I have realized that my current “blogstipation” has nothing to do with stupidity, or a lack of imagination, or an inability to write, and everything to do with fear: fear of exposure, rejection, excessive vulnerability and loss of love from the people I love. I am choking on words, trying to keep them down instead of vomiting them out on the keyboard… and I need to stop doing this to myself.
Here’s the thing about having memory loss due to trauma (emotional or physical): it’s not gone forever. Pieces bubble up to the surface and when they do, you want to grab on tight to the good ones and scribble them down so you don’t lose them again. The bad ones, you wish you hadn’t recovered but since you did, you want to stake them out on the ground, walk around them, poke at them, and live with the idea of them until they’re just a part of you instead of this Big Awful Thing you’re dragging along behind you everywhere you go.
Back to the blogging… writing has always been how I processed. I let the man who stole a huge chunk of my memory beat my words out of me. He left me with a decades-long near phobia of writing my deepest self, my truest heart, for fear of angering everyone who loved me. But now, I have been recovering memories right and left and am beginning to make sense of them – and so it’s time to let myself write again – REALLY write, not just let out enough words to be able to breathe. There’s still enough anonymity in writing one tiny little blog in a big universe full of them that I think I can feel safe about it.
And now, having said that… there’s a pizza to demolish, and a decision to make about where to start. Happy Friday, all 3 of you who read this! 🙂