I've thought about blogging all week but I have no idea what to say. I could give little updates on the week. How my ankle is still rotten, or how I got a lot done yesterday, but I want my blog to be something more. Sort of and not.
I realized yesterday that I have blogged somewhere or other for over eleven years. That I have shared online, stared at blank post screens, and attached photos for that long is pretty mind boggling to me. Even after all this time I don't think I'm a blogger. I think to myself that I haven't taken it far enough to be a blogger. That "real" bloggers have more followers, sponsors, or consider blogging their job and I don't have any of that. <--this is bullshit.
I don't want to be a blogger in that sense. Well, actually, I sort of do. It would be awesome if I was popular (finally), made an income, or got free stuff from modcloth.com. Seriously. But I don't do the work. My brain is too fuzzy these days to think of what to say. So I get back to my main point--I don't know what to say.
I don't know why I blog anymore. I don't know if it's just habit, or if it's something I really want. I am full of self-doubt and self-consciousness. Something happened to me this year and the confidence I was finally starting to build fumbled out of my hands just like that, and I've been struggling ever since. Funny thing is, this year I feel more congruent with who I really am than ever. But the feelings...well those damn feelings just won't line up.
That's the thing with me, or more aptly, my illness. It keeps my feelings stuck in old patterns, old thoughts of not good enough, of sadness and despair, of believing I am so incompetent that I shouldn't exist as a human. I'm tired of it. Bored with it. Done with it. It's lonely, exhausting, and worn out. So I change things here and there and reach for more regardless of the dash-it-all feelings that slither in my stomach. Oh it's so anxious, oh it still feels so lonely. But eventually (I hope) the feelings will putter out. I won't only be congruent, but I'll feel congruent. And even if the feelings never change, I'll know I am being true to myself.
For now I still don't know what to say here. I don't know if I want to pursue more, if I have the energy to pursue more, or if I just want to talk about my day. I do know I am unsatisfied with this space. It isn't enough, it feels incongruent with my current life.
So I'm here in the early morning, sad ankle, tired hands, restless something in the middle, and I'm figuring it out.
xx, C
Now that is courage, true courage-- to continue with what is congruent with your true self, even if the feelings don't line up. That's amazing. Most people let their feelings talk to them and run their lives, but you are smarter than that. Wiser. I've been there, too. You and me, if we let the feelings steer us, we'd crash right off the fucking cliff, don't you think?
ReplyDeleteI don't know why you blog, but I'm glad you do because then you are still here and I am still here and we're both still here, you know? Even if neither of us knows what to say, it's proof that we're still here, dammit. I don't know what to say lately, either… or maybe it's that I want to say a thousand things and just thinking about it zaps all the energy from me and I can't lift a finger to blog at all.
Being sick is hard. Harder than being "normal". If you can find it in you to be true to yourself even while fighting every second of every single freaking day against the current your illnesses pull you toward… then you're a champ. Far from incompetent, I'd say. If you were incompetent, you wouldn't be here anymore. You would have given in a long time ago. And as far as "not good enough"… good enough for what? Good enough for your diseases to go away? Good enough to get a Nobel prize? Good enough to feel good for a little bit? Think about it. Ask yourself what you're not good enough for. Does it even make any sense? I bet it won't. I can say that, because I go through the same goddamn thing all the time, like at least once a day. I'm not proactive about it, though. I just press mute and stuff the feelings under a couch cushion or something until they get too big and force me out of my own house for a bit.
Hang in there, toots. You're a lot more amazing than you realize.