I have removed myself some from the online world. I do some things still; I try to continue to write on my blog (for me more than anything because it feels good sometimes just to get it out), I still use facebook, I tried to get back to twitter but I just can’t keep up with it (especially now with work). I enjoy Pintrest, GetGlue and Klout; although not being as active on the internet and in social networking atmospheres probably doesn’t give me much of anything in any subject or topic area.
I hadn’t opened my reader in I don’t know how long. Probably not since the last time I blogged while I was still living in California, and well that post wasn’t exactly one of my finer moments in life.
“You have to take responsibility”
“You have to own your words”
“You have to own your feelings”
“You have to learn to blame yourself, redeem yourself and forgive yourself for the things you have done/said/wrote/blogged/texted/etc. whatever they may be”
People don’t really understand how hard that is to do, especially when depression is playing a role; not unless they have been down that road.
The blame, hate, rage, misunderstanding, sadness, emptiness, loneliness, anger. It is misappropriated, flung on to people when it is really yourself you feel all of those things about. Flung on to people you love and care about and then it just batters them down until they can’t take the beating anymore. Why? Because it is easier to blame then to take responsibility.
Back to the reader….
I open the reader and see a gazillion blog posts that need to be read. We are talking haven’t looked at this thing in over a year’s time. I have now limited myself to the few that I actually care to read. I took my reader from 126 blogs down to 18. I lately have been more of a lurker than anything else, there are times I intend to comment and don’t. Why? Fear perhaps. Maybe because I feel what I have to say makes no difference. Because I don’t want to be just another “comment on the page”. I am not sure why I don’t comment when I want to….ok it is fear.
As I was weeding down my reader, I was going back to blogs and reading missed posts. Going back sometimes as much as a year because I haven’t read the blog in that long. Laughing at things, smiling about others. Crying over some. Amazed by how a lot of these bloggers write. Jealous because I don’t write as well or keep up with my blog like I want to. Envious, even.
But when you read back through old blog posts, you sometimes come across things you don’t want. Stories of death, bad days, hurt feelings. Stories that make you, yourself face truth. Posts that hurt because you know they are directed at you even though your name is not used.
And tonight that has opened up a whole new set of feelings for me. A part of me I thought I had put behind me. Feelings that I thought I had gotten past. Hurt that not only emotionally hurts but physically hurts as well. Loss. Feeling broken again. Broken, a word I said I would not use about myself again…yet as I write this I feel so broken.
I don’t know how to fix what did or didn’t happen. What has or hasn’t happened. I don’t know how to fill in gaps and holes that are so large they swallow me whole.
I want to reach out. I have tried to reach out at first, not as much as I should….not so much anymore. And that pains me because I want to. I feel I should. But I don’t know what good it will do. And when I do and there is no response, complete ignorance of the attempt it just hurts. And then the broken comes back.
I miss what was there, more than I can ever explain. More than I knew I would.
And the hardest part of it all? I did this. This was all me. I caused the hurt, I caused the pain, I caused the confusion, the mistrust. Now I have to learn to live with it.
Yes, I have an illness and it has taken me some time to truly understand that illness and control it not let it control me. There are still times that I can feel it taking hold and sometimes I wonder if it would just be easier to let it take over. I use to say I didn’t want to be defined by it, yet I used it as an excuse every chance I got. I hid behind it like a coward. I used it to excuse actions, behavior and words of mine that I didn’t want to take responsibility or acceptance for myself. I allowed it to be an excuse and I allowed it to control me. That was me, not the illness.
I don’t know if I can ever truly apologize for what happened. What I do know is it was my fault, and mine alone. I said those things, I behaved that way, I made the choices, they were my actions; with or without the illness, all of it was me because I allowed it to happen.
I truly am sorry, after all this time has passed I still am not able to forgive myself fully because I damaged something that was so special. Now I have to live with that. I don’t expect to ever be forgiven because I can’t even forgive myself for that, at least not yet. I miss you.