So I’ve been feeling antsy for a few days. I didn’t know why. It’s because I had all of these words crammed up inside me. Mental constipation.
Someone intimated directly to me that I wasn’t a very good at writing. Also, now I could hurt the feelings of someone important to me, that knows about this. And so I couldn’t write honestly.
Cowardice. To not say what is on one’s mind because of perceived risk of loss. But to live in that world is mental slavery.
There is absolutely no substitute for experience. To improve myself as a human being, I must experience at the risk of loss. And that means also, that I gotta let it all out.
| <—Part 7 |
