It seems to be a ‘thing’ in the blogging community to do a “Year In Review” post and so as 2016 draws to a close, I’ve been thinking about this blog and what I’ve achieved, enjoyed, learned, yadda, blah, yadda… and there’s no escaping that, for me, it has run its course.
Once upon a time I used to blog and tweet anonymously. It was awfully good fun. I had inadvertently inspired a congregation of US Christians to pray for me and I was followed by some wonderfully dubious and alternative people.
Then I wrote ‘that poem’. I don’t know what I thought would happen but I didn’t expect it to go viral the way it did; with some angst and many reservations I let it drag me out of my faceless snark-filled and irreverent comfort zone.
I can’t really explain why.
I am thankful for the subsequent adventures that would otherwise never have been open to me. On the whole, that has been exciting, stimulating and fun. I have met some wonderful people; I have made friends with people who have influenced and inspired me more than they will ever know. I have encountered some atrocious human beings too.
The benefit of hindsight…
For over a year I’ve had a nagging feeling at the back of my mind that in the aftermath of the poem, I’ve somehow taken myself down a road blog-wise that is unnatural and uncomfortable for me. You see, the woman who wrote that poem, she sort of isn’t me…
My prior blog was fiction. It was based somewhat on my life events but then embellished and twisted to suit my whim. It was a creative outlet. I stole mercilessly and greedily from others’ experiences and made them my own. It was wicked, vicious, vicarious and very valuable to me.
I miss my other self terribly.
But lots of people said they really liked this “new” me. My relatively small but sometimes very needy ego got addicted. There’s thousands of people signed up to get emails from this blog, followers on Facebook and Twitter, warm feels…
I have received so many emails, I’ve not replied to them all and I’m not sure I ever will be able to…
And all the lovely people who comment… especially those who pop up regularly – a bit like someone you see often in a coffee shop and exchange a few words or a joke – it feels so nice, the precious and treasured stuff that keeps my small and sometimes stifling world turning.
How could I just walk away from all of that?
I’ve experimented with a small amount of hyperbole and story telling on here but whilst it generates a lot of interest and comment, it’s difficult to handle because it freaks real-life people out due to the incongruity between the words and the woman they know.
It causes dissonance and worry. Reassurance doesn’t work.
Another reality check is how much better I’ve been feeling since I gave up Facebook. Can’t deny it. That’s really got me thinking about a lot of things I do in my life simply for fear of not doing them…
I have given up Facebook in the way that I wish wish wish I could permanently give up fags. Easily. Zero cravings. I don’t even think about it from one day to the next. Cigarettes, I daydream about at least once a week. I never watch people using Facebook and think hmmmm, baby, that looks gooood…
Anyway, I digress. Filthy fag smoking is the ‘other’ me. The unreal real bad one.
I’m more of a Jekyll and Hyde character than I like people to know. More than I’ve ever shown on this blog. I am a not-completely-nice person trying to be nice as much as I can and it’s quite hard work.
I am hugely conflicted, like the bastard offspring that would be produced if Janet Street Porter got rohypnol’d by Frankie Boyle. Minus 90% of either of their talent.
Yes: I believe in equality and equity, I am becoming more of a feminist than ever before and I am always kind to animals but yet I have a bleakly inappropriate and puerile sense of humour and I hate a lot of people.
Blogging anonymously allows the hideous Madame Hyde side of me to say the highly inappropriate things that could otherwise become distracting and preoccupying. I need to offload that crap somewhere if I’m going to consistently be as nice as I aspire to be in my real life…
…for example, my whimsical desire to enthusiastically lick the face of the 20-something year old man-boy who lives over the road and looks a lot like the young man I lost my virginity to… NO ONE in my real life needs, wants or deserves to hear about shit like that.
And even if they say they don’t mind, I do… I worry. Lots.
Lastly, there are young and vulnerable people who know about this blog and read it and so even if you tried to convince me that you love me just the way I are, that concern will always inadvertently and subconsciously censor me.
Plus, there are hugely significant aspects and events from my real-life that don’t feature here because it is not anonymous. The highest of emotional highs and the most painful times, scars carved so deeply in my heart, all have to be denied for the sake of others and so this whole shebang is ironically a lie anyway..
So I’m off to start again in obscurity… I’ll leave everything where it is in case I decide to pop back, or anyone wants to pop in whilst I’m away.
Thank you to everyone who has laughed and cried along with this nonsense. Thanks for reading at all!
I was saving this quote for a future “What about socialisation?” home ed blog post but I found it quite apt as a sign off here…
A crust eaten in peace is better than a banquet partaken in anxiety.