The irony of blogging

"In truth, blogging for me is full of irony. I can’t express some of the most intimate things I say here to those who are close to me, so I choose to publish them online - for anyone with a computer and Internet access to see. The most private thoughts that I have, that I naturally want to limit access to, I publish them here. That’s what modernisation has done to human interaction. My attempts to find redemption for the things that I have done have been reduced to a couple of hundred words on a website that I hope few will discover, yet persist in publishing on precisely because of the support that I get from people I do not know."

-- "All those words" by Jean, Rice and Soup

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One of the greatest rewards of reading, online or off, is when someone takes the words right out of your mouth.

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Nothing happened to precipitate the falls, but lately I've found myself climbing back up more and more often, after being hit by wave after wave of guilt. It's just that with my insistence on honesty, I've found it more and more difficult to preach that when I deliberately grant virtual strangers greater privy into my life -- at least, some parts of it -- than I do to many of those closest to me.

When I restarted blogging here at Blogger, I tried my best to keep things largely impersonal. Even though I still restrict myself by keeping some topics off-limits, I've been slipping up, unwittingly allowing many innermost emotions to seep through the cracks.

When Rocky passed away, it was days before I even told my friends -- days after I'd posted it here for the rest of the world to read. It's not something that I meant to do. It's just that when a part of you has died, you are simply not equipped to pick up the phone and speak in coherent sentences. But I've been thinking about that, and how it'd make me feel if the roles were reversed; that feeling of being the last to know -- it really blows. I know that they'll understand; they would never hold it against me, because they're that wonderful. But that is the very reason why they deserve better.

Perhaps this is why I've been outing myself in recent times -- very slowly, one person at a time. Sometimes it's just a casual mention, like it's no big deal. But it really is -- you have no idea. I need this space to write -- I've always written, just in different forms at different times -- but when this compromises on certain unspoken rules of trust, I am inevitably torn.

To those of you whom I've failed in this regard, please understand that I never meant to let you down this way. Perhaps I have intimacy or trust issues; I don't know. But I'm trying, and I pray that I will eventually make it up to you; I will find a way, no matter how long it takes me. To those of you whom I've trusted with my words and thoughts, thank you for handling them -- for handling me -- with such gentleness and care.

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Get Fuzzy by Darby Conley