So far on this blog I have relived the nightmares of addiction and withdrawal, recounted the tale of how I brought eternal shame upon myself by quitting the Army, expressed my occasional suicidal tendencies, fantasized in lavish and panting detail about how much I love men’s cocks, and finally confessed that I am vaguely emotionally autogynephilic (inasmuch as that’s a thing). Am I missing anything?
I suppose the reason that any writer ever writes is ultimately to be heard. I’m no exception. No one in my life knows about this blog–NO ONE–but one day I want them to. One day I want them to have a complete, raw, uncensored portrait of who I am. Because they most certainly don’t have it now, and that makes me feel terribly alone.
One day–maybe next year, maybe in 30 years–my loved ones will have hundreds and hundreds of posts to read through.
And that’s what this is all for.