Bleeding. Just A Little.

So for some reason Blogger was having some technical difficulties yesterday and my post no longer exists. It was very hurried so I guess I am a little relieved. I am typing this on the porch of a beautiful beach condo in Destin, Florida. I am here for a Campus Crusade Summer Project specifically for people in sororities and fraternities. It is a cloudy day so I might just stay here and save the tanning for later in the trip. I really just want to be my introverted self for a little while. Typing up my thoughts is a great release for me so please forgive these slightly upset and conflicted paragraphs.

Disclaimer: if you don't want an overwhelming look into my jumbled mind, wait a little while for the rediscovered outfit post. 

I love USC. I felt like I could be myself there and I was really learning who exactly that was. I had the freedom to do that. Then I come back home and certain circumstances around me started to limit who I was becoming. I don't know if anyone else has ever felt this way, but I sure do, and I hope there's someone else out there who can understand. I don't know if this a common occurrence after one's first year of college, but I sure went through a lot this past year. Home means something else to me, now. And currently I am 13 hours away.

I really don't want this to be a blog where you read the first two sentences and then scroll down to see the pictures. Maybe I should have put this first but I guess it's a treat for those who stayed. Is there anyone else who would rather stay all alone and empty their mind by way of a keyboard? Writing is a very special art form. Well at least for me I have to be deeply inspired. When I take pictures all I have to think is wow that would make a great picture, I want to document this. And maybe that makes me a bad photographer, but I really don't care. It is an interest of mine and you cannot take that away from me. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but when you see it are you really thinking all those words? The words I could have painted for you right here in this document with exact, intentional precision? When I write, it has to come from somewhere deeper than a short thought or moment worth capturing. That's why these long post come so rarely. There is a quote by Ernest Hemingway that I love. He says, "Writing is easy, all you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." I learn so much from this simple statement. One thing is that I desperately want a typewriter. The idea of typing up something and that one sheet being the only trace of it in the world strikes a chord within me. But there is something much important from it that I have picked up. I cannot bleed unless there is something worth bleeding for. I have to be injured (figuratively), I have to have fought for something, I have to have lived. That's the only way I can really put into words something worth reading. Something that conveys what I am feeling. Which most of the time seems impossible.

I don't know why I am sharing this. It might just be too much information for you to handle or understand. Why is it that most of the time all I want to be is understood? Do a lot of people want that? I am beginning to think life is not about being understood, though. Or that being understood isn't exactly what I thought it to be.

Sorry for all this mess.
I know He is going to get me through it. I just have a lot to learn.

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