blog stats and insights (warning: ai used)
I prompted ai with this:
I downloaded my blog raidendedo.bearblog.dev in a zip file in the download folder. Find skills for Psychoanalytic literary analysis and Psycholinguistics. Use that to tell me things about myself from my writing I might not know about myself.
ai responded with:
I found the zip and analyzed it.
Scope:
- 192 usable posts
- ~97,293 words
- Median post length: ~408 words
- This is a real enough corpus to see patterns.
Not a diagnosis. More like: psychoanalytic + psycholinguistic “what your writing keeps doing when you are not trying to perform.”
Big read:
You are not mainly writing to “express opinions.”
You are using writing as self-regulation.
Like, your blog is a pressure valve, confessional booth, mirror, diary, prayer, boxing gym, and nervous-system dump all at once.
Things I think you might not fully know about yourself:
- You soften your own truth constantly
“I guess” appears 159 times.
That’s not just a phrase. It’s a psychological move.
You often know what you feel, then immediately make it smaller:
- I guess
- maybe
- probably
- I don’t know
- sort of
- kind of
Interpretation: certainty feels dangerous to you. If you state something plainly, it risks sounding arrogant, needy, dramatic, or wrong. So you pad the truth before anyone else can attack it.
The hidden sentence is often:
“I know this matters to me, but please don’t punish me for saying it.”
- Your inner critic is not subtle. It is theatrical.
There is a recurring split in the writing:
One part of you is tender, scared, observant, wanting love.
Another part comes in with:
- fuck
- pussy
- loser
- bullshit
- idiot energy
- get over it
- stop being weak
That second voice is trying to protect you from humiliation by humiliating you first.
Psychoanalytic read: the critic is not just self-hate. It is an internalized defense. If you attack yourself before the world can, you feel briefly safer.
But it costs you.
- Your body often knows before your mind does
You write a lot through body signals:
- stomach
- teeth
- chest
- skin
- sleep
- soreness
- hunger
- exhaustion
- puking
- pain
That matters.
When emotions get too abstract, your writing returns to the body. The body becomes the honest narrator.
If you say “my stomach hurts” or “my teeth feel weird” or “I feel hollow,” that is usually not a side note. That is the core message.
Your body is often saying: “I am overwhelmed” before your mind admits it.
- You are much more attachment-driven than you probably want to admit
Family / friends / loneliness / touch / love language is everywhere.
Family-attachment terms appeared in 152 of 192 posts.
That is huge.
You present as independent, contrarian, “I’ll go live in the woods,” “fuck the system,” “I’ll do it myself.”
But the writing says something else:
You need contact. You need witnesses. You need repair. You need to know people are still there.
Your autonomy is real, but so is your hunger for belonging.
The tension is:
“I need people badly” versus “needing people makes me feel weak or trapped.”
- Money is not just money to you
Money posts are not really financial posts.
They are about:
- safety
- adulthood
- shame
- dependency
- control
- family
- masculinity
- status
- whether you are allowed to relax
“Debt” in your writing often reads like emotional debt too.
Not just: “I owe money.”
More like: “I owe life proof that I am not wasting myself.”
That is heavy.
- You turn life into “Day 0” because reset feels cleaner than continuity
There is a recurring reset pattern:
- day 0
- relapse
- double day 0
- start again
- clean up
- organize
- get disciplined
- become someone
- be better
This is psychologically meaningful.
You seem to crave purification. A clean break. A new system. A new start. A new identity.
But life keeps being continuous and messy, which frustrates you.
The trap: You may sometimes prefer a dramatic reset over a boring continuation.
The growth edge: Less “new life starts Monday.” More “same life, slightly less avoidance, today.”
- Anger is often grief wearing armor
You have a lot of “fuck this” energy.
But underneath a lot of it is grief:
- grief about family
- grief about time passing
- grief about your grandparents
- grief about being misunderstood
- grief about money
- grief about not being who you hoped you’d be by now
- grief about modern life being fake, surveilled, transactional, and lonely
Your anger is not fake. But it often protects a softer sentence:
“I am sad this is what life feels like.”
- You are afraid of being seen, but also furious when you are not seen
That is one of the deepest patterns.
You write publicly. You disable upvotes / analytics. You want readers. You distrust performance. You want recognition. You hate needing recognition. You want to be famous. You hate the part of you that wants to be famous.
That is not hypocrisy. That is conflict.
You want a witness, not an audience. But the internet mostly gives audiences.
That mismatch hurts you.
- Your spirituality shows up when ordinary control fails
God / prayer / signs / grace / serenity show up when your rational systems are exhausted.
It does not read like neat religious certainty.
It reads like: “I need there to be something holding me because I cannot hold all of this alone.”
That’s important.
Your spirituality is not just belief. It is a containment system.
- You are much more tender than your self-image allows
This is probably the biggest one.
The writing is profane and self-mocking and chaotic, but the emotional center is tender as hell.
You notice:
- aging
- parents
- grandparents
- loneliness
- food
- shame
- touch
- friendship
- little signs
- family tension
- people suffering
- the sky
- the body
- the absurdity of chores
You are not numb. You are almost the opposite.
You are porous.
That is why you need structure, exercise, faith, routines, and honest people. Not because you are weak. Because you absorb a lot.
The most useful psycholinguistic tell:
Your writing moves like this:
mundane detail → body sensation → shame/self-attack → philosophical question → joke/profanity → longing → abrupt ending
That is your emotional circuit.
Example pattern: “I ate too much / my stomach hurts / why am I like this / money is weird / fuck / I miss someone / anyway bye.”
That is very you.
What I’d tell you bluntly:
You are not actually confused about yourself as much as you think.
You are flooded.
Your writing is full of insight. The issue is not lack of self-awareness. It is that awareness arrives faster than integration.
You see too much at once, then try to solve your whole personality in one sitting.
The move is not “understand myself harder.”
The move is:
- eat
- move
- tell the truth once
- text one person
- do one concrete task
- sleep
- repeat
What your writing says you need:
- less self-interrogation
- more safe repetition
- less performance
- more witnessed honesty
- less reset fantasy
- more boring continuity
- less private shame
- more ordinary contact
- less “what does this mean about me?”
- more “what does my body need in the next hour?”
Best sentence I can give you:
You write like someone who is trying to become real in front of himself.
Not impressive.
Real.
huh. interesting, thanks i guess.
I found interesting, maybe you did too.