There has been plenty of times in the past couple years that I’ve been writing my blog that I’ve considered stopping, that I felt I was out of stories, I get writer’s block, and that would be it. Over the weekend, I spent quite a bit of time thinking about (and talking about) how and why I started my blog- and why I stay with it.
My very first blog post was titled my depression journey, and truly the reason I put pen to paper (or hands to keyboard, if you want to be technical) was because I had a story. A story that ruminated in my head for about ten years or so. What happened in my past, why, how did it impact my life now (when I started my blog), and just constant trips down an unpleasant memory lane.
I thought about how much of a struggle middle school was, how I felt like I had nothing in high school except maybe 3 friends, the people I considered “friends” who wanted nothing to do with me anymore, the people I no longer wanted in my life, and so many other things. I thought about my cries for help that I denied existed for years, the poetry, the self-harm, and the constant need to have someone to rely on. The story was slowly torturing me, holding my mind hostage. So I wrote it.
After I finished my first blog post, I started to feel lighter. Like the weight of my tumultuous relationship with my depression that I’d been holding onto had disappeared overnight. The story slowly started to fade into a haze and was no longer stalking my every thought. I finally felt like I was starting to leave my past behind and could finally breathe again.
I knew what had to come next, though mentally I fought the idea. I didn’t know how to open up and tell the story that broke me. The story I was afraid it would get out, afraid the person would find the effect they had on the remainder of my life, and I didn’t want to give that power. I decided to write “boy that broke my heart”, because my first blog post had been truly cathartic. I wrote with the highest hopes that what happened with my first blog post would happen with this, that once I told my story in full, I’d be able to let go and forget about it. This one has two follow-ups (a letter he’d written me for our graduation as well as a letter “dedicated to him” ten years later), and finally, I was able to put that memory to rest.
I started to fall in love with telling my story, the stories that were stuck in my head. In the back of my mind there was always one thought though: if I could make a difference in just one person’s life, I’d be happy. If even one person read my story, found comfort that they weren’t alone, that was all I wanted. I spent the better part of 15 years thinking that I was alone, that no one would understand what I was going through, what I thought about consistently, and all of the issues I had going on. I told my story in hopes of possibly helping someone like I had been years ago. Thus, I keep writing.
So, fellow bloggers, what was your drive behind starting your blog? What keeps you going when you feel like you’re stuck?
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