I don't know if I should call myself an achiever. I didn't achieve 4+ years of writing posts like I claimed I would. I almost feel ashamed of ending it tonight. Yet I believe proper conclusions are healthy; whether it's a friendship, a relationship, or a blog.
Being a Marine girlfriend is, what I could consider, eccentric. My boyfriend morphs into a soldier as I morph into a person I can't recognize anymore. What am I? A survivor? A soldier, too?
Maybe my life is too difficult to express through a post. Maybe if my viewers heard my voice, when the tone changes pitch as the story does, it would add realism. But I am merely a girl to my Internet peepers. They have read what I've uploaded. They've seen several pictures of myself and friends and family and of Mason. Nevertheless, they haven't stepped inside my shoes. Some may not know how I feel - how I truly feel - how my emotions can't be controlled because they don't understand which emotions are appropriate for what situation.
I will state I have a wonderful life.
The problems are neurological. Depression, my lovelies, is a nemesis within yourself.
I can hint that depression has caused my publishing to diminish. I will also say I would rather live my life throughout its moments than worry about whether or not I have recorded it.
I don't want to manage my existence virtually.
Instead of snapping a picture, reminisce with your own eyes.
Lower your electronics. I'm sure if a memory is worthy, our brains won't forget it.
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