This is post number two-hundred-one in you. In the last two-and-a-half years, you have become many things to me. You have been a soapbox to proclaim with, a pulpit to preach from, a stage to perform on, an ear to complain to, and a community that is never more than an internet connection away.
But looking inward with honest eyes, I fear I may have at times made you a substitute for Someone Else who also wants to be all those things to me. The response from you is just so tangible, what with your comments system, post count, and verbatim memory of everything I bring to you. You allow the world to glimpse a portion of me, however profound or superficial I choose to be.
It is a farce.
You, Blog, and your Followers, see only what I let you see, filtered through lenses of social and spiritual correctness. It is easy for me to hide from you the conflict in my heart and the weaknesses that envelop me daily. Your 'edit post' button haunts me.
For all the advantages that you offer, dear friend, you will never know more of me than what I allow you to know. You will never see the full reality of my truly flawed character. This Someone Else, for all his lacking in tangibility and instant gratification, intimately knows my ugliness, yet will never recoil. He is deserving of my best because he loves me at my worst.
I am unsure of how this will affect our relationship in the future, but I need you to know that it is easy for me to make of you more than what you should be. You are only one of many immediately attractive alternatives to the only source of lasting comfort and acceptance. I regret to follow-up the previous letter with one of such a somber tone, but I hope you understand the gravity of what is at stake. My hope is that you would support my pursuit of a greater good.