Hello, and welcome to my blog.
I cannot describe how much I detest myself for writing that sentence, but hey, that’s nothing new. I am writing a blog, and worse than that, I am posting a blog, and worse than that, I am encouraging people to read it. Could I sink any lower? Indeed I could. Because I have wanted to write a blog for countless years now, and never let myself. I did this for a multitude of reasons and believed in them deeply. Until something happened that showed me a worse alternative to the snickers of others behind their computer screens, that life is actually devastatingly short and not doing the things you wanted is the shorter end of the stick.
Here are the reasons I never allowed myself the hedonistic pleasure of typing my thoughts and feelings into bite-sized pieces to join the overflowing inbox of the internet.
Reasons to write a blog, counter-arguments to fears about creating a blog.
Statistically, someone will read it, it might just be my Mum, but she birthed me and so she certainly counts as a reader. And say even Mum turns her nose at it, then fine. Because whether or not I put them down into words, my head will still be filled with them. With thoughts, ideas, phrases and comparisons. These niggling little creatures slugging about my brain, filling it to the brim. My brain is too full of things to say, it literally is. When I travel anywhere, along the way I think of about fifty things to tell the person I’m about to see. Granted, I forget a lot of them, but the rest I then attempt to pace out, to satisfy my deep fear of running out of things to discuss. Let me tell you, that does not happen often.
So no one reads it, okay, then it fills some corner of the internet. Thank you, next.
You just used an Ariana Grande reference in your first blog post, do you really want everyone reading your pathetic thoughts and opinions? Well, whether or not people read them and know about them, I still have them. Not telling people the fact that I listen to musical songs on repeat twice a day minimum doesn’t change the fact that I do it. If people don’t realise I struggle with mental illness, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have those issues anymore. Anyone who would think I’m lame or pathetic or vain for writing it all down in a public place, wouldn’t like me either way. And in that case, exit the tab already, stop wasting your time and get back to the intellectually satisfying content of Facebook. But the big one is always if a future employer were to read it. I can’t imagine myself discussing anything worse than mental illness, and any employer that can’t accommodate that isn’t really a place I would opt to work in. Maybe they’ll like me less, maybe they won’t hire me. That is true, but I guess I’ll try hold out for the person that hires me in spite of it, or even because of it. Perhaps I’ll mention sex, in which case, apologies future Boss, cover your eyes - you too, Mum!
Free press trips and goodies to review, obviously. I will get nothing out of it. I will put in time, effort, emotional and physical energy, and get nothing out of it. Pleased? Me too. Instead, it is about what I won’t get. I won’t get regret. As mentioned, recent times have taught me that if nothing else, life is short and it is not fair, and those two are often intertwined. There is someone who would be really disappointed in me for letting such silly reasons stop me, and I owe it to them. I already fill word documents with thousands of words that no one will read, so at least now it will stop clogging my storage.
This is honestly the biggest weight on my mind, tipping the scale lower and lower in favour of slamming my laptop shut. The first years spent refusing myself a blog, I desperately searched for something new to share with the world. You have every kind of blog out of there. Feminist blogs, mental health blogs, food blogs, travel blogs. You name it, there is a blog on it. And recently, when I again pondered allowing myself that shimmering URL, I realised something. I do not have anything new, anything special to add to the internet or people’s lives. That is true. But maybe I have a new way of phrasing the old, maybe I don’t need to give people anything new, but rather birth the thoughts and feelings lingering in their mind. Bring light to the everyday. I don’t want you to leave my blog thinking, “Wow, just learned some new things!”, as you won’t, I don’t have facts for you. I just have a different take, a voice for the mundane. I want you to close my blog, sit back and think “Exactly.”
Just that one word.
Where did all that self positivity go? Welcome to my mind, one minute we’re fighting the good fight, and the next we’re ready to curl into a ball of self-abuse. But this isn’t what should stop me from sharing my words. Every blog post will probably launch me into a pool of self-doubt, I’ll re-read each word and almost delete it 100 times. Dear friends, I apologise now for how often I’ll message you asking if I should delete a post, if I overshared, if I’m crazy for thinking this was a good idea. But the fact that I hate myself about 65% of the time (okay, 80% but I won’t go higher as people might stop reading) is actually a bonus. Because how often do you like yourself? And you should like yourself, whoever you are. I want to help you reach that, even if it is only by realising that you’re not alone in this. No matter who you are, where you are in life or latitude, I’m here. And I want to share the little things, the mundane, as well as the shitty things, the grey haze that sometimes clouds our vision. If one person reads this, and feels understood, I will honestly count this whole crazy plan as a success.
It is crazy, it is not a good idea, and I am still doing it.
Welcome to my blog, you just finished my first post.
Be sure to learn the difference between mental health and mental illness, and how both of these can be affected by the current COVID - 19 crisis!
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Welcome to Symptoms of Living! A place where I like to relieve myself of the barrage of thoughts and ideas filling my mind. Here I'll take a look at various topics, from books to BPD, series to self-harm, there's nothing that we can't, and shouldn't, talk about.
Having struggled with mental illness since the age of 15, one of the hardest parts was how alone I felt in it. While mental illness is beginning to be discussed more openly, and featured in the media, I still think there is room for improvement. So whether it is mental illness or merely mental health, a bad day or a bad year, let's make this a place to approach it and strip it back. Everyone has their own symptoms of living, and you certainly won't be the only one with it.
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