An attempt at finishing the book

Desperation has taken a hold of me. I do this not out of free will but a fear that there is no other way. Head is filled with thoughts to the brim. Every second the exhaustion gets more dire.

The book has refused to finish. I stitched too many threads and now they lie scattered on the floor. I want to tie up the loose ends but there are simply too many. It will take not only work but clarity - is what I am making an illustrated comic or a creative memoir, perhaps a weird amalgamation of everything that no genre can contain?

Clarity can’t be forced. It balloons up in empty space. But first, thoughts must be puked out. If I puke them out in a random corner of my journal, they only create more mess. It has to be methodical: Labelled and dated. I also shouldn’t have to worry about getting entangled in the loose ends of my unfinished thoughts again. They have to be concluded.

But to push them out on social media is simply not an option. I am here to admit that I am scared of showing my work on social media. Not just on Instagram, but all of them - they wear different masks but are all Instagrams underneath. I am scared of being seen but not liked, seen and laughed at, or the worst of all, seen and ignored.

So here I am, in this cozy little corner of my website. Where I can keep the blinds off and no one can see me and I can see no one.