The question has been on my mind for sometime but I have been postponing it like all other things in my life. I realise the perks of being anonymous and maybe it is time now for me to start writing something really anonymous. I wrote about the futility of maintaining a diary sometime ago, and the issues I talked about still exist, some of them more intense than ever, but I don't know if anonymous blog would be an answer.

All my blogs so far have started with intentions that are private, but turned outward either into materialistic pursuit, or artistic satisfaction, generally drifting away without a sense of direction and turned out to be messy affairs. Today, I don't feel as inferior as I did when I started blogging and deleting them, but I still don't know what I truly am, which was the purpose I had in my mind when I started writing.

I wrote random depressing posts and felt good about them, the language, the ideas and the fact that I was able to string meaningful sentences together gave me a sense of achievement, but soon they seemed too little and inadequate to offer any sense of relief. Maintaining the blogs have become a chore, none of them told anything about me that I didn't want to admit to myself which kind of defeated the purpose while serving it at the same time like a backhanded compliment or an inside joke that only I was privy to, and deleting them proved more enjoyable than adding up more exaggeration and fiction into the world. Somehow, all of them found a way to resurface with funkier masks, sillier antics, laughable dignity and the works.

There are still a lot of things about me that I refuse to acknowledge. I have difficulty in admitting to myself about the kind of person I am, or probably I don't have any difficulty which is a bigger issue. I seem to be tied up by invisible, imaginary, wrought iron chains that comfort me. On nights like tonight, when I'm all alone and restless, when sleep beckons me but I don't want to succumb to it, not give into its warmth and revolt against the comforts on offer. What for?

I never had any problems with sleeping or forgetting things, but on some nights I simply refuse to sleep. I know if I hit the bed right now, I will sleep like a baby, but then there will be many more nights like this, and all I would be left with will be sleep. It is not such a bad thing in itself, but it is besides the point. I stay awake and waste the time, so that I know the pain of time being wasted, and I know the pain of wasted time, though the realization itself is transient.

 There is no darkness to hide here. I'm not in any kind of struggle for being myself. The issues of ethics and morality, the sense of right and wrong, pride and responsibility have no relevance anymore, since I'm too fucked up to even talk or think about them. I'm past that phase where one tends to attribute imaginary weight to these issues that pretty much everyone else on the planet is facing. My aim is not to romanticize philosophy, not that I can do that, but to see how far the anonymity can help me in talking aloud of things I'm too ashamed even to look back.  

What am I going to achieve with another one of these? Will I be able to plunge deeper to get into the real me? Would it worth the hassle? What if anyone recognizes me? Would I be able to face them? Tell them that this is me. I shudder. Will I even then, be able to do the no-holds-barred approach and bare everything for - the for also puzzles me, like who was I going to write it? The pain of being anonymous is when the mask comes off, and it is a constant fear before it does, and outright embarrassment after it does. Is there anything worth still being embarrassed about? Whichever way it turns out, I'm not quite sure if I would be able to succeed in my quest before either of these happens.