I’m sick of using this ridiculously destructive blog for nothing but self hatred and loathing. I used to be able to justify it by means of using it for art or expression, occasionally uploading my own works, but that was 12 months ago. I can say that once I stopped using ‘lieonsus’ for my own art is when I started using it to fuel nothing but self depreciation, not the shrugged off ironic kind, the fury filled, suicidal angst sort. But to say that would simply be a lie, as ‘lieonsus’ has been used in that way from the very beginning. It has been a house to my darkest thoughts, somewhere where I could spill nothing but anguish, typing it when I couldn’t write it in my diary.
I’m not sure what the satisfaction of having these thoughts posted onto the internet are, I didn’t want anyone to see them, read them or think about them. I have and have always had journals, diaries, notebooks, leather bound drawing books, and none of them went unused. In fact, I still have the ones that I used when I was 14 tucked away in my wardrobe; my favourite still sits on my desk in plain view. I hope nobody ever picks it up. But it’s something different; maybe typing is just more convenient. Cleaner thoughts thats font won’t become skewed once and if you start sobbing, font that won’t become smudged because you’ve wiped tears, snot or blood through the fineliner and fragile paper. Who knows why or what the reason is, the point is that it is in fact preferred. My main point is that I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want this excuse for not using the real thing anymore. I don’t want my thoughts regardless of what they are available for people to see. If I will not open up in person, then why should I open up to the vastest of the internet. It’s not like this is some discrete platform, perhaps I could argue it is if it was just myself and a URL, but it’s not. It could have been, but it is not.
It’s myself, my innermost thoughts and hundreds of followers who are real people. I’ve become so desensitised to this one fact. I don’t know most of these people, but I do know a handful. They know me.
I’m not sure what has happened in the last 48 hours that has made me begin to think this way. I think it was because I had one thought; I realised that I would happily continue to open up to a virtual site, but not to a professional about these crippling thoughts.
On reflection perhaps it was because I watched one particular Netflix series, 14 hours or so of straight television in one night. I’m unsure of if it was the depressing context of the series, or if it was realising that I am so brain numbingly incapable of functioning like a person that I was able to lay in one spot for such a long period of time. That’s not okay, and neither is this.
I’m not going to continue to write about this in this way, as that would just counteract the entire point of this post. I’m not going to delete ‘lienosus’, as the sad fact is, is that it has been a large part of my teenage life, just as the abovementioned journals have been. One day when I’m well, I’m sure I would like to read through all of these posts. To be able to see visually, what I thought was appealing or what I was thinking and what was happening on the nights that I thought I was going to die.
So, on that note I will add that this is my last post here. I’m hoping that all above thoughts are true to how I am thinking, and not just a futile attempt to continue to cut myself off from any other part of the world. I don’t think they are, I just want to be more person than computer. Maybe if I continue to rid myself of social media then I will be able to go outside. Whatever it is, I will figure this out with professional help, and not with publically voicing my pathetic, 20 year old senile thoughts.
When and if I ever do revisit this post, whether it be in 12 months or 12 years or if it’s just when I’m well again, I want to say thanks to my future self for carrying me through this. I’m sure I’ll get better, or at least, better than this.
Think of this as a reverse life-ending note. I’m just killing one negative aspect of my life. Not myself.
Thanks for sticking around,
Stephanie Conwell.
