I don't even know somebody's reading my work

HISTORY OF THE BLOG

Two years ago, I had a mental breakdown that of course, my parents doesn't know (but I reckon they felt it) because it's not my thing to be communicative nor say what I feel. In either way, nobody will ever care. I grew up with apathetic parents.

HOW IT ALL GOES DOWN

So I had a second Facebook account that does nothing but to talk of my poetic angst. Looking back, it sounds like a middle-schooler's diary—but I never wouldn't mind. I just know that I need to let it out, for I lack a circle who consoles what I feel. I am aware that a twenty-year-old woman is far too early for booze and fuck; though sometimes I am thinking about being a rebel myself (but never had a courage to try).

So what I did was to write, write, write.

WELCOME, LOSERS!

So far, I already have a 1,000 page views this month. ONE. THOUSAND. PAGEVIEWS. Perhaps, I need to be more responsible with my words here. Well, I lack followers and each blog entires have no comments but as a devil-may-care word spitter, I need to be careful in what I utter, which emotion will I let out, or what perspective will I share to common readers. My blog starts to receive (somewhat decent) amount of page views. Congratulations, self!