Often I read fiction and wonder who is telling the story. Sometimes the main narrator isn’t the storyteller, and novels like this really piqué my interest especially in books like House of Leaves (srsly. Amaze. Get now).
I’m in between things now – as in I finished a couple of quests on Fallout: New Vegas and now I want to play The Sims 3 – but in my ten minutes browsing the Freshly Pressed blogs I realised something – not every writer is telling their own story. Some write through their hobbies – they allow what their hobby creates in the news, such as Games to carry the story without doing any real soul-searching so to speak – some write from experiences, some might even be making these up just to get another post out there. And some write through others. They write through their friends, their parents, their children. But they never seem to write for themselves. They have a view on how their child or their family member made them feel, but they don’t necessarily attempt to reason with why they feel that way.
There’s a piece of advice I’ve come to learn is true: you cannot control the situation, but you can control how you approach it. I see too many people making the mistake of letting their feelings become vulnerable to others, based on how other people affect them. This is a natural human emotion, I suppose. But when it comes to telling people your story, your voice should shine through – not the voice of the thing that hurt you. Too often I see blogs like this – I can tell what it is they’re trying to say, but all I get is the situation and how it played out, not how it made them feel.
Blogs shouldn’t really be like a therapist session, but when does the line stop between telling someone your opinion and experience, and telling someone a story that mildly has something to do with you, yet you are so consumed by its hold over you, all I see are dramatised ramblings of someone who just wants to sound cool? (EDIT: Do I do dramatised ramblings? I hope not considering I tried to be an actress and failed stupidly).
I find myself rolling my eyes a bit and I need to stop. Mainly because it’s not good for my muscles, but also because it’s a tiny bit not fair on the persons’ blog I’m reading. Everyone has their own hang ups and stresses, and something which may not seem like a big deal to me will be the entire world to someone else. But sometimes in blogging I really just want to reach out to these people and either slap them or hug them.
I know what it’s like to write freely and without any real thought to consequences. But would I want my mother splashing my problems all over her blog – if she knew how to write one – ?
The fact is I don’t agree with it. I don’t agree that people think this, or that, or that the person you love, the person you look out for really thinks what you believe them to think. They don’t. They really fucking don’t. You could guess, based on their personality and how predictable their mood is, but do you ever really know what someone is thinking and why they think that way?
Of course not. So it isn’t really for me to say that these people – these bloggers who write about some other shit that has nothing to do with them – are not thinking that this irrelevant drama is affecting them when it might. But why blog? Why post something about mental health when it is not you suffering? I prefer to hear from the suffered, than the ones who are so affected by seeing their loved ones in pain. Yes, it’s awful for you, but you don’t know what it’s really like. You don’t know the mental torment and the physical pain endured. You only bother about it because it’s such a big massive stress on your life to take care of this burden you’ve got. Because that’s why you blog about it really, isn’t it? To make people care about you, and how you feel and not your poor fucking son who tried to kill himself.
What does he say about all of this?
I bet he’s not even reading, is he?
Too many times I see the conversations of others played out by the writer like some bad soap opera episode. It gets on my wick a bit, because you see, it’s not fair for these people – the victims to torment – to never have a voice. It is not them we hear from but the spokespeople for them, and they don’t really know a thing. They read about it in some paper or a book and think they know. They don’t have the entire story because they weren’t there but they believe the one who writes because the victims aren’t writing anything in response.
But it’s time victims did speak up. The boy who tried to commit suicide and his own fucking mother writes about it on her blog to make herself feel better. The guy who’s ex lied about him online and turned their normal break up into a life and death situation. The girl who tries to get her followers to pay for her blog because she writes about her abuse in the most gratifying ways – not her. But I want to know the real reason she writes drama.
The thing about writing is your voice should be your own. Not stealing it from someone else, not using someone else’s experiences and pain to make a story, but your own experiences and pain. And if you don’t have any? Write fiction or don’t write at all.
People who exploit others – and who exploit mental health – to make their blog popular are the cockroaches of the blogging community and they need to be wheedled out to make blogging niches a safety net for those who really want to care for others and who give a shit. Not some silly girl writing about “this week my mental health condition has been…”
Whoop-dee fucking do. At least you have a name for your kind of crazy.
My kind doesn’t have a name. Only in 2am posts and tons of caffeine does it manifest and vomit on this blog for your lovely eyes to feast on*.
*Speaking of feasts, I paid £2 for a “mint feast” from an ice-cream van the other day when they are normally £1.50..and it wasn’t even a bloody real feast! It was a cheap knock-off “mint festival.”
Like hello! I didn’t want a fucking festival, I wanted a FEAST as in I WANT A FEAST TO FEED THE BEAST IN ME THAT CRAVES MINTY CHOCOLATE GOODNESS. And not some Aldi knock-off you bought when they were selling cheap.
Anyway hope that kind of makes sense. I’ve hardly slept and I’m all pumped-up for inspiration \o/
Also this is my last post for the month as tomorrow (today?) I’m off to go sit on some comfy sofas. I may buy one. Maybe. If they let me with my credit history being a bag of shite and all. Happy August!