This blog started as an experiment, i wanted to network and grow with a community of writers, trying to find my kind. but now that i look back, it was nothing more than an identity crisis. when my brain decided this wasnt the real me i switched platforms, hell i switched identities. I am no longer a writer, i am a photographer. isnt that right. who am i even. the person in the mirror, is she real. are the experiences that my mind relies on as concrete, a proof of my existence or they just a thing my brain made up to keep me from facing my real self. i have put so much of myself on the internet it amazes me. was this me trying to find someone who would listen to me, or was it just an outlet for the things i don’t want to say to anyone but a screen. Things i would rather let get lost in a void of bits and zeros.