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I don't know what to do with life

When I decided to start a blog again, I had such a pleasant feeling, as if someone were hugging me and speaking very softly in my ear:

- Go, now is the right time.

Honestly, I tried to start this post countless times and nothing ever came of it. In my research on how to escape the dreaded white, when I started I found a video and it was so strong in me that I don't even remember who the video was. It said:

- It just starts. Can it be shit? It might suck, but so what.

Then I remembered that it's not trying, but trying that teaches us to create and be better.

I've had several blogs since I started writing. My first blog was called Rocker Ballerina (don't even ask me kkk), it was like a way of saying how confused my personality was, and it clearly was after all I was 14 years old, an insecure teenager, lonely - even with so many "friends" - and who constantly questioned whether this was going to be her life.

Somehow I could feel in the depths of my spirit that this would go on for many years to come and yet I had hope that it would someday change, and it did. In fact, I remain lonely, I still have a confused personality and I don't really know who I am and I also wonder if this will be the end of me.

They say that deep people, especially writers, are born sufferers, I refuse to believe that people whose gaze is so intense, contemplative, so passionate can be unhappy. I had decided that the blog should be anonymous so that I would have the courage to say how I really feel in the face of life's gigantic chasms and cliffs.

But, tell me what fun it would be to have to hide my feelings. I would kill myself every time I put a word into the world and I couldn't say it came out of me with every intention it has.

I've had enough of living behind big walls, just throwing oranges over the top and hoping to hit the head of a good soul who was crossing beside my cocoon. It caused me great damage, my heart and soul are patched up like my grandmother's patchwork dolls and they keep hoping that one day someone will decide to pick an orange.

When you want to hit the target, isn't it ideal to have your gaze fixed on it? That never crossed my mind, I just kept throwing the oranges. Now that I realize the ax that weighed on my shoulder, that pain had never been so excruciating for me to realize that it had always been with me.

It was on the ground, all the oranges have now been thrown and whoever wants one will have to find it at the entrance to the wall. The axe? He goes with me so that I never forget to cut at the root everything that imprisons me, leaves me inert and much more that which does not allow me to grow.

Oh! I still don't know what to do with my life...

Kiss 💋


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