Blogging is Not Easy Shit

I thought blogging would be pretty easy. I have a lot of personal stories, most depressing, which does not make for good blogging fodder for the general audience, but I thought that at least I wouldn’t run out of things to write about. But I’ve come to realize that my private turmoils should be the source of my writing, not become the writings themselves. And that has become the rocky territory I have had to traverse, dipping into my life experiences, yet tying them into everyday speculations.

Blogging is tough, people. I mean, even though my aim isn’t to turn my blog into a commercial product where I sign on consultants to help me gain more readership traffic, it’s still a struggle to come up with, every single day, a topic to write about and try to craft it into something interesting, deserving of attention from others.

“Come on!” I hear some of you saying, “That’s what you signed up for, if it sucks so hard, then just stop!”. True. Very true. But see, the thing is that for people who like to write, we can’t just simply stop. I can’t speak for writers (I don’t think I am one just because I have a blog, someone who writes isn’t necessarily a “writer”), but in my case, I suck at verbal communication. My mind is usually a step or more ahead of my mouth and I’m always trying to filter what is appropriate from what is not or weighing what is acceptable to say within social norms versus what isn’t. So I am apt to lapse into silence after being asked a question, gaze off into the distance, and try to choose my words carefully.

I know this makes me seem distant, remote, or uncaring. I’ve had to live with all those adjectives being applied to me although I don’t believe I am the last. I can be distant. Or remote. But I do care. About people and their individual struggles because I have been through my own. And that was no picnic. My life has never been idyllic or easy or serene. But that is my own burden to carry.

If I don’t sensor my speech, I would probably tend to sound insane, in as the words that I speak in a sentence don’t necessarily tie into the others. I actually used to stutter a little, from shyness (never EVER put me in a position of public speaking because I will completely ruin whatever speech you wanted to present through me), but also because I couldn’t form any comprehensible narrative that correlated to the images in my mind. I would have been the last person any debate coach would have wanted on his/her team.

So I usually fall back on the written word. I’m much better at that than leveraging my limited charisma to engage people. I write how I speak because it’s easier to put those words to paper than saying them out loud. My close friends understand, they get that about me, but others often don’t. I’ve come to peace with it because, well, it’s not something I can really change. I’ve come a long way from the stammering teen of my childhood, but she’s still oftentimes there, lurking in the dark corners of my contemplations.

Usually, my mind works something like this: “Okay, she asked X, what does she mean by that? Does her question mean A or does she mean B? She reminds me of my friend Nic who would probably have meant B, but she’s not Nic, so what if I’m wrong? Thinking of, I haven’t heard from her in a while, I wonder what’s she up to? I really should touch base with her. Remember that time when we were walking down the street and XYZ happened? That was hysterical! So let’s assume B. So I should respond with ABC, right?” And by the time I think out the ABC answer, the other person is confused by my long silence and my mind is already ahead of my mouth so I end up dropping words (I actually do this when handwriting things out as well) or jump straight to a conclusion that has no follow-up whatsoever. Then I end up sounding wooden or overly analytical and not endearing or personal in any way, shape, or form.

It’s frustrating and somewhat alienating to have this kind of character trait. But if I don’t pause and take my time when answering questions or speaking to people, the outcome is worse. My boyfriend, John, has said “You should be a politician. Everything you say is planned out.” Of course, I would suck ass at being a politician, since one needs loads of charisma for that profession, which I sorely lack.

The upside to all this is that I am fantastic at keeping secrets. There are things that I have been told or witnessed that I have never revealed because I believe everyone has their right to privacy and who am I to destroy that? It’s not my story to tell, I don’t own it. Also, for someone to even come to the point to confide in me tells me that whatever they are disclosing to me is a big deal and they consider me a friend, because I certainly don’t initially appear to be a nurturing soul (Nic, I will never tell anyone about the XYZ that happened!!). And I don’t betray my friends, ever.

So it’s easy for me to button up my mouth. But my need to communicate has to manifest somehow, right? So I write. I pen long emails and apparently, now blog. However, it has been much harder than I thought it would be, putting my thoughts, my philosophies, and my reflections out there every day for the public. It really is quite difficult. Try to be gentle to us bloggers, because we are, in essence, welcoming you into some of our diary entries. We are in many ways making ourselves vulnerable to people we don’t even know.