Browsing through my archives is somewhat surreal. At times it triggers stark reminders of forgotten moments, but sometimes it feels like I’m a stranger observing a struggling soul. Looking from the outside at someone that’s trying to find their way and not quite figuring it out. It’s strange and disconcerting, but there’s a rawness in the expression of emotion in my posts that reflected a sincerity that seems to be lost these days. I feel so guarded and safe in what I express, or even what I share. It’s as if I’ve suddenly become aware of the audience. I didn’t count on having an audience before. The audience, by their very presence, has tainted my focus, my sincerity, and my courage. I’ve become an attention-whore. And I hate it.