I broke up with my blog

Months ago I had an unhealthy relationship with my blog.

A toxic blog relationship is similar to a toxic Facebook relationship.  It really takes a certain type of person to be prone to that sort of unhealthiness but I suppose under the right circumstances it could happen to anyone.  It goes something like this:  Instead of checking your account once a day, you check it fifteen times a day.  You also check other people's profiles compulsively.  You don't look to see what they're up to once you look every hour, on the hour.  You change your profile pictures constantly.  You write status updates to try and affect a particular person.  You post and delete.  You block and unblock.  You are basically a completely chaotic, insane and inconsistent wreck who is beyond obsessed.  And yes, most of the victims of this illness tend to be spited lovers. 

Oh I know, none of you would ever be so ridiculous as to turn into a raging Facebook stalker like moi but just try and picture the insanity of it all.

I even deleted my account at one point because I'd become a paranoid android and felt like anything I posted or was posted on my wall was being read and discussed by the minions who detested me.  And the feeling I was being watched left me so uneasy I felt the only remedy was to delete the entire thing.  So I did and within hours my wave of paranoia was replaced with peace.

So my blog toxicity was a different sort of mongrel.  It was more isolated and specific than anything Facebook related.  I began writing for one person.  I no longer wrote for fun or wrote to vent or for anything Resa related at all.  I was only writing to one person.  And he knew it and he loved it and he totally fed my unhealthy addiction.  It was like we became each others crack.  I guess you could say I was the dealer and he was the junkie but I was also addicted to getting him high.  It was surreal having an awareness of the affect I had on someone.  The few times I did see him he'd quote my blog to me.  He'd. Quote. It.  Do you know how many times you have to read something to quote phrases from it, to quote several different lines from several different essays?  I ain't pithy.  If I lived in Dumas' time and got paid to write by the word vs. the book itself I'd be a gazillionaire!  Once Mrs. Couldn't Handle the Volcano tried to slander me by saying I was crazy because I wrote an ex an eight page letter. 
That was the worst thing she could say about me.  I wrote long letters.  I know, I know, I'm such a whore, right? 
I wrote Mr. Volcano an eight page letter that week just to show how easy it was for me.  Also, when I feel I'm being misjudged I make a point to set people straight.  Those small town hicks never understood my word prowess.  Asshats.

So as I continued experiencing what it was to affect someone so greatly, as they'd read whatever blog I'd post and then update their Facebook status to be relating to or quoting my blog, after they admitted to me they checked my blog five or six times a day --DAMN!--I, too, was affected. 
Ego-1, Spirit-0. 
I remember realizing one night that everything I poured into my blog lacked something.  It was missing an essence.  It was no longer me.

I quit writing after that because I knew the only way to end an addiction was to cut it off entirely.  And the truth was, it was better for both of us if I stopped.  I'd let him get into my head so much that I was entirely too self aware.  It was like knowing every move I made was going to be watched, studied and scrutinized.  I affected him.  That got me high.  But something I'd once felt so passionate about was no longer for me. 
And that revelation destroyed my buzz right then and there.

Like any new habit, it took time but I learned to release my old ways and began slowly writing again.  I even changed my blog URL so that he couldn't read it anymore and I wouldn't be tempted to write to him any longer.  I remembered what it was like to write for me again.  And I only wrote when something truly compelled me to. 

A few weeks ago I decided to try and discipline myself to write every day, as a writing exercise more than anything else.  They say to be a writer you have to write and if I only ever did the things I felt like doing, very little would likely get done in my life.  And the funniest thing started to happen: I find that I look forward to writing every day now.  I've made it a part of my daily routine and I'm certain I'd miss it if I didn't write.  One night I was so exhausted I simply wrote out a list of quotes from some of the men of my past and called it A Tribute to all that wasn't.  If you don't know me or any of those back stories it might be simply somewhat amusing.  But if you do know any or all of them it's absurdly entertaining! 
That's the great thing about words; sometimes it really only takes a few to speak volumes.  And to get a hearty guffaw from the readers who take them in.  And if there's one thing I love it's making people laugh.  I even started recalling past dates I've gone on and started chuckling myself over some of the wretched ones.

And honey, I've had men say things to me you only read about in magazine horror stories. 
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it turned out he had a girlfriend.  He whipped it right out, without warning, like, in my FACE.  He broke up with me when I didn't know we were dating.  He threw a condom at me.  He expected me to do it with him in his car on his lunch break before we'd even had our first date.  He made another date while he was on one with me.  He got a girls phone number in front of me on our blind date.  It turned out he was bulimic.  He talked about his ex for five hours.  He called me his Little Foot on our first date.  He asked me if I was having fun play time while making out.  In. A. Baby. Voice.  He couldn't meet me for drinks because he had to go home to his wife.  He told me he didn't like the name Resa and was gonna call me something else.

This is the stuff songs are written about.

And blogs. 

Lots of bitchy, drama filled, confessionals.

I'm so glad my blog and I are back together.