You know what I miss about blogging? Like pure old school blogging?
People don’t tell stories about their lives anymore.
Everything is now staged and polished before being vetted and put online on a blog. There’s no longer that authenticity, that relatability that telling a story about your deepest thoughts, fears and dreams provides.
It’s no longer safe to be yourself, flaws and all.
And we retreat. Just like I did before.
Years ago, I ran away. I stopped blogging. I stopped tweeting (not like I really started anyway). I stopped posting to DeviantArt and Fictionpress. I died online.
That was when my life was going up in smoke, and sometimes spectacular flames around me, and someone had to die. That someone was me, metaphorically, of course.
I still live, but I am just a husk. I still write, but I’m not as prolific as I once was. I am finding my way again, but there is so much charred ruin in my wake that I am afraid to rise up and live again.