About an hour ago I was having a blue moment while eating some pizza and listening to music. You know, when you want to pull a treasured stuffed animal to your chest and squeeze it, letting its material absorb your tears? My legs were fatigued and I had pain in my neck, lower back and legs. That's pretty normal for me. It accompanies the fatigue. I think that's what was making me upset, mind you I've also been angry and traumatized that my asthma flare-up lasted a whole month and was the third one I've had in seven months.
I thought about all of the people I've exchanged letters with over the past couple of years: professors, friends and colleagues. I desperately wanted to write a letter to one of these people who read my long letters and reply with their own. I didn't really realize it until now, but when I'm upset, one of my first and strongest inclinations is to write to someone -- not just about what I'm going through, but to learn more about what that person is going through or doing with their lives. With many of these people, I haven't received replies to my latest letters. This is fine with me. I know life gets in the way, plus people don't always feel like writing letters. But I'm not going to write more letters to them.
Well, after my pizza (and cookies... way too many cookies) I went upstairs and sat down to think about everything. The pain went away. It's amazing how terrible I often feel when I'm on my feet. So when the symptoms settled, my sadness went away. This is the effect of my body on my emotions. With my happy self restored, I've been scheming a creative project -- something I can do sitting down. I want to write a fictional correspondence between two girls. This will help to satisfy my urges to write letters! To make good letters, first I will have to come up with long, detailed histories and personalities of my two characters. I think of this and other types of writing as acting. Both crafts require you to put yourself into the shoes of the character and to learn to feel things the way you think they do. Well, that's all I will say because I don't want to give my ideas for this fiction away!
While I plot and sweat over this, feel free to write me a letter if I know you and/or we've communicated through this blog. My email is on my blog home page (Where "About Me" is). I've met so many kind, beautiful, intelligent and creative people in my time as a blogger and blog reader.
Writing in this blog has partly satisfied my urge to write letters. You see, I vent and describe things in here much in the same way I do letters. I think my style here is the same if not similar too. And of course, my comments on other blogs and on my own feel very much like letters. I think comments are part of what make blogs such a fascinating type of life writing. Not only can anyone get exposure and become a part of a community, but with comments, people keep my narrative going, as I do theirs. My memoir is what my Canadian Life Writing professor would call a "memoir-in-process."
But why did I start blogging to begin with, aside from my desire for an audience? Well, it was last November. I'd been sick since a virus the previous June and was fed up with being sick -- not only of the aftermath of the virus, but of all of my previous illnesses and related issues. Writing in a blog seemed like a good way to share everything I had to get out as I am much better at articulating everything in great detail through writing than talking. I also hoped it would help to connect me to people going through similar things. I craved that support.
I had no idea that I would make so many blog friends (my regulars) who would have such compassion despite not being or having been in my shoes. They wanted to read about my struggle. I wasn't an annoying broken record like I thought I would be. My experiences weren't as boring and pathetic as I thought they were. Writing helped me realize this. So did you guys. So thank you! I love reading your wonderful blogs!
It took some months to learn, but now I know that I am interesting. This is just a pause in my life. It will end and others will begin, but I'll always have my writing. And, as one commenter recently wrote to me, I'll always have my dreams -- and I know I can attain them.
So, having gotten this off my chest and being rid of the pain, I'm happy again. But I still feel traumatized by everything, mainly because I'm jaded. I keep wondering: what next? I hate feeling so prone to illness. It makes me feel weak and frustrated. Like what is it about my body that likes to get sick? Most of my issues are not related, but still. It seems like one hell of a coincidence that I have and have always had to go through feeling like garbage so often. I kind of feel like a victim because I don't seem to have much of any control or prediction ability. So yeah. There are times I want to punch a stuffed animal instead of cuddle it.