I write for myself, but I didn't start this blog in order to write. I started it because almost a year ago, I wanted to leave a comment on a friend's blog, and I couldn't figure out how to do so without creating my own account. Well, once I did that, I didn't want to just leave it all ugly with nothing to it, so I chose some colors. But then I couldn't leave it blank, so I added some info. But then I couldn't leave it empty, so I wrote my first blog post. (Fortunately, that first post isn't embarrassing even if it is a bit dopey.)
As I said, I write for myself. Imagine my surprise when I got my first follower and my first comment! Some major heart pounding going on here, I can tell you. Then I got my second follower, but it would seem that that person is one of those, "I'll follow you, so come on and follow me" kind of people. I don't follow her, but there's no harm in letting her be. I know the next two followers: one is my friend from around here, and one is my friend from high school whom I'm getting to know again. (Love that about Facebook!)
And that brings my total to a whopping four people who follow my blog. Not really sure why they stick around because, as I've said twice now, I write for myself. I enjoy it most of the time. It seems to let me siphon off stuff that's squirreling around in my head, and that usually let's me put it to rest. (Well, I do usually re-read it several times after posting it, and then I can put it to rest.) Sometimes I write because I just have to. I can be dog tired, but I'll stay up 'til the wee hours churning out words because they won't let me sleep.
This second point has been around for awhile, just not publicly. For four years, we had the most excellent psychologist on our team at CNMC. She not only gave out her email address, but she read what I sent. She asked me for more -- as much detail as I could give her. Bless her. I don't think she expected to get 20-page documents prior to every appointment, but she said not to stop. I used to stay up late several nights running to transfer information from our daily log and to write down everything that had happened in the month since the previous appointment. I have more details on my son's development and issues, more anecdotes and tales of woe for those four years than most people can collect for their entire lives.
Sadly for us but better for the greater good, our doctor took a job at NIMH. No one else has ever wanted that level of detail. While I know she was the exception, I still feel a bit bereft and wish I had continued writing those details, storing away the anecdotes -- like people make scrapbooks. The lost data of the next four years can never be made up. And for me, it had been writing with a purpose.
What I write now is only for myself.