Cellar Door
Hello, out there. Yes… I know, it’s been a long while since I was here last. And, like yourself, I too, am wondering why I’ve opened this blog again after all this time.
For all intent and purposes, I came here tonight to sever this tie, to burn the electronic thread that connects me to this blog, and hence, to the very sticky web of this particular blogging world. And, I still, sorely, want to press that taunting ‘delete’ key-button, to finalize my painful internal explorations here, but I haven’t.
Upon – even long before – my return, I felt the intense urge to start anew, someplace else, but the more I considered the reasons why, I began to think of my initial reaction as being premature, impulsive, and irrational. So, instead of clicking off and quietly disappearing from WP, I hovered for awhile; quietly reconsidering how OA has served me in the past – what erasing it would mean.
On a personal level, when I went back and read some of the old posts, I actually cringed while reading a couple, cried when I read others, and, more than a few times, I wondered aloud why I posted certain writings at all. I have always secretly thought that, perhaps, public journaling is not the best idea for someone like me. HaHa. I know, huh…
Then I went a little deeper.
When I was actively writing here, this space was like having my own private cellar door; a sheltered place where I could open to that shadowy underworld and deposit all of those ugly, painful memories, the melancholy feelings, the darker thoughts – then simply close the door on them. I could give vent to the blackened aspects of my hidden inner-self, and was enabled to do so — without the worry of offending someone, hurting feelings or fear the wounding of anyone in the process.
In lieu of a trusted relationship, this is the unique vessel – outside of my head – that I have chosen to contain, preserve, and suspend those snippets of my personality… all, so that I may gain some objective distance – even while holding them close. I need this place to, again, become a refuge where I can safely break bread with the contents of my head and heart.
I have reluctantly buried parts of myself here. And, I feel that it would be foolish to burn it down, because I want to write again, or rather, need to write again, and I need to now, more than ever before. Starting over, elsewhere, changes nothing. I am already here.
I think that no matter how sad, how poorly written, how depressing, disturbing, alarming, distressing, or whatever… how terribly morose and morbid that I can be, or am; it does not justify closing down this blog, just because of a little discomfort — of my feeling too exposed.
None of that should matter anyway. Nothing I say, do, think, feel or write will affect your life – personally. And that is what I would like to believe, but deep down there is a reasonably intuitive, little voice that is whispering that is not entirely true.
Nevertheless…
These writings are simply small offerings; brief glimpses, snapshots in time, the draining of emotional upheaval, random expulsion of painful memories and, on the rare occasion, I may even share a good one… and if we‘re very lucky, I may detour and take excursions into the more tolerable and lighter side of myself – in prose, poetry, fiction and/or fantasy. That is the best that I can sometimes give.
None of them more, or less, than little pieces of me that I choose to share with you.
And however difficult it may be; the desire to write, typically, ignites during those times when I am confronted, dead-on, with those dreadfully awful extremes that make up the myriad facets of my mental and emotional disposition. So, instead of exhibiting a happy, happy, joy, joy, romance, or a fucking and sucking imagination – sadness, anger, pain and love are the emotions that most often compel me to write. And sadly, far too oft, they are the only motivations or experiences that can engender the deep need for that expression. Until I decide what I want to write about, that is what you will find here.
It doesn’t always leave one with a good impression.
That is the part of me you see and know. This is not a ‘happy’ place, nor do I present it as such. It is aptly named: Osmosis of Affliction – for good reason. And, for any reader who visits, I know how very challenging it must be for you to read here sometimes.
As a conscious and, I’d like to think, relatively self-aware individual, I firmly grasp that my psyche -the woman you see here- could easily be perceived -or translates- as dark, ill, warped and, even somewhat disturbed at times; logically assumed or reasonably derived, simply from the topics that I choose to write of, the ways in which I write them and, how they come across, etcetera. And, I suppose that, at various times, I can be one or all of those things – and more. ~soft smile~ I understand well, how the odd directions that my writing takes can make my observable temperament difficult to tolerate, understand, digest or accept.
I get it, but…
Surely, you must know that opening to judgment and criticism is never easy – not for me. It is far worse, if you’re an introvert. I am self-conscious in the ‘real world,’ and I’m not much different here – just a bit darker. At least when I am writing here, I am able to be open about that aspect of my personality… Like it or not.
However, I must say that, I find it appalling and most distasteful to crash and burn under your watchful eyes, and then dare write about it, openly, but I need this outlet. This is the only private corner left of my world where I will allow myself to spill over and release some of the un-pretty truths inside of me. Therefore, it will stay for a while.
I will be here for as long as time and circumstance permits.
