Disclaimer: I suck. Which is a great excuse to do awful shit and getting away with it. Because, well, “I just told you I sucked.” But that is not a good cop-out anymore. I’ve grown increasingly empathetic over the last year and a half. Circumstance and life experiences have taught me better, at last. So, upon further consideration, I must step aside. I’m out. Although processing pain through the creative process of writing is both a good muse and cheap therapy, it’s also tremendously selfish. For, what if my ex reads this? How will she feel? How would I feel if I ran into something she wrote about me, or us?
Of course I can be shitty and put all the responsibility on her. Like “It’s not my fault she decided to read my stuff. It was her decision.” But it’s also my decision to put these words out there for the world (and, potentially, her) to see. Then whose fault is it, really? If I know that I am (or could) hurt somebody with my actions, how could I purposely go and continue doing these things with a clear conscience? It’s on others to take care of themselves, but it’s definitely on me not contributing to anyone’s suffering, whether they chose it or not. I can’t. I won’t. Even if I suck.
Next Saturday I’m heading home for a few weeks. This trip should make it easier to temporarily retire from my craft, and to switch focus to something else when I come back. Hopefully, there won’t be much pain left to vent out, nor foreign feelings to hurt.
Here’s to hope.

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