blogging and me.

I used to be able to blog everyday. About things that mattered — not in the general, save the world kind of sense, but about things that mattered to me.

 

I can’t even blog once a week now.  I wonder if it’s because this blog is public and I have chosen to forsake anonymity. I wonder if it’s because while I was never anonymous in any of my older blogs, they were, at least, locked – so I knew exactly who was reading, and I knew how to trace a culprit if a secret, a sadness I did not want exposed to the world, a rant that was meant to release my anger and for only trusted people to see, got out.

 

I wonder if it’s because blogging in public now has become something more for mass consumption, and not as a personal release. Tips, reviews, giveaways, statistics, blog hits, TV show appearances, social media power. One blog for all book reviews, one blog for all make-up reviews, one blog for yourself, organized sub blogs to be a good blogger.

 

I wonder if it’s, like someone I’ve known a few years online has pointed out, I wasn’t like this back then. I know that everybody changes and that the person I was yesterday is not completely the person I am today and the person I am today is not the person I will wake up to be tomorrow. But I know what she meant – I wasn’t as sarcastic, I wasn’t as jaded, I was a happier person then. I know I was.

It’s easier to be happy and trusting when  things haven’t happened to you, whether they are caused by your own actions or by someone else’s. It’s easier to be happy when you haven’t been depressed, haven’t woken up everyday wishing you were dead, but not wanting to kill yourself. It’s easier to be happy, carefree, when upon admitting that thoughts of dying and waiting for it, wanting it, are not healthy and finally talking to someone about it, like your mother–only to be laughed and scoffed at, brought down, then told on, mockingly, to a doctor where they both tell you to stop reading things like the medical side-effect warnings that come with your prescription medicine for a different ailment. Because it’s all in your head, never mind the fact that you’ve already been feeling like being alive is a chore, not wanting to do anything, waiting for death to come, losing so much weight, has been something that you’ve been feeling and everyone has been seeing for months before you decided to research and see if it could possibly caused by something I’ve been taking and not just things that have happened to me.

I know that a lot will argue it’s how you handle it and this is the way I can. By learning from it and adapting. I know I can not afford to be as carefree as I was before without breaking. I need to survive, too.

 

It’s easier to be happy when I can stop thinking about what I am doing with my life, if my work, if what I do has any, or will have any real meaning aside from being a peg in the capitalist economy, and being content with the fact that it doesn’t (and I have realized during my first job, that I will never be content with this, even if sometimes, I pretend that I am, in order not to think about the future. But then people who know me well – and people who don’t – seem to know this as well, a fact which surprises me because I have never said this out loud, to anyone. Nor do they have access to any entry I have written talking about this.  What are your plans after this? You will go into journalism or politics right? As if I had the temperament suited for politics. I will just take it as it is; from my cousin, a correct analysis of someone she has known for all her life, and from workmates who… I don’t know, really. What do you see in me that would make you say that, aside from a degree in my university?)

 

I used to be able to blog everyday. About things that mattered — not in the general, save the world kind of sense, but about things that mattered to me. Things that matter to me have changed over the years. There are a lot of political and societal issues that I feel strongly about and want to talk about but I am scared, because they are not things that matter just to me. They are things that matter, should matter, for a lot of people as well. And while for me, blogging is and has always been a form of release, of my thoughts, my emotions, I do not know if I am strong enough to keep up with what it could possibly bring in the form of comments from people who will refuse to understand and talk civilly.

 

But maybe it’s all because I feel like I don’t know how to write things that make sense anymore.

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