The blog started out as a personal blog. And though I fully intended to make this a blog mostly about my job change and the differing viewpoints from PR and tech journalism, there’s a reason why it’s called Earnestly Speaking.
“Erna” means “earnest” and I’ve always done my best to be earnest in my dealings and work. Like it or not, I feel a lot. And that depth of feeling coupled with my weird empathy makes me who and what I am. So occasionally I will drift into the odd post where I will talk about my feelings.
“Why not just put it in a private journal and be done with it?”
Because, for some reason, it’s not my tech posts, my tutorials, my so-called-wit (haha) that gets quoted.
It’s those posts I write in the middle of the night, or late in the evening, when I’m feeling so much I have to channel it somewhere. From the tears, from the sorrow, from the pain, I articulate all that into metaphor or pretty prose. And somehow those words travel and find their way to someone.
So perhaps my pain has a purpose. Perhaps my misery has some benefit. If I can create something out of the emptiness I feel and help someone understand that Yes, I understand.
I know what it’s like to hurt so much you can’t function. That you cannot sleep, eat or think of anything but the pain. Where you swallow pretty pills and talk to white coats, because you need to feel better. Where your own body rebels against you and your own brain tries to kill you, because it just wants not to hurt.
You just want someone to acknowledge that Yes, it hurts.
I know it does. And I know that all you can think of is making it stop hurting. I cannot hold your hand from here, but I can give you my words. I can tell you that I know. I understand.