This is going to be a sad one and a very hard one to write start to finish. This is what happens when it dawns on you just how cruel life can be, especially so when hope – or the lack thereof – is playing a major role. This is one about goodbyes, farewells and see you later’s.
For the first time since writing my very first blog post almost eight years ago, not having the faintest clue what a blog (albeit a personal one) should look like or what I was doing, these past couple of days I’ve been seriously contemplating giving it up.
It started as a knee jerk reaction to the very low point I’d been finding myself in for far too long because of a relationship that ended without being given any real reason for it. I was left confused and with my self-esteem in tiny pieces. My posts were confessional, through and through, sometimes to such a degree that people started asking me how I can possibly find the courage to put myself out there like that. Aren’t you scared? they would want to know. Of course, but what’s the point of being alive and feeling this myriad of feelings if you just keep them hidden and caged? They’ll start eating you up from the inside without you even realising it, until it’s suddenly too late to try to tame them with a gentler approach.
Along the way, I had to stop a number of times, tripping over my own words. I needed to soften the rawness of how I was expressing myself – how much of what I’m writing is just mine and how much in fact belongs to others? Of course, my feelings are mine alone, but that does not for a split second invalidate what someone else might be feeling about the same facts, the same conversations, the same situations. It’s the sort of balancing act that can get as dizzying as walking a wire 30 feet in the air – just one muscle relaxing more than it should or not contracting enough when it needs to and the consequences could be irreparable.
But right now the blog has become a much too emotionally taxing endeavour. The danger of being misunderstood in the worst ways is all too real. The possibility of bruising my heart even more is just a paragraph and a glass of wine away. The probability of unintentionally hurting certain people more that I know I already have is higher than I can accept. The storm violently swirling throughout my entire being is to blame. It will eventually pass and I’ll be wiser for it, hopefully also kinder, more understanding; but the moment of quiet is still too far in the distance for me to see it, so instead I’ll distance myself from the risk of causing more damage around me.
It’s probably not a goodbye forever, but it is a self-imposed exile from the little universe that I’d created here. I’ve no idea how long the hiatus might last for, but it’s something I can’t avoid, so instead I’m accepting it.