I feel self-conscious about this blogging business. The very act of blogging is like saying, “I HAVE SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT TO SAYYYY!”.
Old, drinking, self-hating me would say, “Stay in your box, little girl. You have nothing of worth to say” (isn’t it amazing how we talk to ourselves? Imagine talking to your child like that – it’s abuse).
But shiny, new, sober me says, “Fuck it. I enjoy writing”.
For me, one of the most valuable tools when trying to jump aboard (and finally, unbelievably, STAYING ON) the sobriety train, was reading blog posts of people just like me, but who were trailblazing the path to sobriety after finally wrestling that final bottle of Malbec to the ground. Or rather, down the sink. I’d look at them, the sober trailblazers, and think, “If they can do this, maybe, just maybe, I can, too…”. If my blog can help just one person board the train, or even just to know that there IS a train (full of cool, compassionate, fun people), then I will be so happy. And I won’t care if every single other reader thinks it’s POO!
When I was a teenager, I delighted in diarising the minutiae of my life. I recognised that my youth was bristling with magical moments. Hurtling towards the end of school, I wrote it all down to try to stop time slipping away: First love. House parties. My miserable obsession with my weight. Making love by a river (it was poetic, not slutty, honest). School concerts. Musical theatre. Dreams. Striving for straight A’s. Achieving straight A’s.
My first love mercilessly mocked my daily scribbling, asking me, “Who on earth would want to read “The Great Chronicles of Violet’s Life? It’s such a waste of time”.
So I felt silly. And I stopped writing my diary.
But I was never writing for anyone but me. Why did I listen to that 17-year-old boy back in 1998?
It’s time to reclaim my right to diarise the shit out of my little life.
Don’t you think?