This one is for anyone who wonders why i write these silly blogs. Sure it's a pastime, sure it's fun or entertaining. Tonight my husband questioned my motives with these. Like there's a hidden meaning or an ulterior motive. Well you know what? I thought i made this thought cloud abundantly known, but apparently that thought cloud wasn't clear..
Surrounded by the death of loved ones, whether it be by natural causes, car accidents, suicides, and even murder. To say these things have fucked up my head is kind of an understatement. I had to learn at the age of 8 how bad it hurt to lose someone you loved, to suicide... I had to learn about the awful ways of the world early.
I've learned people are gone in an instant, literally. Whether their death is their fault or not, it hurts. It hurts hard, it hurts forever. It can happen at anytime, anywhere...
You could say I've developed a sort of preoccupation with death. Constantly worried "who's next" or "when's it my turn" Because we just never know. You. never. fucking. know. It just shows up one day and bitch slaps you in the face, fucking with a portion of your life. And when it's your turn, how will you be remembered? Memories, the memories you left with any & everyone you encounter... They carry on your memory, or so you hope. You see, when you lose someone you care about, naturally you want to reminisce about them. However, talking about a dead person makes other people uncomfortable. They don't know how to handle your sadness. Honestly, I'm not sure they know how or even want to. Thus, making talking about your loved one awkward, leaving their memory to die as well...
And you know what, Fuck That Concept! If I die before it's my time, I'm going to leave my own footpront on this earth. If my daughters or family or friends want to remember me, here I am now. I'm telling my stories, sharing my thoughts, so that one day if i die before i see my children into adulthood, they can come to this silly little blog. They can take my advice & stories with a grain of salt, or they can choose to ignore it. They'll know their mom's story, through her own writing. Her life. Her opinions. Her boldness. Her fiesitness. Her potty mouth. Her ups and downs. What made her happy or sad. They can choose to remember me without having to experience the bullshit of making others uncomfortable.
This is me making my mark, telling my story. There isn't a desire for attention. There isn't a point I'm trying to make. God damn it, one day I'll be dead and this will be how you all know I lived. How my daughters will know who I am if something were to happen. Just telling my tale. Maybe one day they'll relate or they can take a life lesson from me so that they don't have to experience the same sad shit I did.
So to anyone questioining my innocent blogging motives, there you have it. Blogging caused by the fear of dying too fucking soon. That's it. What are you doing to ensure your memory??
Written by one crabby, pmsing bitch. The end.
I'm a mom of two. A wife. I'm a yooper (live in the U.P. of MI) A postal worker. I'm real. I'm me. This is my start.