I feel as if I have blogged the life back into myself. Written air back into my lungs and some kind of smile back on my face. Discovered myself an existence again, somehow kept myself attached to the essence of who I am, through all of this that’s happened.
I know, if you’ve been reading for a while, since the Before, you’ve watched it happen… watched the insides of me gasp for breath, then taking gulping sips of it, and sometimes it’s whooshes air in and out of my soul.
In the Before, this blog felt like a patchwork artwork of stories and writing and in-jokes and social networking, of photos and clips and links.
I remember sitting down to write that horrible post, in a friends lounge room, staring at the computer screen. It was a Thursday night, and my husband was lying unconscious in a bed in the ICU twenty kilometers away.
I used to run a meme on a Friday called FlogYoBlog.. it lives at Glow’s place now, if you’re interested. In fact, that’s what I was about to do, when Tony came home that afternoon and every shade of hell broke loose… I was just going to write a blog post. That’s all I had planned for my afternoon.
It occurred to me, sitting at the computer on that Thursday afternoon, that I could lie. Simply post FlogYoBlog as if nothing had happened, as if everything was normal… there were people In Real Life who were pushing for that, telling no one ‘until we knew for sure’, whether Tony would live or die.
It would have been so easy. Connections online, they can be so fleeting. Post FlogYoBlog, hit publish on the five or so posts I had in drafts folder sporadically over the next two weeks or so, then just stop blogging. A few people may have wondered where I was… but people disappear online all the time. The find other hobbies, different things to do.
I could have told no one what happened, except those flesh and blood Real Life people who would have found out anyway.
But that would have just been the beginning. That would have marked this as something to be ashamed of, a truth to slink from. There is no shame in this.
And so, I blogged. And I watched from behind a foggy wall of trauma of grief as my blog became an outlet for pain, and little more. Bleeding words all over the keyboard in a desperate attempt to get them out of my head. Obviously, all the things that embellish a blog- those pictures, links and what not- they disappeared from my posts, and it became little more than a continual expression of conscious, painful thought, that I can’t even read again now, and don’t remember writing.
But the colour is, slowly, coming back. I find myself taking photos, spending more time online, proof reading and spell checking.
It feels as if I’m blogging myself back into existence. Taking sustenance from what I get here; but also using it as emotional barometer. I can write about things other than the pain now. I can take the time to reread things without them biting them too hard. This has become a little more like art again, a little less like therapy.
It’s a good place to be.
The blogosphere is a pretty good place to be this week.
I’m proud to be linking this post up my lovely Tune Into Radio Carly’s blog hop for International Day of People With Disability.
Any of that aside, I’m just proud to call Carly a mate of mine. She has awesome boobs and an infectious laugh. She is brave, strong, outspoken, calls a spade a shovel, and she knows, even more than I do, what it’s like to have people be afraid of her. And she stares that in the face with grace, dignity and total kick arse-ed-ness.
And it’s her 30th birthday this weekend.
Happy birthday Carly. I hope every wish you have comes true.