rightkindofme
Diamond Member
The way I handle this "It's not good exactly but it is what I do" is I put all of my complaining and whining in my blog. It's an opt-in audience. I don't have to feel guilty about feeling what I am feeling and the people who are there are there because they love me and want to support me. It's nice. It took a long time to build--I've been working on it for ten years.
The thing that blogging has mostly given me is a record of my progress. I can very clearly see how I have changed and grown over the past ten years. I am a different, much stronger person. Which is kind of weird to acknowledge because I feel like I am at just about the most unstable place of my adult life. Only I'm in the most stable period of my entire life. It's so weird.
Err, I'll explain that last bit. I'm a stay at home mom with a 2 year old and a 4 year old. I have lived in this house for 6.5 years.
The next longest I have ever lived in one place was with my boyfriend from 19-23 for almost 4 years. Other than that I have never lived somewhere longer than 18 months and usually much shorter periods. I have moved somewhere between 60 and 70 times. I'm 31. So living in one house feels really weird and hard. I'm having a hard time emotionally... and I process it in my blog. :)
I write about everything. I write about my hobbies, my relationships, my past, my trauma, my cooking, my running, my sex life (I'm a big slut--well... I used to be. Monogamy is another weird new stable addition to my life).
I feel like I have reached the point of being a "grown up" but I don't know how that is supposed to look. I have never known long-term stable and happy people. So my life scares the shit out of me every second of every day. Any second this will all be ripped away from me because people will find out I'm a white trash whore and I don't deserve it.
So I write oceans of words about how I am feeling. And then I wear a really polite social mask I constructed from reading a lot of Austen and Bronte novels. I learned how to be excessively polite in person and I only "reveal" myself in writing.
It's weird. I feel so weird. But simply the act of being able to avoid all serious and hard topics when I see people makes me feel like I am "not a whiner" so I'm allowed to write what I want. I follow their stupid, mean ass social rules all the time so I get to write whatever I f*cking want. And if you don't like it, don't read it.
People tell me all the time that the difference between my writing and my in-person persona is startling. I feel weird about that. I'm just not allowed to be as angry as I am. And I've learned how to bury it really deep. It's really hard. :(
But I take a couple hours out of every day and I sit in my garage (I finished it into a really cool room with murals and sparkly lights and a full size palm tree bookcase--I'm telling you... my garage is bad ass) and I cry and I rage and I pour my soul onto the internet.
That's how I release my stress and am able to function the rest of the time. I've tried not writing. I start being unable to control the fact that I am shaking all the time from stress and I have breakthrough crying and I blurt inappropriate things at inappropriate times. It's really bad for me.
I write. It's not whining. It's existential angsting. There is a fine old tradition of that. :)
The thing that blogging has mostly given me is a record of my progress. I can very clearly see how I have changed and grown over the past ten years. I am a different, much stronger person. Which is kind of weird to acknowledge because I feel like I am at just about the most unstable place of my adult life. Only I'm in the most stable period of my entire life. It's so weird.
Err, I'll explain that last bit. I'm a stay at home mom with a 2 year old and a 4 year old. I have lived in this house for 6.5 years.
The next longest I have ever lived in one place was with my boyfriend from 19-23 for almost 4 years. Other than that I have never lived somewhere longer than 18 months and usually much shorter periods. I have moved somewhere between 60 and 70 times. I'm 31. So living in one house feels really weird and hard. I'm having a hard time emotionally... and I process it in my blog. :)
I write about everything. I write about my hobbies, my relationships, my past, my trauma, my cooking, my running, my sex life (I'm a big slut--well... I used to be. Monogamy is another weird new stable addition to my life).
I feel like I have reached the point of being a "grown up" but I don't know how that is supposed to look. I have never known long-term stable and happy people. So my life scares the shit out of me every second of every day. Any second this will all be ripped away from me because people will find out I'm a white trash whore and I don't deserve it.
So I write oceans of words about how I am feeling. And then I wear a really polite social mask I constructed from reading a lot of Austen and Bronte novels. I learned how to be excessively polite in person and I only "reveal" myself in writing.
It's weird. I feel so weird. But simply the act of being able to avoid all serious and hard topics when I see people makes me feel like I am "not a whiner" so I'm allowed to write what I want. I follow their stupid, mean ass social rules all the time so I get to write whatever I f*cking want. And if you don't like it, don't read it.
People tell me all the time that the difference between my writing and my in-person persona is startling. I feel weird about that. I'm just not allowed to be as angry as I am. And I've learned how to bury it really deep. It's really hard. :(
But I take a couple hours out of every day and I sit in my garage (I finished it into a really cool room with murals and sparkly lights and a full size palm tree bookcase--I'm telling you... my garage is bad ass) and I cry and I rage and I pour my soul onto the internet.
That's how I release my stress and am able to function the rest of the time. I've tried not writing. I start being unable to control the fact that I am shaking all the time from stress and I have breakthrough crying and I blurt inappropriate things at inappropriate times. It's really bad for me.
I write. It's not whining. It's existential angsting. There is a fine old tradition of that. :)