My last post here was five years ago to the day. Life got busy. Well, busier than it had been, anyway, and I just didn't spend time writing. I posted things to Facebook so I won't forget them, and occasionally those posts became long enough they could have been blog posts, but I haven't done any real writing for myself for a while. And then a few months ago, the world stopped. Coronavirus hit, and everything changed overnight. Literally overnight. And I haven't handled it well—at all. As a person with anxiety issues and OCD and a history of depression, the sudden change and the near-constant isolation hit me hard. I hope I can write about and process more of my experience later.
And that's why I came back to this blog. I know not many people read it, and I might actually make it completely private—we'll see how real and how personal I decide to be. But I've always been a writer. Reading and writing is how I make sense of the world. They fill a hole in my life when there's nobody to talk to and I feel like a burden if I try. So I'm back. My goal is to write at least once a week—along the lines of what I was writing about before, but maybe with more rawness. I'm writing for myself, not for anyone who reads it. I hope it will help me find some sense in the chaos, some lessons I can learn from the loneliness. We'll see. The attempt may be more important than the outcome.
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