August 23, 2005 § 3 Comments
When I was little, I was so shy that it was painful. I only spoke regularly to my immediate family members. In school or elsewhere, it was one-word answers, flushed cheeks, and a burning sensation in my chest that I can still feel to this day. I felt most comfortable alone in my room, in a safe place where I could say and think as I liked. I whiled away the hours sprinkled with imagination, saying and thinking the things that I could never do in front of anyone else. It was almost like I yearned for a jamais vu-like existence.
As an adolescent, I went through the required journal phase, writing down details of thoughts about everything and everyone. However, I never felt the release that it gave everyone else. I was stifled, but relied upon my years of experience of living out those imaginary conversations. In my head I’d tell my mother what I really thought, my best friend that she really shouldn’t, and the world that I really could. A late bloomer, I survived another few years doing the very same thing until my marriage fell apart and I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I realized not saying things, even stupid little things, snowballs into something disastrous. The noise in my head was too loud to bear, and the burning in my chest returned.
In 2003, I found something called a blog. I started something that changed the way I processed. I talked about daily happening, mood swings, relationships, and pooping. Everything that didn’t make sense in my thoughts leaped onto the screen in semi-coherence. Now, everything I write is based on fact, meaning I actually thought it or did experience it. But I am definitely one to exaggerate because the volume in my head is much louder than reality. I don’t say fuck as much as you think I do, I’ve only had 3 drinks all week, and ALL CAPS ARE HILARIOUS TO ME. I don’t write profoundly touching things like Dooce, I don’t discuss serious
political issues like Atrios, and I’m not going to help you with your
computer like Titus, but this is what works for me.
The reason I’m writing this is because some of the people that I’ve written about have entered the blogosphere unwittingly during the past few years. They’ve loved what I’ve written, and they’ve hated what I’ve written. Some have been offended by what I’ve written. It was (and still is) NEVER my intention to write anything in this space that would hurt anyone. Worst of all, I’ve recently put someone that I love dearly in a difficult position because of this.
While I don’t regret writing a single post here, I am disappointed that I still don’t voice my ideas as much as I write. Maybe I’ll never be anything more than that pensive little girl. Most importantly, I’m not going to give excuses or cry censor because it’s just not worth it. Hell, it took me a year to go public myself. Somewhere along the way I got careless, thinking only about not losing my job and not enough about losing touch with others’ sensitivity.
As popular as blogs are, people still don’t want to be on them. Can you blame them? They never asked to be.