Revisiting . . .

I revisited this blog this week.

I've not had the time, motivation or more so the inspiration to write for such a long time. 

The one thing that was such an outlet for thoughts, emotions, experiences, life, became a somewhat distant memory as life gets in the way. 

I don't read my blog entries. 

Not normally.  I write them, I hit publish and they are out there.  I don't find myself drawn to reading my own words, I don't feel an urge to revisit the moment, the time or the feelings.

And this week, for the first time, I actually did revisit some of the entries here.  Someone had commented how much sadness evolved within my blog, from the words that I had written, from the posts that I had made.  I don't think I'd ever really thought about it, or certainly not how much sadness and pain there actually is here.  And yes there are writings of experiences that are damn hot, to me.  There are writings of times which I know I've been lucky to experience within life.  And regardless of whatever emotion is within my writing, I don't have regrets about those times, the people who were a part of my life.  I don't regret writing, or sharing or putting it "out there" . . .out here.

One thing I have learned over the years is that everything for me is emotionally driven. 

I feel.  Deeply. Strongly. Hard. 

And when you open yourself up to those feelings, to having such depth of feeling to the wonderful feelings that can flood our being, we open ourselves up to the hurt.  The pain.  The sadness.

I have no reason to hide the fact that there have been situations in life which have caused such pain.  I have no reason to hide the fact that I feel that pain, feeling it doesn't make me a weak person.  I actually think for me it's the opposite, these feelings have given me strength.  But these situations, these feelings, these depths of emotion that I am capable of feeling, make me "me". 

I miss feeling.  I miss having that depth of emotion of someone, for someone, for many things in life.

And yet, I write.  I release and do not revisit. 

It's happened.  It was. It has been - it doesn't need to be again *I* don't need it to be again.

But revisiting has reminded me just how much I love to write.  Of just how much it is a release of such thoughts and feelings, whether it be happiness, sadness, anger or love.  

This is my release. 

This is my outlet.

The urge to write floods my being.  I find myself wanting to make the time that is so lacking.  I find myself motivating myself to write. 

And finally, I am inspired.