Writing the Darkness
A few years ago, I was going through a rough patch, and I started a blog. I wrote faithfully for awhile, but when life started to get easier, I became neglectful. Daily entries became weekly or sometimes monthly. Writing the blog really was therapeutic for me.
Recently, I’ve become intrigued by the idea of challenging myself to write daily for a set amount of days. Much as I like to write, I’m lazy. I really do need to strive to improve.
However, I’m a bit hesitant to jump back in the blogging waters on a regular basis. See, things this year have been really tough. Mom says what I’m going through is called the “dark night of the soul.” That seems a fairly accurate descriptor. Daily, I’m struggling with the idea that hope is even still a thing. The boy has commented more than once that I need to laugh. He’s right. I don’t remember the last time I genuinely, wholeheartedly laughed. Hopeless, despair-filled crying, on the other hand, has turned into an almost daily experience.
I’m not certain it’s a good idea to try regular blogging when I’m this depressed; and, yet, I remember how much it helped me in the past. Wisdom would suggest that if there is something non-harmful that I can do to help myself, I should do that thing. But, boy, is that thing scary. It requires honesty and vulnerability that I don’t always accord to myself in private.
I really would like to feel hope and joy again. I hate puttimg on the “I’m fine” mask and faking good feelings. So, maybe I will try consistent blogging again, so that I can rediscover those things.