Sometimes I want to just post everything on this blog. I have already shared so much. So what would writing about almost everything else matter? I'm learning for the first time what it feels like, regret in writing. I regret I ever revealed my mental illness or alcoholism. Because, I believe, it has alienated me from so many readers and friends over the years. I'm learning what to keep to myself, and I've never felt this before. Before, I believed putting everything out there was brave, novel, and unique. I was going to break from social norms and carve this interesting little niche out for myself in the blogging world. It is actually not brave, or novel. It is young, naïve, and embarrassing. Because when I open my life that much, it leaves me open to more criticism, not of my writing, but in judgment. And humans are rife with judgment. My life has been messy enough.