I deleted my previous personal blog. Without backing up ten years of admittedly self-interested bleating. One click of a mouse and a decade of thoughts and experiences wiped out.
It was mid-December last year and I was going through a severe dip in respect of my emotional and mental wellbeing. Still am but have picked my face up from the floor just enough to realise I regret deleting that blog without at least downloading a back up. I do not regret quitting my Twitter account – aside from when following a handful of breaking news events I’ve rarely found that particular social media site appealing or meaningful. And I don’t regret taking a break from other social media: life online can easily become reduced down to surfaces or extremes, neither of which offer true reflection of the complexity of human existence.
Regret usually hits us when it’s too late to change things. In this instance my blog regret isn’t going to tear me to pieces in the middle of the night, it’s just something I wish I’d been more capable of rational thought about in the moment. But one of the defining features of mental health struggles is that rationality is frequently compromised; an infantile urge for the immediate satisfaction of sometimes quite foolish whims is no substitute for reason.
So I’m back. Nothing will have changed, I expect, not in terms of format or content with this new blog. Readership will not drastically expand or diminish: I write predominantly to expel some of the flotsam and jetsam which masquerades as thought inside my mind. A handful of friends who live in other countries will presumably check in with my world now and then as they did with the previous version of the blog. Between us we will revolutionise neither the Internet nor human interaction.
The nature of this current meltdown mostly baffles me at present. Ordinarily I have a firm enough grasp of the fundamentals of the not so fun mental stuff because I have received good support and counsel in the past. This feels like it’s about issues I’ve not quite looked into before and I’m awaiting an assessment by local services to see whether they consider my needs great enough to warrant further counselling. In the meantime I function as best I can, try to find acceptance for the fact that my best isn’t quite what it might be in less angsty times, and work around heightened anxiety and stress if at all possible.
Welcome back to moanfest, eh?