This one might be difficult to read; it was difficult to write. I thought long and hard about not publishing it, but that darn promise I made to share all my experiences wouldn’t let me do that. Therefore, as you read, please know that it is not my intention to make anyone feel bad or angry or hurt or anything else. I’m simply sharing my thoughts and feelings because that’s what I promised to do.
Two weeks ago, I had a tantrum and almost stopped writing this blog. In fact, if I had gone through with it, today would have been the last entry for a while, at least until I got over myself. Why? What could have possibly happened to make me want to stop writing? Loneliness. It all came down to me feeling really lonely and disconnected.
Two weeks ago, I had a really bad 24 hours. I wrote about it and I published it and I expected some kind of reaction from my family and friends. Nothing. There was absolutely nothing. Zero reaction from anybody. It shocked me to my core. I was literally shell-shocked. I didn’t even get a Whatsapp message from anyone asking if I was ok. I mean, yes, I had tried to end the post on a positive note, as I always do, but I felt like my 24-hour struggle, on top of the other recent struggles I had been having, had been so clearly documented that someone would have been concerned, that someone would have said, “Wow, I wonder if she’s really OK.”
I couldn’t understand the absolute and complete silence. After a few days, I came to a conclusion based on this lack of reaction: either my loyal readers weren’t reading what I was writing, or else my loyal readers weren’t overly concerned about my emotional well-being.
This perhaps erroneous conclusion brought me back to a realisation that I had come to months ago from a different angle but one that I felt became even more relevant 2 weeks ago. As much as some of you really love me, I’m really not an important factor in anybody’s daily life. No one, not really. In fact, to many of you I’m perhaps no longer really a real person; I’m simply Kristine, who’s somewhere out there writing a blog that you like to read from time to time. Not considering my travel posts, which are usually light reading, it’s probably easy to forget that the issues and feelings that I’m dealing with are real and sometimes difficult to handle, especially when I feel overwhelmed.
It hurt. It hurt me when no-one responded to my really, really bad day. It felt like my friends and family were all too occupied otherwise to think about my difficulty and suddenly I felt cut off, disconnected. Just thinking that way, I felt petty and irascible and self-centered and needy, but I held on to it because I felt justified in thinking it. Then I began to wonder what on earth I was writing all this for if nobody was reading what I was putting out, or if it didn’t matter anyway. You see, not only did I feel lonely and disconnected, I also felt taken for granted.
On any given day, I’m usually running blog ideas through my mind and thinking about how I’m going to write my most recent experiences for you guys. That all came to a screeching halt because I couldn’t see the point of me writing this stuff anymore; I didn’t see where my effort meant anything. I decided to stop. I just couldn’t write anything. For a week, I just didn’t have it in me. For a week, I didn’t look at any experience I had with an eye to sharing it with you.
I can hear you asking, “Kris, why didn’t you just say something?” I did. I poured it all out right here and nobody said anything. And I hate to feel as if I’m begging anyone to pay attention to me (I think that may count as pride), so I let my written words speak for me and felt that if they weren’t enough, then what more should or could I really say or do?
All these realisations left me feeling really bad and I withdrew. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone because I needed to deal with my feelings and sort out my head. So for a few days, I didn’t reach out to anyone, as I usually do. And still, no-one noticed my withdrawal, except my anam cara; she knew something wasn’t right, although I still wasn’t talking about it, but no-one else noticed.
Then, finally, my mom said something. When she did, she said it in such a way that I felt I had to revisit my decision to stop writing. And a few days after that, a friend commented on the post, and I thought longer and harder about my decision. Eventually, I exited my funk of self-pity and, through a series of different things, God helped me to regain my perspective.
I’m sorry, guys. I’m so sorry for going down the road of self-pity and indignation. I’m sorry for getting caught up in my feelings and taking offence at nothing. I’m sorry. It was wrong of me and I’ll try very hard not to do it again.
I started writing this blog because my family and friends wanted to keep abreast of what was going on with me. But God turned it into something more, something unexpected, and now I write because I have to. So I’ll keep writing and, hopefully, you’ll keep reading.
I really and truly almost gave up. But then, God made it so I just couldn’t let go.