In an attempt to suck out the poison…

Ever since shutting down my old blog, it’s like my creativity well has gone dry. Every time I start writing something I get about halfway through it and just run out of steam. It’s frustrating and it’s difficult, but mostly it’s alarming. I’ve always been creative. And while my sister got the more artistic abilities, I was at least gifted when it came to the written word. My poems, my stories, and blogs, they were my outlet. More than that, they were my own inexpensive version of therapy. I could write down what I felt and thought without worrying about who saw it or what they thought, because each word was mine. Any time somebody read my words and commiserated or felt some iota of relief because somebody else “got it” I felt a little rush of happiness and vindication.

…and then it all got ruined.

An ex who couldn’t let go started stalking me. I blocked him out of every aspect of my physical and online life, or so I had thought. That safety blanket of online privacy and blocked accounts came crashing down when I found out that he was using my blog to keep tabs on me.

I had gone to some length to keep my identity a secret on my blog. Everyone and everything was anonymous. I felt safe posting my secrets, my fantasies, my thoughts, my hopes on that blog. So once I discovered that my safe little corner of the blogosphere had been infiltrated, I felt exposed. I couldn’t write, because anything I wrote I’d have to censor. The words didn’t feel like they were mine anymore. They felt like they were his. Like anything I wrote down was something that he could take away from me. It felt…. dirty. Like my blog had been tainted. And maybe that’s what happened. Maybe he tainted my well of creativity, so that it’s not so much dried up as it is poisoned.

I know that blogs are public, and that part never bothered me. If somebody managed to stumble across mine and come away with a little nugget of wisdom (or just a smile) then that was more than fine with me. Words are how I express my artistic self and art is meant to be appreciated. What bothered me was somebody intentionally destroying my sanctuary out of spite.

 

I’m not really sure what I hope to gain with this. Maybe nothing more than a little relief after getting it off my chest. But I do know that I refuse to give up. I’ll be damned if one awful individual with a grudge is going to take away something I love, something that gives me a little peace.

Anyway, things might be a little hit and miss in the beginning. And beginnings can be as long as a few years or as short as a few weeks. So if you happen to have been reading the few things that I’ve posted, awesome! I’m glad that you’re here and I hope you’re leaving with one of those nuggets of wisdom I mentioned earlier. If you’re new and have no idea what I’m talking about, don’t fret. Nobody else does either. I’m not even entirely sure that I know what I’m talking about.  But I do know that I’m here and I’ve had some incredibly good and bad life experiences that I sometimes document and pull from. I also plan on having more of those in the future, both good and bad. And you can expect to here some stories about those eventually. If that sounds like something you might find remotely interesting then I’d encourage you to stick around, leave a comment, start a dialogue. Meet the other individuals that find this sort of thing interesting. You’ve already met me, I’m sure I’d probably like to meet you, too.

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