Visit Length 164 minutes and 34 seconds
First, I'll start with all of the nice things I have to say.
You're all lovely. You are. Thank you so much for all of the nice things you write in my comments and in my guestbook. As hard as I try to get around, and participate in diaries not on my favorites list, it's really difficult and I've been slacking. So, for that, I apologize.
I can't explain what it's like to have so many people reading. I mean, when I started this whole thing, a long, long time ago, I didn't even know there was such a thing as a buddy list. I was writing, and no one was reading. It was nice, but having people read makes you want to become a better writer. So much so, that the thought "Book" creeps around my head a lot more than is healthy. Thank you for the motivation. You don't know you supply it, but you do, and it's something I need. So, Thank You.
And the comments about my diary... they're my favorite, and mean way more to me than they should. Thank you for those, too.
. . .
On to the bad stuff:
Visit Length 164 minutes and 34 seconds
Page Views 289
I haven't been keeping the kind of eye I used to on my stats. I used to be able to tell you who was reading, why, and how I knew them.
It seems now I have not only the one stalker, but a few. Because I know what the cause of the reading is, it bothers me more.
I don't like the fact that people are taking this to be something other than what it is: An Online Journal.
This is the place I spew, or as I so fondly refer to it, The Recycling Bin of my life. I've come to see patterns in it because for the first time, I'm keeping track of everything. If I ever forget when something happened, and I do that a lot, I can go back and find it. If I ever want to isolate a feeling for some piece, I can go back and find it, and really, that was the idea behind starting this. If I ever want to rant about something, I can do that too.
Because this is my space.
I've rented this place, and another, and I think of these places as homes. I think of all of you as neighbors, and the people of DiaryLand, we all live in the same country, at the very least, the same mental country. And this being my line of thinking, I expect to be treated with some respect, just as I would walking down the street.
I know, it's silly of me, to expect to be treated as a human with some kind of dignity, and some remote respect. We rarely are treated with such in the world, how on Earth could I expect it with this nameless space?
In a side note, this is why I use my name, and why there are pictures of me posted online. I'm a person. A breathing person, who has a life and family, who has goals, though they are shallow. I'm a person just like the person sitting in the desk next to you, and the woman who rings up your bottles of alcohol. I want you to know that there is a girl in her pajamas, drinking coffee, sitting here typing this. Someone who has failed, and rarely made it though with things. Someone who has decided it's always best practice to pick everything up and start over again, no matter how many times I fuck it up. The things that make my life worth living are not things I take lightly, nor are they things I would easily cast aside.
And here I am. Giving you all of these things again. There are people with unkind motivations, and with all of the kindness I've received recently, I had forgotten they exisited.
Such is the life of an idealist.
I'll be honest with you, because there is no other way to be. I'm thinking about stopping. I'm thinking about letting them win, because I'm sorry, it's really fucking creepy to have people reading 289 pages because they're looking for information about other people. Information that they cannot possibly find because I don't use names. But they keep looking, as though it's going to jump out, bite them on the hand. I can't keep saying there's nothing here, because they are not in the frame of mind to listen. And there's not going to be any feelings about me, no empathy, because they are clearly motivated by some sick desire to see how incredibly pathetic my life is.
I'm left with two choices. Blow the whistle on everything. Name names the way I said I should have a long time ago, or just stop being so candid, lock, or move.
So, I'm thinking about it. I'm tired of keeping other people's secrets, and really, this price is just too goddamn high.