*this has been edited*

None of these words were meant for comment. The spirit of what I was doing here feels violated. I had a space where I could anonymously process. Now I don't have a space to be raw. I must now think and edit and revise, and it is not as free and open as I once considered it.

Just today, I had people reading and then texting to tell me how they felt about the things I thought and wrote about them. There's a back and forth element to my writing. I don't trust people to read and understand. I trusted people to read and not judge, but hey, lesson learned.

The first draft in its unmoderated state leaves me open and exposed. It gives a false sense that I am making conclusions, where no conclusions have been made. I thought through some of the other writings, and I see how I am not in that state, and I don't feel that way. I look at what I wrote, and it is admittedly some stuff that I would hope not to say. I need time to moderate and refine, revise, edit. There is a danger in using this medium for my purposes. I have a slightly better understanding of what this medium can be useful for and how it can be interpreted. This is not on the reader, this is on me. I am the one with the control to publish or not publish. I feel terribly now that someone has read this and interpreted it in a way that I did not intend.

My internal process now requires a moderator. I get to be the moderator. I have to manage my audience and it takes away the free flowing words. I used to not think too much. Now I tend toward neurotic mess, constantly worried about what someone else is going to think. I didn't want to do moderation and management, and I probably won't do that. I will change my medium. That's cool. I knew there were risks when I started. I am currently rewriting this very post because it was first draft level of raw, and I was going to just post as an emotional message to those who ruined this. This one initially was meant to be read, and my feeling when writing was to tell them what effect they had. In case they wondered why there was nothing on here anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, I am overreacting. I already removed everything. Somebody probably made copies. That's cool, but what's not cool is coming to speak to me about what I wrote in a passionate, emotional, fucking crazy moment. I am the crazy one here. No doubts in that mind.

These people have really soured my taste.

I understand, sort of. I made it public. That's on me. I'm feeling like my thoughts are the ammunition against me. I felt like sharing was good. Now, I am seeing the negatives. After I just wrote about the courage to be known too. After I talked about integrity. After I tried to process some of these thoughts and temper my crazy mind. After I went back through and made clear what was a jumbled mess in the beginning. After several elements of me trying to say something a different, more refined way. I find myself scared to write. Scared to be known. These thoughts are knowing me. They are but a sliver of what is the whole. They are nothing more than the ramblings of a man. These ramblings are not static. If I feel the way I wrote... Fucking hell.... I did feel that. I do not necessarily feel that way or have that perception in fixed sense. I'm thinking out loud. I don't like the thought. But before I have a chance to refine, someone takes offense and feels a need to say something. Not cool man.

Ask me a question. Get curious. These are not attacks. These are attacks. I cannot know how my thoughts will land, so I must now watch my words extra careful while I navigate this minefield. Maybe ask me if I'm okay. I'm confused. They're confused. I am exhausted navigating the sensitivities of others. I'll have to keep doing that, but damn oh damn is it exhausting. Boundaries. They are mine to set. I can expect others to act as they act. I do not expect the scorpion to keep his promise, so I don't ferry scorpions across the river. Find your own way. I'll meet you on the other side, scorpion.

I'm leaving the above paragraph unedited, but I will provide a bit of context here. These people are not scorpions. They are not the villains of this story. I am feeling stung by the very people I trusted. It's momentary, and it is not my settled belief. I am learning a lesson about how and when to share. I don't want to hurt other people. I don't want to bring judgment on them. At the same time, my brain can think hurtful things, judgmental things, and I am stopping myself short of running into that. I wished there would be a sharing element to some of my thoughts so that others might be able to help me refine them. I have the current thought that I was wrong to do so.

After I get these words onto this page, they are no longer in my head. I can look at them and process. But sometimes, I write in a rage flurry of keyboard banging, and then I push that little button, and I never look back. Those are the ones that have gotten me in trouble. Think before I speak, I've been told. The option here is just don't publish. I am exhausted by the thinking, that's why I write. I spent 1hr writing 2,000 words today. I spent 3hrs more turning that into 1,500 words. It's exhausting. So, to save my self, I am not publishing. Maybe people will forget it exists. Then I will be free again. I thought this being public that it would be anonymous. When I stopped being anonymous, I started being stressed about what someone might think about something that I wrote. I left a post up for 3hrs before I took it down. In those 3hrs, I thought it through and realized it wasn't something I wanted to share in that rough form. It was raw, real, and dumped from my brain to the page. It was not meant to be the catalyst for something more. I wouldn't have cared before. People have now used it against me more than once, more than one people too. It was this latest one that really bugged the fuck out of me.

Here's one. There's only this one.

The other hundred-fifty thousand plus words are not on here anymore because I am exhausted with trying to explain myself. I love deeply, one person. That will change. I used to love this. Now I am not so sure.... I broke promises to keep promises. The discernment is creeping in as I refine some thoughts. It's the editing process where I am able to really dig through and toss out the garbage. But fucking shit fuck balls!! First draft language is not the whole of me; it is a reflection of the tormented mind, it is but a moment in time, it is a feeling, it is a thought. I am not the feelings, and I am not the thoughts. I am the one who observes.

Have a nice day.