But I’m not, I promise. I assure you, I am alive and kicking and distinctly corporeal. I’m more talking about on the internet, and I’m not just subtly transitioning into a “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve posted consistently and with any kind of real content”. I get so tired reading that on other blogs, so why would I possibly do that here? No, I just feel like I’m turning into a little internet ghost. I’ve been tiptoeing around on my reader, following my usual follows, but with less comments. My tabs are full of posts that I want to go back and say something nice on, but I never seem to manage to get there. I take pictures of my life (my happy, twee and cutesy life) and never know what to say when I post them.
A few weeks ago, right before moving across the country to follow her heart, I was telling Kels about this whole inner kerfufle in my head, about now knowing what I should say, and she gave me stunningly excellent advice. “Well, just talk about that, then”
I don’t know why I share my life online anymore. I know that I’m not one of of the Top Ten Names of blogging, and that I don’t even share that much to begin with, but the why is gone. It left so silently; it took me a few beats to notice I was sitting at my computer without it sitting next to me. The more I ask myself why I’m blogging, the more I ask myself why I have any of the interactions I have online–why am I on Twitter, why am I on Facebook, why do I have a blog reader? Don’t misinterpret and hear this as why would I ever want to do this? but rather I’m just searching for a bit of mindfulness about what I’m doing online.
Two things happened recently in real life that go hand in hand in the questioning process. One, involving the decline of a relationship that had been toxic for quite a while, isn’t appropriate to talk about online. I know this, which is why there is no mention of it beyond this sentence. One involves an incredibly painful manic episode where I ripped up all of the artwork I’ve ever made. If your eyes skimmed over that last sentence without fully taking it in, that’s okay–I get it. But just know that my lungs still clench with frustration and guilt when I type it out.
These two things have taken a lot out of me, and have quite a large portion of my brain space dedicated to them. Sorting out what I wanted to talk about online and why has been a great way of sorting out the larger question–why am I online at all. I could pare down this whole post and make it about Honest Blogging and that ever-recycled My Life Isn’t Perfect You Guys blog post that seems to be as common as a late winter cold. But I don’t want to trivialize my thought process any more than I want to make some melodramatic post about it (guess I’m failing on that front, eh?).
I’m bipolar, and that’s not a secret I’ve kept from you guys. What has turned into a secret, though, is what that life looks like. For every happy cute outfit I post on the blog, there are five meltdowns involving tears when my anxiety about my wardrobe consumes me. I spend a lot of my time curled up and hating myself, and that doesn’t seem to have any place online. That’s personal, right? It’s personal and I’m under no obligation to share it. I get that.
But then I ask myself, why share at all? I like sharing the happy with you guys, but when bad stuff happens I do feel a bit choked about what I can write. I don’t talk about the struggles with anyone but my partner and my immediate family, so why share it online?
I don’t have an answer to that. I have the beginnings of an answer, one that starts with ‘so others who go through it feel less alone…’, but that feels like too much of a cookie cutter answer to be accurate. So that’s where I’m at.
Oh, and the art thing? That huge, painful tragedy? David spent the weekend before his birthday visiting his family, and with the help of his mom and his best friend, they put all the pieces back together. A happy ending fit for the blog.