Addressing Absence and Hate Mail
I've seen some other texts from blogs get several hate messages from followers because they have become inactive. But I've only received anonymous inboxes, (which, as far as I am concerned isn't very critical since they aren't even courageous enough to be known), about how "this blog suxs" or "lazy ass, do your job and post."
These have been gnawing at me, but then I realized something … I don't have an obligation to those people to upload because what I do, I do out of my spare time.
I do these silly, often times stupid, texts with screenshots, to brighten other people's days or make them laugh. This isn't my job. It was something I thought would be fun to do. Something I enjoyed doing.
And I wasn't diagnosed as depressed when I started this. I didn't have my life become a living hell until after I started this blog.
You want the truth, rude anons? Fine. I'll answer your hateful messages.
I am depressed. I'm being kicked out of my house I've lived in my whole life. My mother sometimes cries herself to sleep and I'm supposed to hold her hand and tell her it's okay. I feel worthless because I can't do anything to help my loved ones. My best friend/ex-girlfriend/I'm pretty sure love of my life, just told me that she couldn't be friends with me or talk with me anymore because "it's better for us both this way" as the only explanation. I have turned to writing a fanfic that documents my life with said love of my life, but this time, things get a happy ending because it's the only way for me to cope with my pain. I have turned back to heavily drinking before crying myself to sleep once my mom is in bed. I'm supposed to start grad school, but I can't even pick myself up out of bed before noontime because all I want to do is disappear under the covers.
This best thing I can do to sum up my life right now is that I am suffering from this disease. No amount of creative writing or sewing arts and crafts will stop it. I won't be a van Gogh, a Rita Hayworth or a Winston Churchill. History remembers these people for producing beauty or greatness from their battle against depression that will echo throughout time. But there is nothing poetic or beautiful about my pain. It is literally picking up the phone and laughing or messaging someone 'I'm fine' as I cry silently on the other end.
So, yes. I am fucked up. I am barely holding myself together right now as I struggle with moving through life. But I am NOT going to be bullied into thinking that I owe people, especially rude people, anything. I already feel like shit for not posting anything for my very lovely, nice followers who appreciate me and leave words of love in my inbox.
To the followers who have always been there and dealt with my sporadic posting and all my fucking baggage/issues: I am sorry. I am trying. Maybe once I win my uphill battle with everything, I'll realize that some of the kindest things I've ever had people say to me come from this blog. Maybe I'll be able to start posting again. I'm not abandoning this blog, I'm just taking a long break as I piece myself back together.
I've written this post so many times. I've let it sit, but I think I'm ready to post it.
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