Shortly before Christmas, I was having a conversation with someone who complimented me on my ability to put thoughts and feelings into words. Absentmindedly I assumed they were referencing our various conversations. It wasn’t until a few days later the thought occurred to me the person was probably referring to my blog. The realization shocked me.
I mean, yes, I write this blog. Yes, I post it publicly and create links for it on Instagram and Facebook but I never really considered that anyone was ACTUALLY reading it. On my end, it’s just shit I dump out into the universe so it doesn’t fester inside of me. Honestly, I guess I assumed “readers” existed in the same place as “cloud storage” and the occurrence of a tangible reader didn’t exist.
This blog was never even supposed to be about “processing” life. It was originally created to be a, “behind the scenes” peek at art projects I was working on. However, I never expected my return to this town to repeatedly slam me into the ground. The last four months have been emotionally exhausting and difficult. Writing unconsciously and organically became a coping mechanism to keep me from saying overly “feral” things to people or inappropriately crying.
Why should I be burdened with these thoughts and emotions though? It’s not my favorite aspect of being human so it makes sense for me to process them as quickly as possible. Compartmentalize them, shove them in a metaphorical box, send it into the void and move on with life by never addressing the issues again. For anyone reading who truly knows me, we all know my insane talent to compartmentalize and walk away. It’s usually through painting but for now, it’s writing; so be it. Then another thought occurred to me, WHY are people reading it?
The irony of writing a public blog is that I’m actually a very private person. It’s truly laughable at how much I’m currently dumping into the universe. In real life, I can barely muster up dinner conversation when I’m unsure of my environment. Sure, I can safely assume that some people are reading because they simply want to peek inside my brain and also because we live in a voyeuristic world. Why though, is everyone else reading? Not just reading, but consistently reading? I have no idea who you are and truth be told, I don’t want to. The thought temporarily paralyzed me.
Fearful scenarios where I’m speaking with someone and internally wondering if they read my blog ran through my brain. What had I done?! Being so publicly forthcoming with my emotions and thoughts isn’t who I am. I shy away from attention and run away if there’s drama. So how in the world did I become someone with a public blog? Then I realized, panicking and running is a different coping mechanism I have. Feral feral feral feral. But for all the people who say, “This is just who I am”, I’ve always stated, “It’s who I am but I’m trying to be better”.
I don’t want to stagnate and fester. I want to continually grow and learn. I want work towards being the best version of myself so that whenever I leave this earth, I will have no regrets. I realized my blog has become a baby step of positive change inside myself.
As I poured through the previous blogs I had written, I also realized that I wasn’t just randomly spewing information. All of my thoughts and situations had been carefully explained. Yes, I reference specific circumstances and other people but I’m not embarrassed by my life. Frankly, it’s not like the other people would be shocked to read about themselves in the blog either. I’m pretty fucking vocal about where people exist in my life; good and bad. Trust me, they knew how I felt before it was ever explained in a blog.
My final thought on the matter is, fuck it. Whether everyone is reading or no one is reading, I don’t really care. Most of you are probably attempting to read this shit on a cell phone so I doubt many of you make it to the end anyway. I decided I’m going to keep writing this blog because it helps me, I want to and I enjoy it. Boom.
Drawing up at: https://www.instagram.com/p/Bd7CUfNnr-u/?taken-by=murdocjax