I’ve been neglecting you, dear reader. I haven’t been my regular, forthcoming self, ranting or pontificating or giving detailed, thought-ful/less explanations of this or that.
Truth is, I’m not sure that this relationship is working anymore. For real. I haven’t said anything about my doubts because, well frankly, how do you say something like that? Especially to someone who asks nothing much from you except to show up, someone who doesn’t criticize, someone who accepts you just as you are? Anyways, breaking up has never been my forte. I have, rather, a long history of holding onto problematic relationships.
But, well, it’s been at the back of my mind now for some months and I suppose I may finally be ready to come out and clear the air. I’m not feeling this anymore. “This” which officially started 2 years and 3 months ago on March 25, 2009. When, out of necessity, I began to pour my heart out onto this Inter-page. During those two years, I told you so many of my secrets. I gave you detailed accounts of some of my most intense heartbreaks and profound life lessons. I revealed just how absolutely emotionally messy and complex, and hopelessly naive and romantic I can be.
Mostly I wrote about the past and I healed myself from it. Time and time again I was astounded by how absolutely cathartic it was to write to you about some extremely personal experience that left me hurting. Like talking to a good psychoogist, spilling my guts out here emptied me of past pain.
So I’ve moved on. I’m not living in the past anymore, nor in some kind of fantasy world which compensated for a lack of real experience in the now. The writing/healing did the trick. I’ve been able to start having real-time relationships again. In fact, I’m currently entertaining two.
But I don’t feel the same compulsion to write about them (sorry!). They are real, they are current, they involve real people, not ghosts from the past nor figments of my over-active imagination. So writing about them would take on a different function than this blog has mostly served. And I’ve been confronted by the limits of my personal exhibitionism. I’ve found that I’d rather live my stories than tell them.
Leave that telling for later.
But it feel so good, dear reader, you know? Just writing to you now and I am lulled back into that sweet feeling of confidance, where I bared my insides to you and you silently, gratefully ate it up.
See, now I’m doubting. Now I’m remembering the good times. Now I’m asking myself, do I really want to end what has been a very satisfying – albeit rather one-sided — relationship?
Ok, to be fair, you haven’t always been silent. Sometimes you wrote to me. Sometimes you responded to my posts. Sometimes I got a message from you thanking me for giving of myself and it really made my day. Somtimes you wrote to me in just as heartfelt a fashion. One time, you even started writing yourself, telling me all your deepest darkest secrets. That led to a long and heart-warming correspondence that ended rather badly, when I tried to take it into the real-life dimension.
So there is the “I’m experiencing real things I don’t want to write about here” reason. And then, there is the “what was the point of this again?” reason. What I mean is, now that I no longer have past pain to heal, I am struggling to find a reason to write this.
True, I don,t always write about past, painful, relational experiences. I alternate between that and pretty mundane stuff. But the past-painful-relational stuff was my bread and butter. And … now that it’s no longer useful I am more and more confronted by how aimless and unfocused this blog is.
In the w-w-w of the myriad of blogs out there, with their sharp focuses, target audiences and more purposeful writing, I feel lost, lame, almost ashamed.
I am feeling a need to define myself differently, I suppose. To write with more clarity of purpose. To perhaps, also, find a new reason to write and a new form.
So this is goodbye.
I think.
