So it’s been a few months since I posted my previous chapter and a few years since my last blog post.

I’m hitting a wall. And it’s a weird wall. I find myself being eager to write, having ideas of what I want to put in the chapters, and knowing exactly where the story will go. But I don’t actually want to write. And it’s because I don’t feel the best about writing the chapters.

Throughout the previous four years of my life, when I was an undergraduate, I’ve had this lingering feeling similar to shame about this project, and this identity. I worked on it a lot in high school and am quite proud of how much I’ve done. But I’m not proud of what I’ve put in it.

It feels disingenuous to the real Tyler. Looking back at our interactions, there’s a lot of shit that I did which I didn’t write into my posts. A lot. And it’s really bad.

I think part of why I’m so protective of my identity is that, somewhere deep down, I wouldn’t want the real Tyler to see these. It paints me in a better light than I actually was. Those stories are absolutely just a projection of what I thought of myself—persecuted, entitled, and lonely. But none of those are true to even close to the extent I put in the stories.

I just hate that point in my life—junior year. It’s honestly embarrassing, the way I acted.

And I know, I’m the person who cares about that stuff the most, but I just…

Tyler didn’t deserve what I did. And I’m truly sorry for that.

I’ll see about making the chapters more accurate, but I’m done pretending that there’s some deeper meaning to them.