Blogging

I’m still struggling.  Pain has become a part of the fabric of my everyday life – a low background ache that ebbs and flares over the course of all of my waking time.

I have clearly failed at my writing every day goal.

I don’t even know if I care.

I have been thinking about the concept of a blog, however.  I’ve decided there are basically two ways to approach a blog… One as a dynamic showcase of content on a subject – recipes, articles, memes, jokes, travel destinations, etc.  The other is as a type of personal journal/sharing space.  I’ve been mostly using my blog as the latter (as I don’t feel I have any skill interesting enough to showcase on a daily basis to make a former type of blog.)  The problem I’ve had with this personal journal type of blog is that, to me, it feels as if it functions on a platform of voyeurism.  This has bothered me continuously in the time I was pushing myself on my daily posting challenge.  It has continued to bother me as I consider re-starting my writing.

Some people maintain personal blogs in which they talk about somewhat more mundane things… their cooking adventures, their travels, their little day to day adventures – and use it mostly as a way of keeping friends and family “in the loop” about their daily goings on.

I haven’t been using my blog that way, and I can’t, if I want to talk honestly about my daily goings on, because most of the people in my life are not in that circle of trust.  So… I tend to write about the things I can’t share with most friends and family… because I don’t get to share it much with anyone else.

However, now, since I can’t share it with the majority of people in my life, I now share the most incredibly intimate details of my life (those that I DON’T share with most people I know) with mostly complete strangers.  Most of whom I never interact with in any way beyond seeing a flag on their country in my stats.

It is a bizarre feeling.

It is an uncomfortable feeling.

Some people may feel good about sharing their intimate lives with strangers… people they never see… never speak to… never interact with in any way.  But… I’m not one of those people.  It makes me uncomfortable.  It makes me feel… exposed.  And ultimately, it starts to make me resentful.  I feel as if I give away more than I can afford to give.  And there is very little replenishing that reserve as I continue to spill it out onto this blog.

I don’t expect anything from my audience.  The few people who read this blog and whom I know personally, do replenish the well from which I take this intimacy of my life.  But there are many many many many more people who I don’t know.  Who are complete strangers.  Who… cannot be a source of replenishment.  Who can only be a drain on my resources because of the very nature of the internet and of the way I have chosen to use my blog.  I don’t expect anything from my audience.  I made the choice to blog this way, and I thought, at the time, it was the right choice for me.  But now I think… I can’t continue to use this blog and this platform in a way that drains my resources at such a magnitude greater than they can be recouped.

I’m not sure what that will mean for this blog.  I do think that it allows me a level of connection with my close friends which I can’t as easily create on my own.  I don’t want to lose that connection with those friends.  I do, however, need to stop broadcasting my life to strangers.  That isn’t sustainable anymore for me.

I will have to think about this and what I can do to meet my own divergent needs going forward.

To the people who have expressed their appreciation of my presence and what I write here, thank you.  I appreciate your voices.  To the strangers who have appreciated me in silence… I appreciate your existence.

I’m sorry that I can’t provide myself to all who want to partake of me.

I have always been driven to make everyone happy.

I just can’t.

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One Comment

  • villemezbrown

    I wish I had a magic wand I could wave and ease your pain. Or maybe, like in Teen Wolf, take your hand or touch your wrist and draw some of the pain off in scary black lines. Or something . . .

    Adele

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