Regret

I wonder why this place has been such an on again off again affair for me. I look back through the archives and see huge periods of time where all I posted were excuses. But I also see periods of such fervent writing, full of reflection and self evaluation, and I wonder if I am worse off without it.

Was blogging for me, were I went when I had no one to talk to about me with?

Was it the stand in for my dad? For my romantic counter part? For my best friend?

Should I feel bad about letting it go? Or should I feel happy that I no longer connect with it the way I used to?

Do I miss the writing, or is it the internet community I once found myself knee-deep in?

When I click on links and then follow their links to pages I used to view daily, I see that I am no longer a part of the underground. That I was a blip on the radar and not a lasting contributor.

I see people that I used to value as friends who don't know me at all anymore... and who really are doing just fine without me. It does make me sad.

It makes me want to share again. To sit down and really spend a few hours putting together a funny, stream of conscious poem, that makes your heart break a little when you weren't looking.

I used to be good. I used to be important. I used to have something to say.

I used to love spending time on the internet. It was this whole world where people could really know me for my words, rather than what I did or looked like or how old I was. But now it scares me to sit in front of the screen and know that I have no business poking around anywhere in anyone else's digital domain.

I was the child who moved away from home and never bothered to visit or write or call every now and again just to tell her family and friends that she missed them.

I am the disappointment. The one with so much potential. The one who never followed through.

I'm sorry.