A slight break from the heavy stuff. Kind of.
Everything that I have written here is how I remember it happening. I’ve made a note of the parts where my memory is blank, and in certain places I have left out detail / incriminating evidence that involves other people because I’m not a grass. I have changed most of the names, partly so that other people don’t get into trouble and partly to protect myself as well.
This is not a work of fiction. The people I’m writing about do exist. There’s a chance that one of them might read this one day. That thought used to scare the hell out of me, but I’ve stopped caring. I’m not going to censor myself to spare everyone else’s feelings anymore.
The only problem with refraining from censoring myself is that I delve into some pretty horrible stuff from time to time. I don’t want to hold back, because this is meant to be a way for me to work through that horrible stuff – but, at the same time, I’m aware that lots of other blogs like this carry content warnings at the start of posts so that people can decide whether to read it or not.
I’m not going to do that. I did think about it – funnily enough, not because I was about to write something gruesome but because I was going to write a fairly innocuous analogy that just happened to be similar to something that had been brought up in conversation with someone who I knew was reading this – a something that really freaked this someone out. I was too worried about freaking them out to actually use it, so I didn’t. I just left the whole thing out. And I’ve always felt a bit weird about it. I don’t like feeling as though I have to censor myself, but I also don’t like upsetting people.
So, why not just write it and add a warning at the start? Well, for one thing, I write about many different themes and I write really long posts from time to time. The warning itself would be ridiculously fucking long. For another thing, by adding a warning at the start, I’m giving away what’s in the post before you’ve even had a chance to read it. If I was writing this as a book, I wouldn’t be using the prologue to list all of the horrible themes that are examined therein. You’d just read it.
Just assume that this is your content warning and that pretty much anything you can think of might come up.
The only person this blog is designed to trigger is myself. You’re all just collateral damage.
But now I sound a bit heartless, right?
Maybe I am.
When I first started writing this on here, I wasn’t really thinking about who might read it. I knew one person was, and I kind of focused on directing my posts at them. Thinking any further than that just seemed to over-complicate things, and I actually ended up not writing on here for ages (except for the occasional type of post that sounds deep and meaningful but isn’t really) because I couldn’t cope with it all. I wanted to write, but the most popular posts were the things I was trying to move away from and I just got stuck every time I tried to write what I truly wanted to say. I wanted to make everyone happy but I just couldn’t manage it.
It wasn’t just that, though. Ever since I started writing on here, I’ve had some really nice messages from people. Total strangers have gone out of their way to be kind to me, to tell me deeply personal things about themselves, to say how amazed they are by my honesty – I’ve had some beautiful conversations with people. The amount of support I’ve had has actually been totally, wonderfully, overwhelming.
I don’t feel worthy of any of that. I feel terrible that I can’t respond in a way that actually helps. Every time someone tells me that they can relate to parts of it – especially the more painful parts – then I don’t know what to say. I end up saying the same thing to nearly everyone; not because I can’t be arsed to put any thought into my reply, but because there isn’t very much to say. This started as therapy for me. Some of it is fucking depressing. I feel terrible that other people have had to go through shit like that.
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. I’m not. I’m more grateful than any of you probably realise. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I can’t help anyone. I can’t tell you that it’s going to be okay. I can’t tell you that the grief will start to hurt any less. I can’t tell you that all the horrible demons that have been destroying you from the inside out will ever leave or become less vicious.
There is a contact form on here if you need someone to talk to. I will never not read what you have to say, even if I can’t always reply straight away or give you the response you’re hoping for.
I love the way I move you. It’s not meant to be a bad thing.