hmm

I secretly want to be a writer. I want to write about myself at least. That makes me sound like an egomaniac, but I just want to tell my story. I want my shit to help someone know they are not alone.
I keep this blog because I keep losing my current journals. I still have a lot though, I think the earliest is from 1991, so I was six. Rereading them is funny and painful at the same time. I was so angry for awhile. Mad at God, mad at the world, and mostly myself. I have come to a stalemate with God, and I have adjusted to the reality of never being who or what I want to be.

I might be a hypochondriac. I feel like I jump to conclusions about my health. I have had intermittent pain in my right breast for a few months. I still have a knot in my leg from when I hit it with a hammer a month ago.

My scars (literal and figurative) do not have to define me.