For the last few days I’ve been asking myself what drives me to write here. It seems a reasonable question to ask when this has somehow become a place I visit to find a little peace, a place I come to for comfort.
That has rather taken me by surprise, since blogging has frankly never seemed all that ‘me’. In the past I’ve found that same sense of stillness on hilltops, in gardens and beside the roll of oceans – but never on a website.
I’ve imagined bloggers as an elusive species… found lurking behind bobbly-poly-cardigans and thick-rimmed glasses… in dark attics (I always did have an over vivid imagination). I thought blogging was more than a little bit geeky. But that said I’d never read a blog until about a month ago..
For me around 2am has been the worst time. The thoughts I’ve hidden from all day suddenly loom large and grow fangs and claws. I’m all out of distractions. Everyone I could call is fast asleep. The sun seems so far away I wonder whether it will ever rise again. The Internet is my last refuge, my final distraction.
One night, having read the news, looked at Reddit, checked Facebook and my email more times than made any sense… and then done it all again.. I stumbled across one of the other blogs listed in my blogroll. The blogger was a little further along their journey… and reading gave me just a little hope I could get through my long dark night. That is how this all began for me.
I started not so much for others to read, as for me to write. I’d always written a diary and came to know myself better between it’s pages, but since dad’s death I hadn’t been able to pick it up. It was as of part of me refused to process what I was feeling, since that meant accepting he was gone. I just could not. I still haven’t.
The blog’s format let me trick myself into writing. Posts push me to package my jumbled feelings into a start, a middle and an end – at least some of the time! That structure gave me some kind of sense, someway of stabbing at reflection, when I was all adrift at sea. In trying to explain, I find I better understand myself. A miracle!
I’ve realised I tend to work through what I feel by writing or talking. In this grief, my friends are far away and the people around me are mourning too – I try so hard to be brave for them that I find myself tongue-tied, mud-bound. Speaking to strangers gives me the freedom to feel what I will and give it air. When I write here I don’t worry how my words will make you feel. That in itself is such a blessing.
Above all, reading and writing here has shown me that I am not crazy, not derranged and not as alone as I’d thought – so my heartfelt thanks to all of you who gift your honesty, read my words and share your thoughts!
These paragraphs, these words have come to be the blocks that are rebuilding me… and you are all helping me shape my build..