Sunday, June 25, 2017

Three Years Later

I think three years is long enough to resurrect a blog in the hope of being anonymous. Maybe? Of course, someone with common sense would simply start another blog. Or write the old fashioned way. You know, with a notebook and a pen. But that just ain't how I roll. Not to mention the fact that blogging has had its heyday, really, and it's probably time to put it to bed. But I'm supposed to write. It's part of my "therapy" my shrink says. Part of getting beyond those 9 days, 9 scars, 9 nightmares that are still playing out in my mind every night. I wasn't Susanna Kaysen, and it wasn't two years, but I was a girl interrupted, and I'd like to talk about it. Maybe. I think I do. Or I suppose I could talk around it. Or between the lines or the minutes or the hours. If nothing else, I am having loads of fun reading some of the things I've written here in the past, both published and unpublished, both silly and brilliant, back when my crazy was only in my head and not signed by the probate judge and a notary public. 

I am not a goddess from the machine anymore. I am a goddess who broke the machine, and I'm not quite sure I want to put it back together again. 


  1. So don't re-create it, start over. Start fresh and write those feelings girl! Heh, I just gave you the same advice my therapist gave me. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it just sucks. I'm glad you are back. :)

    1. I suppose since not talking about feelings is what got me in trouble in the first place, I at the very least need to write about them somewhere. And my blog sort of becomes my security blanket. This one, at least. This one, where most people who ever read it never actually knew me. I started to have this mental block because sometimes the feelings I wanted to write about weren't coming out in beautiful ways, or literary ways, or poetic ways, or brilliant ways. Sometimes they were philistine, or elementary, or basic, which to me felt worthless. I'd created this space to write, and I'd created this standard readers expected of me, and anything below that standard just didn't belong here. So things got bottled up, corked, and tossed into stagnant creek water. Just bobbing up and down there with no place to go and no one to uncork it. When you show only one side of yourself for so long, and people begin to like it, it feels like no one will accept all the dozens of other sides to yourself if they saw them. My shrink calls me "Team Aimee," and I like that. There are enough Aimees shoved in this body for me to have my own baseball team with all of my personalities. Of course, he also calls me a "manic pixie dream girl," so I should probably just take what he says with a grain of salt 😂

  2. I'm sad to agree that blogging has had its heyday, but I still log into mine once a week for ole times' sake, and the occasional private quiet moment. I'm here, listening.