I’m trying to write something down, maybe trying to keep some sort of memory.
I feel incomplete a lot.
Not physically, not anything outward. I’m not really sure. I think my brain is empty. I think someone has robbed me. I think I’ve robbed myself. I’ve ripped out all of my memories and shoved them into a camera and I have none in my brain anymore. They’re there of course, because I have the photographs; I’ll always have the photographs.
Sometimes I cry because I can’t remember a moment. Maybe that’s why I take pictures. To keep a moment that I don’t even remember - I have it in photograph form just so I know it existed at some point. To know that all of this isn’t fake, that I’m not some sort of figment of my imagination.
Maybe that’s why I photograph myself; to prove to myself that I’m actually real. I want to know that I’m there. But I don’t see my outer body, it’s like someone has turned me inside out. My mind is on the outside, but it’s falling apart.
Maybe I take photographs to keep my mind from falling right out of my head.