choking on my own words

29 January, 2012


Writing is not… the easiest thing in the world. I mean, it’s harder for me NOT to write, but that doesn’t make it easy. Sometimes it’s like trying to fill a wicker basket with individualized drops of milk… but sometimes it’s as easy as crying. Always it is something: an activity, a transfer, a… fucking difficult translation. Writing is filled with lots of … and delete and copy and cut and move and adjust. But sometimes it’s just like walking.
Blogging your writing, like I do, isn’t the easiest thing in the world either. Especially when it comes to audience… I love the idea of strangers, other random humans, stumbling onto my words and my images and liking what they read- relating to what they see, seeing another human who looks at the world if not the same as them then in an interesting way. I love the idea of being interesting. I love that the few people I’ve met in life who honestly seem to get me have a way inside my (often obfuscated) head.
I do not love one particular member of my family reading my blog. She and I have never looked at the world the same way, and she seems super judgmental. I found out she was reading my blog a couple years ago when she asked me why I curse on MY OWN FUCKING BLOG with a disdainfully confused smile. (I’m not positive how she found it. At one (stupidstupidstupid) point I liked here from my Facebook- that was probably it…). In any case I immediately told her it was my own, personal, (oh my god and your beloved Jesus why can’t you understand the word PERSONAL) space for writing, and that I would appreciate her not reading it, or at the very VERY least not bringing up things I had written years ago in the middle of family reunions and get togethers.
Imagine, for a second, if your most personal (and admittedly fucked up) thoughts and emotions and goddamn baskets of milk were brought up years later, out of context, and discussed with family you see maybe every five years.
Good, I see you understand how fucking irritating that would be.
Now, imagine that she still reads and tells her mother about the things I write. (Like that I’m pregnant. That was MY story to tell, and I had simply been too sick to phone her yet)… I hate her translations of my writing. It makes me not want to write.

What do I do?
As I said, writing is not… the easiest thing. And neither is blogging your writing. And the people I’ve met, the people I know (the people who understand and do so without judgment) these are the people I want to see my writing. They are sometimes even WHY I write. And that, right there, is why this has never been an anonymous blog. Because sometimes the only reason I can get over the difficulty of writing is because I want to connect with those people.
But I don’t want to have it thrown in my face years later, damnit, and it’s almost impossible not to censor myself when I consider that what I write here, this very moment, will come up years later as an excuse for hurt feelings and unfair judgments.
So do I say fuck it, leave my blog that I’ve had for years and written thousands upon thousands of words in? Do I just censor myself more carefully or should I say fuck it, fuck her, and fuck the few years from now when this will (assuredly) come up in an incredibly awkward way?


2 Responses to “choking on my own words”

  1. NGS Says:

    I don’t know the answer. I fear someone from my own family somehow stumbling onto my anonymous blog.

    You could go password protected, although it’s so hard to get new readers that way. You could just go totally private, but if you want feedback, it’s not possible. You could just delete it and start afresh, but it’s like erasing yourself. I don’t know. But I feel the same pressure sometimes. Every time I type the word fuck on my blog, I wonder if it will one day come back to bite me in the ass. I wonder who I will offend when I mention offhandedly that I once flicked off a cop. I wonder…

  2. changling Says:

    ask me to send you something I recently received ‘anonymously’ via my university email. seriously. it will make you vomit and then maybe make you feel better? I dont know…

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: