This little bloggity blog has been around for a long time. It's like an old friend. Some old friends I talk to a lot. Some I don't really even know anymore, but I still have a fond place in my heart and I wish them the very best that life can bring them. I have a feeling I won't hear much from them again because I have hurt them or they have hurt me. I also secretly hope they don't think I ditched them for something better - when in fact the only ditching I ever did was pretty much for something much, much worse. My own self-absorption, my own depression, my own issues/problems/no-big-deal-who-really-cares-anyway sort of life. For that, I am truly apologetic. I beg for your forgiveness. I want to make it right.
Sometimes, when life smacks us with problems, BIG FAT PROBLEMS, the little things seems to vanish into the background. The small things like coffee with a friend, dropping a note in the mail, sending a quick text to say, "Hey, how are ya?". Truthfully, my mind is constantly wondering "how are you?", but my physical and mental self has had a really hard time of following through on the ACTION part of doing anything about finding out. I am fearful. How do I ask how you're doing, when you'll probably ask me in return (because, you know, you're nice and all...)? I'd have to answer. I'm terrible at saying, "FINE!" and actually acting like I mean it because I suck at lying. I can't do it. Telling you how things have really been is a long, painful story. But if you've got the time, I've got the posts (on another less people-y blog, yep yep).
Another problem: Facebook. Now I love facebook. I love seeing the pictures of my friends, my family, my far-off-acquaintances. It's great. I love the connection it brings me that I never would have had otherwise. But, it paints a terribly distorted picture. A painfully tragic picture of our lives - as it is truly like a book. The cover is gorgeous, well marketed, and makes inferiority complexes rage in the lives of people like myself. However, it's tricky too. I didn't even know I had a problem feeling inferior. But open the glossy, airbrushed cover, and your chapters are probably just as graphic, painful and unedited as mine. Who knew? Maybe the "cover" of my book hasn't painted a very good picture of my actual life either.
I don't mean for my life to seem fake. Seriously, who wants to post crappy stuff that makes people cry? I don't want to be that person. I want to make you smile, I want to make you happy to be around me, I want to make your life better. But sometimes, we don't live our lives to make others better, we also live so that others can bless us. How can I be blessed as I'm going through a particularly stench-filled chapter when I don't even bother to share an excerpt?
I'm trying to work on my sharing. I don't mean sharing on Facebook, because my most genuinely present friends are in my texts, my voicemail, my email. My real life. Facebook is cool for sharing the fun stuff, but it's not ALL the stuff (except we know a few people who do share like that, and boy is it ever exhausting).
I have a third set of old friends. The ones who I still love dearly, yet I don't hear from all the time, but when I do, we pick up just like we had coffee yesterday. We ask the questions, we cry the tears, we hug the hugs, and we live our lives. This old bloggity blog is that friend. Unquestioning, non-judgemental, steady, always there just in case I need to say something, and so occasionally, I do. I value each and every friendship in it's own way - but there's just something really awesome about sharing our stories when others are ready to hear them. For some, it's just not the right time yet and that's ok.
My life is quite a bit different now. I'm on the mend, but I'm still me. I'm willing to share.
So... how are you? And I don't want the short version either.