Honestly, I love the blogs that are really cute, that are light and fluffy. I've noticed that when I'm reading social media, or even books, movies, tv shows, etc. I trend towards the ones that aren't depressing. I've never really connected with the type of readers who say they want to read books that make them feel dead inside--a sentiment I thought was a myth until I saw a Reel on it awhile ago.
But I think I have to admit something disappointing to myself: I think I've been sugarcoating this. I think I've been trying really hard not to let the depressing side of myself taint and overtake the positive and lighthearted stuff I've been wanting to post.
I had this idea that at the end of the year, I'd be able to look through everything and have it act as a time capsule, so I think I wanted to capture things in a light, easy tone and feel good about myself, and make content I knew I'd be the type to enjoy. But in a way, it feels disingenuous.
Having never really grew up writing a blog, I still haven't come to a conclusion about what is a blog? or why does one blog? The best thing I've come up with lately is it's either like... a newsletter you write to anyone interested or it's the written equivalent of "hey, look at this cool thing, let me share it with you." I don't want to share a depressing or concerning newsletter, but I am honestly and transparently, at my very near to my core, a depressed individual in many ways. To check this blog at the end of the year and it only being happy painted on smiles would be a blog that doesn't actually capture me completely.
About a year and a half ago, I had a major surgery. I never thought anything like what happened would happen to me. It was a total shock. That night in the ER where the doctor told me they found a mass in my abdomen felt like the guillotine that sprang down and cut my life into two pieces: pre-tumor and post-tumor. Both were/are messes, but in different ways, and post-tumor was a beast I was never and may never be equipped for.
My hospital stay was another shock for me. I had to go along with a lot of things I didn't want to do for the sake of my health, and at the end of it, when I was finally home, it took a long time to realize that it almost felt like surviving torture in a way. There were so many instances of people invading my space, invading my body, when if I had a clear and total choice, I would've said no. I remember the night before my surgery daydreaming about running away with my boyfriend, joking about it, focusing so hard on it that I was wishing I really could do it.
One of the tests they tried to do to me ended up being terminated early. They said they couldn't do it on me. But it was a very upsetting and violating experience, and I think about it more often than I wish I did. The hospital billed me for it. We caught it in the itemized bill and tried to dispute it. My mom and I called the hospital billing over 15 times. It went to collections three times total. I tried so hard not to pay it.
Eventually I went to my insurance and tried to appeal the charge. Last month, I got the appeal decision back. They upheld the hospital billing. The reasoning they used made it clear they did not read the page and a half I wrote in my appeal paperwork--they wrote as if they thought I was trying to dispute the entire hospital stay. At one point, even saying a phrase like "We understand, we do."
I think ever since my surgery, I've been dealing with a lot of pain in a lot of different forms. I think I was a kind of sad and depressive person before the surgery, but now it's like it's evolved.
It's hard to explain, because I feel like someone like my boyfriend for instance doesn't understand a strange duality with it. I can be happy and light on the surface and make a cute blog and use cute gifs, I can make jokes and laugh, but it's like this pain and sadness is inside me now. It's like the doctor that broke the news to me injected me with it and now it's all mixed into my blood. A storm cloud that follows me everywhere. Inescapable. Always lurking underneath. Idk.
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