Thought Jumble

Top Ramen for breakfast.

This blogging thing is going to be very interesting.  I still find myself a bit stifled... well, let me rephrase that: I find that I'm still stifling myself a bit.  I posted for the very first time on Friday.  Since then there have been moments that I've thought, "I should write" or, "I want to write" but I've held back.  I think I'm still afraid.  My boyfriend's been home all weekend so that may be a part of it, not feeling quite as free to sit down and take my time and write when I'm not alone.  Furthermore, if I'm being totally honest, I started cruising blogs more on Saturday which I've never really done before.  I just kept clicking the "next blog" button and seeing where it took me.  I would say a decent majority of the blogs I stumbled upon were happy housewives/mothers who talked way too much about their children.  Here's the truth part: they drove me crazy.  I found myself extremely annoyed and judgmental of them.  "I'm a stay-at-home mom and my husband is the most patient man in the world and we have three beautiful children together [insert names and ages here] and we have two spunky pure-bred puppies that I just adore.  Welcome to my little slice of paradise!"  I started to wonder, why are they writing?  Nobody wants to hear about your trip to the vet or little Jimmy's first soccer game; at least I don't.  But then, how am I really any different than that?  How are any of us who "blog" any different?  What makes what anyone has to say important?

I've definitely been rethinking blogging.  I mean, one of the main reasons I never started one before was because I thought that blogs were so egotistical.  At the same time, though, there are some blogs that I've read that manage to be eye-opening, insightful into one's own behavior and thoughts, helpful to others through their own introspection.  But what's the difference?  Where is the line drawn that makes one blog seem like blathering and another one seem... good... or important?  Maybe it's purely technical, just the writer's ability.  I guess I tend to think it's more philosophical though, the intentions behind what is being written, and the meaning it has to the author.  I'm so afraid of seeming like the blathering type... but then, I'm doing this first and foremost for myself, my own personal record-keeping and need to process all of the (technical term here:) shit that flows endlessly through my head.  The infinite brain static.  And I suppose I need to keep in mind the reason that I've left this public instead of private, even though I doubt anyone will ever read it.  It's the risk factor.  I've avoided any form of risk and vulnerability for so long; probably my entire life in fact.  I feel horrible and guilty for thinking badly of those stay-at-home moms.  Who am I to judge them about anything?  Freedom of information, write about what's important to you.  If I really look at it, it's jealousy.  I'm jealous.  There's a part of me that wants so badly to be able to say that I love my life and I'm so happy and I want to share it with the world.

I can't though.  I don't have that.  I haven't since I was a very small child... which is almost worse, because I remember what it was like to be truly happy and to love life.  I remember telling my mom all the time how much I loved being alive.  And I think the difference between then and now is that I felt so certain about everything.  I was going to live in the same small house for my entire life because I loved it so much.  Now I look back at that place and realize the neighborhood was a bit scummy... the houses at the bottom of the hill were owned by a slum-lord.  My mom just told me a couple years ago that at one point those homes had dirt floors.  It's strange how kids don't notice those kinds of things, I mean there was no such concept for me as economic differences when I was in elementary school.  I think I also felt like I knew the way the world worked, and maybe all kids do.  Everything is so simple and concrete: there's good people and bad people, there's right things and there's wrong things, bugs are awesome, it's fun to play outside, my mom and dad are the coolest.  I was also so nonjudgmental of myself... I wish I could get that part back the most, sometimes.

I don't really know what direction this post is going in anymore... I originally thought I was going to write about the bad news I learned yesterday regarding my dad.  I suppose that hasn't processed enough, yet.  I feel pretty numb lately.  Stupid bodily defense mechanisms.  I can feel it when it's happening but I'm incapable of stopping it.  Intense emotion that feels like it's too much to handle is followed shortly with a wave of nothingness.  It's like being washed over from head to toe, like falling into a pool and emerging without any sense of feeling any longer.  I know why it happens, but I hate it.  I know it's there to protect me, but it also affects my ability to feel emotions like love.  I need to love, and my boyfriend needs to feel loved.  And I know for certain that it's still there, buried somewhere, but I can't seem to bring it to the surface despite my best efforts.  The one thing that I feel so grateful and lucky to have is my relationship with him; he is so understanding and caring and I feel terrible that he has to go through all of this with me.  He doesn't deserve it.  And if I think about it logically instead of emotionally, I don't deserve it either.  But he is an innocent bystander, and I just wish I could make it so he doesn't have to experience it, too.

Well, I suppose it's about time for me to commence with Valentine's Day preparation.  He was so sweet last night.  When I came home, he knew that I'd had a rough night so he surprised me with a GIANT V-day balloon and a box of chocolates a little early.  Now I just have to figure out how to compete with that.

The Beginning

I believe in honesty.  I believe in the importance of being honest with yourself, your family, your friends, and everyone you may come upon.  And yet, I'm dishonest.  It's a rarity for me to be completely honest with any of these people.  I guard my feelings and thoughts like someone is trying to steal them.  I suppose this is the reasoning behind starting this blog.  This will be the first time in my life that I record exactly how I'm feeling, what I'm thinking, and what is happening in my life without judgment... I hope.

I named this blog "Brain Static" because sometimes my boyfriend teases me about reading other people's blogs.  He usually says, "It's just other people's random brain static.  Why do you like reading it so much?"  I don't know that I have a satisfactory answer for him.  For me, however, I've always been amazed at people's ability to be so honest online, showing their faces while they show us their hearts and minds... I know that it has helped me feel better to know that I'm not the only person who feels or thinks certain things.  My hope is that perhaps if someone stumbles upon my own meager brain static they might feel some form of catharsis from it as well.  Maybe I should have named this blog "Catharsis," because I'm hoping that along the way I will also gain it from the writing process.  ("Catharsis" doesn't stick it to my boyfriend the same way though...)

If you haven't already noticed, I'm choosing to remain anonymous on this blog.  I'm afraid at this point in my life I'm not strong enough to place my face behind my brain static; it's too vulnerable.  Perhaps in the future I'll feel differently about it and have somewhat of a "coming out."  We'll see.  However, I am leaving this blog public even though I doubt I will ever seek out any followers.  I guess this is my way of slowly becoming less vulnerable just knowing that people might see it, but most will not.

This is becoming a rather lengthy introductory post, but I think it's about time I start to open up a bit.  I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was 15 years old; I'm 23 now.  My depression waxes and wanes, as I believe it probably does for everyone else who experiences this debilitating disease.  In the interest of truth, I will post about depression from time to time, but I don't want this to purely be a "depression blog" -- this is only one portion of my life and I refuse to give it top billing.  Actually writing about my depression, especially in the depths of experiencing it, will be one of my biggest steps towards becoming honest with myself and others.

My father has stage 4 lung cancer.  I think this is technically the fourth time he's had some form of cancer.  He's 71 years old.  I'm sure I'll be writing more details about this at a later point as well, so at times this may be a bit of a grief blog.

I don't want this blog to be completely wrapped up in the tragedies I have, am currently, and am going to be experiencing, though.  There will be times that I will wake up in the morning (or afternoon) and want to write about whatever bizarre dream I had last night.  There will be times that I'll just have some strange philosophical question on my mind that I might write out.  Other times I might feel funny, or goofy, or crazy, or [insert emotion here] and I'll write about those thoughts and feelings.  I suppose the entire reason I'm saying any of this is just to break away from any labeling that may stifle or change the way or what I write about at any given time.

Well, here's to an interesting, semi-public journaling journey.  I have no idea where this is going to take me, as an individual or in my writing ablity/inablity or what the hell is going to come out of me.  But I feel a little excited about it.