indecision

The problem with writing is the permanence of it. My transitive thoughts are set in stone and I must face them– to acknowledge that they represent a part of me.

Growing up I was so accustomed to keep things bottled up. There was so much double speak that I could never speak my mind. It feels weird reading things I wrote, asking myself, ‘is this me?’

I like to think I am acutely aware of who I am and who I am not, but this [reading my writing] gives me pause.

Am I still the person I was yesterday? Or am I a different person altogether?

I think it’s the fear of the past. The fear that such permanence could be used against me, twisted, as it once was. And how it was many times before and since. This fear makes me reluctant to accept such permanence in who I am and what can be ascribed to me.

Last modified: 2025-06-29