I was pleasantly surprised this afternoon when I found out that this blog already has its steady group of followers. Sometimes I get text messages from nice people asking how I am or if I'm okay. I even have some residents and students asking me about previous entries. Well, honestly, the sole purpose of this blog is to be a venue for catharsis. I never really cared about the grammar or the syntax or the content. This is a very self-serving, childish, almost histrionic attempt to organize my thoughts, so at least I could have a semblance of order in my very disorganized life.
I admit I have a severe form of neurosis which is akin to paranoia, but which I'd rather call, for simplicity's sake, Trust Issues. It's hard to believe that someone like me can actually write a rather intimate and honest online journal. I am Ms. Solitude who can't sleep in a bed with someone else, who can't endure a relaxing massage or spa which most people find comforting, who gets irritated when someone joins me in my morning walks along the boulevard, who can't go to church with other people (because that's my most intimate hour of the week), who'd rather sleep under the stars than in a tent with someone because of claustrophobia. I have this bothersome, almost alarming need to keep a safe distance all the time. I don't think I can endure anything intimate for long. But here I am, pouring out my entire life and wearing my whole heart out in...(WTF!#$#%) a crazy blog!
On second thought, however, I think this is a manifestation of Trust Issues in its most severe form. It's really easier to share your life's story to strangers. It's easy to show a part of your heart to people you barely know, to people who are distant, almost inanimate, than to people you most hold dear. I don't know if this is also how it goes with most people. But when I'm talking to someone I truly trust, I just can't say anything. Words become immaterial. And somehow, silence becomes more soothing.
I think this is why blogs are effective. They tell a story, but never the entire story. They tell the truth, but never the entire truth. That way, reality becomes masked. The blog becomes a story, and the blogger a storyteller.
So for my friends who are reading my blog, thank you for your patronage. Your interest honors me. If you were to give me a diagnosis, what would it be? I'll help you with some differentials: histrionic (as in OA), lonely (as in walang makausap), bored (as in walang magawa), schizophrenic (as in nagpapanggap), the list could go on and on. But let me give you a word of caution: I have Trust Issues in its most severe form. And this blog is nothing but a story. And in my vocabulary, fantasy happens to be stronger than fact.
What is most important is what the reader gets out of all these. What you make out of your own reality, regardless of how other people perceive and describe theirs, that's what matters most. After all, stories unfold, whether they are written or not. I am indeed grateful and honored that you have become a witness to the written part of my story.