I am quite grateful to have faded back into some level of relative obscurity over the past week or so, which was part of the rationale behind posting short, provocatively nonsensical poems once a day. I knew those of you who mattered would stick around, and those who came looking for the sheer novelty rather than the soul of this blog would have lost interest long ago. When pressed to categorize the theme or purpose of this blog, it’s difficult for me to come up with any single answer. It began years ago to track my pianistic studies and evolved over time [and with the loss of access to an actual instrument] to a place where I showcased my poetry or, rather, my struggle with poetry. As I came to the conclusion of my writing degree, it became a testing ground, a place to practice prose, description and scene. Occasionally bits of myself burst onto the scene, but for the most part it was, as much as I possibly could, a dumping ground for whatever thoughts resounded in my head. My many attempts to convert the character of this blog to a humor, thriller, comic or even marketing ground seem to have layered themselves over onto the other.
This is by no means my first blog, and blogging from the very beginning was a tool I used to discover my thoughts and shortcomings. Now, I suppose, this blog is more about me practicing being myself both through my own experiences and through my reactions to the fictitious scenarios I concoct on the fly. None of this writing, as is probably blaringly apparent, is highly edited so perhaps this is my own personal think-tank. What value that may have for you as a reader [and most likely, fellow blogger], I’m not entirely certain. Maybe it is all polite reciprocation, which isn’t inherently good or bad. Either way, I don’t really dwell on it all that much. My goal for blogging in 2013 has been twofold: to post every day, and to write posts relevant enough to the world to solicit at least 20 views a day. So far the stratagem has succeeded in making me feel not so isolated or guilty about forgetting to write. Yet it’s this inherent need to share and expose my innermost self and this underlying need for approval that has recently clouded my life until it almost very near broke.
Childishness. When I gingerly stepped over into adulthood, I promised myself I would maintain the innocence and innovative wonder that child-like creators sustain. Note the difference in terms: child-like and childish. As I eased, or perhaps uneased, further into adulthood, it became quickly apparent that I was not structured mentally and emotionally at the same level as my peers. Aware of this imbalance in thought processes, I quickly sought aid and treatment, but it never once occurred to me that I lacked emotional maturity. I felt people’s pain more deeply and more fully than I could describe, and it wore me down, but in no way did I interpret that severe level of empathy with an inability to properly process and filter emotions at an adult level. In fact, if someone had suggested the notion, I surely would have either vehemently denied it or broken down crying about it later.
Instead, I continued to take on more work and responsibilities in one of the most stressful professions, education, where emotional objectivity is absolutely essential. Now, after a near collapse of my entire paradigm, I find myself struggling with the pieces of my mind that are left, trying to engineer new ways to organize them and their many disparate thoughts without losing that child-like spark that has made my life so worth living. It is an extremely difficult balance to manage, especially for someone who suffers from mental/mood disorders, but I don’t feel it is impossible. I suppose time, alone, will truly tell.