These past months have made me realise something; blogging is difficult.

I started blogging one night not out of random chance but because someone told me to, shortly after that it became something more; a way for me to air my views beyond 140 characters on Twitter, and away from the hum drum of Facebook.

It gave me some level of anonymity. Nobody on here knew me, and nobody would; at least not beyond what I wrote.But that was the point; showing people what I thought was the real me without them actually seeing the real me, drawing conclusions only from what I had written.

I intended to write regularly, even posted a promise about it, but life is unpredictable and i wasn’t able to live up to that promise. And although I want to make that promise again I can’t because, although I might like to think my life is interesting enough or I’m smart enough to come up with little quips or inspirational messages to post, the truth is my life is very boring and I’m not as smart as I like to think.Not a lot happens in my life, and sometimes when it happens I can’t write it down.

I have gotten so used to hiding that I can’t fully open up. The hiding is something I have learnt recently, because when you open yourself up to someone, they have control, and they can hurt you; hurt you in ways that they don’t understand; ways that will follow you around for a long time.

But you learn to live with the hurt and the pain and the scars; not forgotten, but always there; just beneath the surface of what everyone sees. That persona that you craft because you feel you can never open up again.

You feel you know me.

But you don’t.