, euphoria, self indulge, eating disorder, manic-depressive. Call them the drastic medicines. From outside it seems I am breaking the balance, but from the internal point, maybe I am trying to restore what’s broken by overreacting. The serial killer in American Psycho murdered ordinary citizens periodically (admittedly I didn’t read more than 50 pages) to keep him sane in the materialism world of yuppies. That’s an extreme case for sure but I can never say that’s far from reality. Luckily my urge don’t go for the destruction mode but in the essence what’s the difference?
The drastic medicines do help me at least temporary but not without flaw. They lead me to nowhere. Use some of my energy, restore something and at the same time break something in a lesser way, and that’s it. I wait for another saturation point which I can not predict when and how much.
So far writing is the only ‘medicine’ I found out that can lead to something. Writing directly connects to pushing out some dirty or unresolved thing (also a bit of good thing, I would like to think)in me. And while reviewing each entry I look at them really close, more than when we check our No.2 every morning to see how healthy we are. Gradually I come to understand what the hell is going on inside me. I can call that hope.
But excretion is an excretion, for now. Occasionally somebody says she or he likes my blog, I always feel embarrassed more or less no matter how honest their comment are. Should I forget that weird feeling and try to be 100% positive about my writing? Well, I don’t think so. It’s related to the wrong side of excretion, called pride. I feel proud of my writing. That means I am proud of myself – a single negative comment still defeats me or infuriates me. If I delete the embarassment and leave that proudness as it is, the writing (and eventually I as a person) will easily turn into self-indulge. The feedback and the embarrassment as well as the delightment makes me keep a distance from that pitfall and lead my energy to write a better piece, I hope. That’s why I write in the blog instead of my private diary.
Now I am not sure how much I have self-indulged in this entry….