I posted recently about what this blog has become. It was a blog about how I was struggling and although things have vastly improved since then (hey, for two nights in a row, Robin has had a bedtime!) I’m still left questioning what this blog is.
No, I’m questioning why I’m even blogging.
My original blog was for my poetry, for my Hellish journey at trying to conceive. This blog was borne out of me managing to become pregnant. I still use the original blog for poetry, but I am about to run out of my back catalogue of written poems. This blog was still a place I could vent, a place that I could be honest and work through whatever problems that I had, but then I made the fatal mistake of linking it up with my personal Facebook, my personal twitter etc so that my family and friends could read it. And for a year and a half that was fine.
Sort of. For them it was.
Then I made a blog entry that upset some of my family. I’m not going to comment on it. I did it, I can’t change it. Ever since then, after that side of the family have become more and more anti-me to the point that my mother has been ostracised from the family despite a) not being the boss of me and b) not knowing a thing about my blog, I question every single thing that I write. I question every single thing that I think.
Two years ago when Elvis was born, I struggled. I posted about it, desperate for some light at the end of the tunnel, desperate for someone to help me. And do you know who did? Aside from a best friend who saw the posts through Twitter, the people that rallied around me to try and help in literally my darkest hour were faceless, nameless fellow mummy bloggers. Not a single fucking member of my family gave two shits about what I was blogging.
Perhaps they read it and laughed.
Perhaps they read it, felt sorry for me for a moment and then moved the fuck on.
Perhaps they did care but didn’t know what to say because they have no sympathy or empathy and so ignored my fucking peril.
Whatever the reasons, They. Did. Fuck. All. In my time of need.
Then, when I make a few blogs a year after their doing fuck all, complaining about whatever and whoever (as is my way of dealing with things and moving past it) in a public forum they have a problem. And although I truly felt awful at how upset I had made people that I had never wanted to hurt it took a few days for things to clear in my guilty mind.
It took a few months for things to clear up fully.
They don’t give a fuck about me, just themselves. Because, remember, they didn’t give two shits when I needed help and I used this blog to find it. Fine. Whatever. And clearly they read it, did they just happen to not read those previous ones? But this isn’t about who was right, wrong, what I should have done, what they should have done, what I would have liked, what they got upset about. This is about one resounding thought that I have.
Now every single time I consider writing a blog, every time I’m having a hard time and want to seek out help, sympathy, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen, I always stop and think “Why, what’s the point? My family don’t care. They’ll just use it all against me.”
And I know that I could get that sympathy from a nameless, faceless blogger, but all I can think is how people who are supposed to love me have never cared. They didn’t care when I was blogging in pain after Elvis was born and that never changed. I know full well that one member of my family read my original blog and read about my fertility problems. Yet never said anything. Until she presumed that I had mentioned her. And I can’t help but feel that it’s the friends and, more importantly, family that should matter. But I feel like I have never mattered to them, to the extent that I thought I was bullet proof, could say what I wanted and have no repercussions because why would they care to read. Except they did care to read, but only cared to comment and help when it mattered to them.
It’s affecting most of my actual life right now, if I’m honest and not just my blogging. The simple knowledge that they don’t care, that they didn’t before all of this crap, before I upset them with my blog. That they never cared. Never, ever. Because it goes back far further than two years and it covers far more things than a blog I wrote that upset them.
So, due to these thoughts permeating every blog I write on here at the moment, I think my blogging journey needs to rest for a while. Like I said, things will still appear on my original blog, but sometimes you have to burn bridges to avoid crossing them again and in the words of Pink “let’s burn this fucker down”.
Thank you for following,
Elise aka Persephone