I think the time has come for me to officially acknowledge what’s become readily apparent: I’ve taken a huge step back from blogging.
I began blogging back in late 2010. I was in a geeky phase and playing around with web hosting. I wanted to see if I could run a website from home, but couldn’t decide what type of site I should launch, so I settled on a blog.
A couple of months later my internet provider shut me down. Evidently they expect to be paid a bit more money if you want to host your own website. Philistines. The damage was done, however. I had caught writing fever.
I migrated my blog to WordPress and have been banging away at my keyboard ever since.
For a time I was posting with the ferocity and determination of an ant carrying food back to the colony. I published a new post daily. Sometimes multiple times per day. I had that option. My job was all downtime. My salary was being paid mostly to fill a seat. I went to work and surfed the internet for most of my days.
I also had plenty to get off of my chest. An abusive first wife and the resulting divorce when I finally reached the end of my rope. A history of depression. A plethora of opinions on the sad state of the world today. Then, my second divorce and subsequent trip into a rabbit hole of drunkenness, darkness, and emotional chaos.
I’ve learned a lot about myself through blogging. Most of what I learned was gained insight from comments left by you, my faithful (for some reason) readers. I’ve also learned a great deal from, in turn, reading your blogs. I’ve learned that I’m far from the only person who wages a perpetual battle with inner demons. I’ve learned I’m not alone in my struggle to live a balanced life with imbalanced chemicals in my head. I’ve learned just how imperfect I am, but also just how okay that is. Exposure to a myriad of different perspectives and draining my emotions into words has forced me to analyze who I am, what I want, and where I’ve been.
Things have changed, as they have a tendency to do. I no longer have a job that affords me hours a day to spend reading and writing. I have stopped drinking multiple days a week, which has finally let my medication work as it’s designed to. Most of my financial burdens have been resolved. I have told all of my stories and feel I have little left to say.
I’m ready to move on. I feel like I have healed. I have a good idea of what I want, where I want to go, and how to get there.
Real life commands what little free time I have. An attention-hungry four-year-old becomes displeased and grumpy with every second I don’t devote my attention to him. I have regained interest in the things I used to do before darkness ripped away my desire to live any sort of meaningful life. I’m finding enjoyment in gaming again. I’m becoming a bit more social again. I actually want to get out of the house and do things again. I’m rebuilding a very important bridge that I, in my fury, torched to the ground like a pyromaniac with idle hands.
Over the last five years I have made a lot of amazing connections, and gained some fabulous friends. I’ve also been taught bitter lessons by broken people with anger aflame in their hearts. I’ve laughed. I’ve cried. I’ve learned. I’ve become a better writer. I’ve become, I believe, a better friend, father, and person. Blogging has undoubtedly been an eye-opening adventure, and one that I’m glad to have embarked upon.
This blog will stay right here, though I’ll probably change the name when I come up with one I like. I feel like I have finally found myself and so Finding Twindaddy is no longer relevant. I will probably continue to write sporadically like I have been these past few months. I still get the urge to put paper to pen (metaphorically speaking, of course) every now and again. I will try to make my way to your blogs when I can to see how you’re all doing. I will try to lend my support to my writer friends when I can. There are many of you and you’re all amazing and you all deserve success.
I appreciate you all, even those of you who taught me lessons I wasn’t necessarily looking to learn. Thank you for being there for me in my moments of need, and know that if you ever need, I can make time for you.
So long, and be well. This is not goodbye, though, it’s only see you later.