I’m okay with being vulnerable now. I have to tell myself that to even be able to write this right now. When I first started blogging, approximately 16 years ago (yes, that long ago), I was so open with my posts. I told way too much to way too many people who had no interest in the well being of me. They were here to be amused. Rather or not that laughed with me or at me, they were here. This tiny pixel on the internet allowed me to be free to say what I wanted and not have to answer to anybody about how I felt. I grew up in this space. When I decided to relaunch my blog, I honestly didn’t even care if I had an audience. I’m writing for me, because it feels like it’s right. I’ve been away from the keyboard so long, and solely dedicated my time to create safe spaces for other people, that I forgot about why I started blogging in the first place. Back then we called it an online journal, way before a blog was a blog and blogger was just that, a blogger. Way before people got paid for this. I’m still not sure if I want to bother with adspace and such, I’m just here to ramble. To get things out of my big ass head. To breathe.
In the past 2 years I have met over 200 new “friends”, and many of them don’t even know my real name. I’ve kept quiet and dealt with my trials and tribulations all by myself. Well, not really, but just amongst the people who I felt cared enough to actually know the real me. I struggled in one of the worst relationships I have ever been in where I literally lost myself chasing behind a fuckboy. A real life fuckboy. Yes, they do exist. I became weak, a follower following behind a boy pretending to be a man all while forgetting that I was the prize. That it was me that added value to him and not the other way around. I forgot about how hard I had worked to be able to stand proud as the woman and mother that I was, that I allowed myself to become timid and unsubstantial. I found out my womb was being attacked by fibroids and Uterine Cancer. I became depressed, suicidal, became a cutter. Sliced my arm up so much I was wearing jackets in the house to hide it. I turned to alcohol and pills to ignore what I was feeling and the only time I felt peace was when I was asleep, alone. I literally drank every single day. Vodka…straight. I experimented with pills to see which one made me sleep the hardest, then doubled the dosage. Did I really want to die? Probably not, but I certainly didn’t want to hear or feel anything. I wanted to be numb to everything. And I couldn’t. Remember Kimoni? Imagine the devastation my loss of life would cause the the ones who actually do love me. Fuck the ones who don’t, focus on those that do. Focus on those that need me even though I don’t want to be needed. A life would end, and shatter at least 50 more in the process. See why this is therapeutic for me now?
Find a corner, and write. Find your beat within and let it out.
Now that I’m back at this and planning to stick with it for as long as I can, I want to thank those who’ve commented and reached out to me. I was shocked to see that people actually missed this. Trust me y’all, it gets better. I’ve been MIA from blogging for at least 6 years if not more. If you blog, please comment. I’d love to check out other writers. It’ll also help me to feel like I’m not as alone as the dark parts of my mind like to think I am.
