More of a chore really

Tonight, I did not feel like writing. But the whole reason I started this journal was to express things I would not normally say out loud. So readers, if you’re out there buckle up.
I think the problem with this journal (and frankly my life) is that I expected it to be bold and exciting. I expected to have a flow of inbox of people saying I inspired them or that we shared the same beliefs. Much to my disheartening, this is not the case. I realized, that I don’t take much time to read other peoples thoughts, so why the hell would they be reading mine? “But Nik, you’re supposed to be doing this for yourself” yeah, ok. If you put your journal on public, then you want them to be read. Don’t kid yourself.
Everybody wants to be noticed. Everybody. Maybe people don’t want to be famous, but they just want the attention of that one person. Perhaps, they don’t even want to be loved. But knowing that someone takes interest in your life is exhilarating. Knowing your life matters to more than just yourself is an unmatched feeling. Thought I felt it once, but it was just a passing.
Sometimes, like tonight, I ramble in hopes of finding an internet confidant. Someone who I can find comfort in temporally. Other times, I seek relevance in a strangers touch or a couple of shots. I’ve learned that the more I drink, ironically, the more relevant I feel. (For the younger readers, do not head to that advice. Alcohol is not the answer, but it sure as hell helps on the weekend.) But a splash of this and a throwback of that cannot help that I feel alone. I have so many people who would be the first to say that they loved and cared for me. But all they every do is tear me down, They only talk to me when they need something or need to tell me what I’m doing wrong. I’m sick of feeling as though my life would be more of a celebration at a funeral service than at a birthday party. I’m sick of people only caring after someone has taken their last breath. I’m. Here. Now. Care about me now. No one should have to die in order to feel important.
Weak post for a journal? Maybe. But I don’t give a fuck. It’s not for you. These are my words, and I’m learning (or trying to ) that self worth does not come through the validation of others.
Goodnight.

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