Monday, February 15, 2016


I sometimes ask myself why I write this diary when no one reads it except me. Then I remind myself that, when I started writing it, I didn’t want anyone else to read it because I wanted to be completely honest, and no one is that when writing for an audience.

I stopped writing it in a notebook, and started typing it on a computer, because it’s easier to type than to write. Easier to read, too, since my handwriting can be difficult to read even for me. 

Then I posted it online.

I told myself that posting this diary online would keep me honest. The need to explain myself to someone else, even if I know that someone is imaginary, would force me to examine myself, as the religious are supposed to examine themselves when confessing to an imaginary god.

No one reads my online diary, just as no one read it when I wrote it in a notebook. But posting it online keeps me honest. I confessed to myself that I do want someone to read it, and know me as I really am.

Most people are afraid to let others know them as they really are. They’re afraid of knowing themselves as they really are. If I’m not afraid, perhaps it’s because I’m more conceited than most people.

But it’s not that. At least it’s not only that. 

It seems to me that I usually know other people better than they know themselves, probably because they don’t want to know themselves, and I do. 

I want to know them as much as I want to know myself. But they're difficult to know, for me and for them. I examine myself because it’s easier, and because I’ve learned from examining them that it’s better not to know them too well. 

I can be honest with them because I’ve learned to despise them, or most of them, so I don’t care what they think of me or anything else.      

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