I’m feeling quite nostalgic lately.
Depression is something I write about with some regularity -and yet I always feel as if I have to tiptoe around it. Developing an online presence as a writer and trying to diversify it has been a long and fairly therapeutic process, one that is no where near finished. Next month, however, I will celebrate my ten year anniversary as a blogger.
For a decade I have written posts and thrown them out into virtual space for strangers and friends alike. Some have become private posts, some are protected by passwords, but most are out there for the whole global village to see. It’s comforting to know that there have been people along the way who enjoyed them or learned from them or were touched by them. It makes me want to be a better writer, and the responses I get always give me a sense of being connected -I’m not alone in my struggles, and even though I may not get as many comments as I’d like, I’m happy for the responses that let me know there’s a great big world of listeners/readers out there.
What has been really amazing about this whole journey is that I have written from my lowest lows and my highest highs -and have received equally awesome responses from the online world-at-large from both.
Probably one of the (other) best things about blogging, for me, has been that I can look back at times in my life and situations I remember and read the things I was feeling and thinking in my own words. Memory can be a sketchy thing, and the human brain is just a big juicy computer -it has glitches and it fills in holes in the code with whatever it can come up with sometimes. As I begin my latest journey -to fight my way out of the depression that always seems to be lurking just around the corner, when it isn’t holding the reins- it’s really amazing to know that I have a place to go and put all the confusion and frustration into words that might just make a difference for someone else on the same path.
Thanks for reading and commenting and accepting me for who I am, readers. I know it may seem like I’m just talking to myself sometimes, but I like to imagine that other people get as much stimulation from reading my thoughts as I do from reading theirs.