I have written at least a half dozen unpublished blog posts since I last blogged. I am so disenchanted with talking in first person, sharing my guts, and keeping up this one-sided, abstract relationship that is me vs the Internet.
Originally, I had thoughts to share. I hoped to put minds at ease as to how I was doing, inspire and help people to smile, and share myself in a way that didn't involve stacking chairs or visiting the needy (can't fill others' buckets if yours is empty, donchaknow).
It's eerie to put myself into the universe without mutual human interaction coming back. It is weird. It is unfulfilling. The Internet is impersonal. These electronic interactions are unprecedented in the history of planet Earth, and I am unsatisfied with them.
If chronic illness wasn't so morbidly isolating to me, I would have done away with these interactions years ago and just gone out to be social with actual humans. But this is how I have often had to see the world from my sickbed--through the Internet. It's also how I've let people know I'm still around.
I am not a good friend because I can't be a good friend. I don't have emotional capacity to help or physical capacity to reciprocate. It's sad. I think about this every single day. So the Internet gives the allusion of "friends," but often they are made of zeroes and ones.
I forget about the the *CHRONIC* in my chronic illnesses sometimes. When I remember, I am disappointed that I can't be normal human who exists to people outside of the Internet.
It would be grand to not validate my life's experience by electronically letting other humans know I'm living. It would be grand to be actually living, instead.
I'm this close to breaking up with the Internet, and to live that reserved, introverted life that my grandmothers lived.
Because there aren't many humans left; we are cyborgs with touchscreens for hands, living in an abstract, cyber world.
