The therapy of written word

I would like to anonymously confess that life sucks. I do not really believe that I just thought it was a good opening line. As usual I am sitting in the periodicals avoiding homework, it seems that is when I am the most ambitious blogger. Today I am listening to the indie radio station on Grooveshark instead of Bieber which may give me more legitimacy among the under grounders out there.
I do not know why I write as if I have a huge following, I don't think anyone outside of my family and a few friends have read this. I have never thrown up the link of Facebook or anything. I have a strange relationship with this blog. Sometimes I write pretty personal thoughts that I do not really know if I want people reading but it is completely ultimately fantastically public. Its an ongoing battle between wanting privacy and wanting to be heard. The sad reality is people do not want to hear me. People really do not care. I do not think this strictly applies to me, I think everyone wants to be heard and not many people hear. Not on a shallow level, on every kind of level. Think of the millions of blogs, Facebook posts, text messages, phone calls, and tweets, it is everyone pleading to be heard. Some are more subtle than others but its all the same plea. "Please listen to me and please hear me".
Are we being heard? Are we hearing? I do not know, I know I could do a better job of hearing. Not just listening but poking and prodding until I can see a little soul. There are so many surface level conversations and questions that I am sure leave people even more desperate to be heard. I know I have felt that way, I feel people actually know me less by asking me my major and hometown. To what end is all of this? For me it is to be a hearer, people will hear me when they hear me but in the meantime I want to hear. I don't want to know a major I want to know a severe crippling passion. I don't want to know a hometown I want to know beliefs and experiences. I want people to be heard and I want to hear.