I don't know whay the hell I write

I try to write, I am always very open, but what scares me is that
not much seems to be in there.

I have been writing to discover and push myself. The more I push the
more it hurts.

I am not sure what hurts exactly. Little pieces of my past pains still
live on inside me and I think they are starting too eat at me. I am
writing to free myself, but I still feel the chains.

If I am honest in my writing, that means I have to be honest with
myself. I don't know if I am prepared to do that just yet. For now, I
prefer to turn up Tori Amos and close all the windows so that I can't
really make out the whispers.

I have been stereotyped so often that it has stopped hurting me.

But that scares me.

I try to put on paper what I was incapable of saying to show the world
pieces of me.

I have been 'the good girl' and 'miss reliable' for a year now. I wish
that some wild and out-of-control guy would come and show me how to let
loose and be crazy, how to dismiss the looks you get from people, how
to care only about pleasing yourself. I don't think I can do it on my
own.

All the sides there are to me, and there are many I swear, still refuse
to come out and be heard. They prefer to storm in me.