I’ve disagreed with this blogger on multiple topics, only sharing my opposite opinion to him once. Thankfully ending with an agree to disagree. But I still like what he writes, how he writes, and most of the subjects he chooses. I’m simply on the opposite side of his argument…
Today HarsH ReaLiTy posted about writing groups, those with friends/ family/ speaking with people in person about their writing. They get to share their thoughts, get feedback, bounce ideas off of each other, etc… He went on about how we blog, and may or may not get feedback on our posts, that we don’t get to feel special for writing, because no one we know and care about wants to read it.
He explained that he doesn’t have friends or family that appreciate hearing about his blog, they roll their eyes when its mentioned.
Why is blogging, writing, sharing our stories so important to us? And why do we need others to read it, judge or support us to be happy with our writing.
I have just over 50 followers. I am so so so far from popular its not even funny. But I still like the connection, I still like posting when I’m upset or need motivation or when I’m feeling fantastic and can’t hide it. I like venting, a lot. I’m judged quite harshly everywhere in my life, I’ve had to leave many friends behind because I could no longer handle being the butt of their jokes. I’ve struggled with issues at home and needed major venting and major help that I’ve still yet to receive. I feel like this blog is the only way I’m understood by anyone, the only place I’m not made fun of. The only place I’m free to be silly, free to express myself, free to explain myself.
I just wish those I cared about understood how I really am, no one lets me finish, no one lets me explain, and worse everyone assumes they are always right and that I am always wrong.
I have one example, its a pathetic one, but it made me feel like complete shit for no reason.
Ooh EE ooh ah ah ting tang walla walla bing bang. This is Witch Doctor by David Seville? Not just, the chipmunks.
The song was sang, I said “Oh, Oh, I love the Witch Doctor” almost started singing it,
“No, I’m talking about the chipmunks, ya know, from back in the 80s”
I then sat quiet and googled because I knew I was right, I’m often right and just assumed wrong and I’m never given the opportunity to explain, so I go around with my friends, family, strangers, little kids, everyone thinks I’m trouble, and an idiot. Try that on for size. It doesn’t feel good.
I’ve spent years figuring out how to not care about what complete strangers think of me, so I can more openly speak online, I can more openly say hello, encourage complete strangers, dance wherever whenever, I can do anything I want in front of complete strangers because I’ve let myself stop caring about them so much, but, I care even more about the opinions of those who know me. I have to know they think I’m at least, good enough. I genuinely do whatever I can to cheer up my friends, to make them happy, to make them keep faith, to help them when they need someone. I try to go above and beyond for everyone I know, yet I feel like no one will ever want to help me, do anything for me, or want to support me. I have no support from my friends, or family to do anything good with my life. They support my laziness, maybe my cleaning, and they support my bubbly side. But when I’m upset, down, unhappy, need motivation or support, when I am the one in need, where are they?
This went a bit off topic.
As much as I wish I could ask my friends and family to read my blog, they wouldn’t support me in it, though I’m not sure they’d know how to even if they wanted to.
A friend of Aarons found out I had a blog, and has said many times how badly he wants to find it and read it. He thinks its light and fun, silly or stupid. He said it probably has a bunch of girly problems, I’d be rich if I had a dollar for every time someone thought I was worrying about “girly” problems. No dude. They’re legit and horrible. Stop thinking I’m a twat.
He has clearly yet to find it, and has probably given up. It scared me to think he’d find it, its completely public but he doesn’t know my last name or anything about me really. For now. When he first started asking me if he could read it, I thought he was joking, then days or weeks later, he asked again. Then again. Then asked more questions about what I write. He had been trying to find me on twitter and a few other sites I had never heard of.
Hopefully he never finds it. Of all of Aarons friends, he messes with me the most. He’s almost made me cry about a dozen times, I clearly should speak up but thats just how he is and he thinks I’m a tough cookie. I’m a soggy disintegrating cookie currently, and its like being squished every time he says something jokingly.
Aaron is similar, which also kind of hurts, but its made me stronger on my good days, and it makes me feel like an ant on my bad days. Its a balance thing, one day he’ll see the difference between a day he can make me tough and laugh, and a day he’ll make me crumble and cry. I’m hoping for more good days, I’ve had mostly good days with him thankfully. 🙂
We’ll figure it out, he just doesn’t understand my trauma just yet.
I guess it wouldn’t be so terrible if Ramone found my blog, he’d hopefully read more to understand me as a person.. Anyone that wants to be in my life right now, should know about my first few posts. The reason behind this blog. What brought me to wordpress?
I have PTSD, and my triggers are random yet constant. I have managed to escape them for sometimes up to 3 days since starting this blog, so I guess I can say thats an improvement. I was unable to function at work anymore, I was finding myself spacing out and stuck somewhere else for several minutes, unable to leave this full reenactment of my past experiences. This blog became the support I needed. My best friend of 6 years moved 2 states away, I moved out of my parents, then the triggers began. I wasn’t working through anything with her, and she has been dealing with her own issues, unable to really be there for me through any of this, so I lost the bubble that was my “perfect” family, I stopped denying the sexual abuse, and I saw what the middle child really meant for the first time. And it has CRUSHED me. And no one will let me finish. This blog is the only place I can explain myself fully. The only place I am actually, free.