It’s not you, it’s me. 

You may have noticed I’ve been quiet on the blog, twitter, and instagram lately. Facebook too, but I actually deleted facebook from my phone (I’ll get to why, in a minute). 

I’m having a hard time, in fact the hardest time ever, my life has quite spectacularly fallen apart. It’s crashed and burned, my world has spun out of its orbit. 

And I’m not sure it will ever get better. 

I’ve largely been avoiding social media, for two reasons, the first being quite selfish. It’s quite unbearable to see that everyone else is just getting on with life. They are still taking photos of their dinner, still warbling on about wine o clock and still having fun, and a little bit of me thinks how dare they? Don’t they know that the bottom fell out of my world? Of course, they don’t know, and why should they? I know this, and yet, for now, every time I try to distract myself with a scroll through Twitter or instagram, it’s tinged with bitterness. 

Please forgive me for this, it’s not you, it’s me. 

Also, I haven’t wanted to talk about it very much, partly because it’s not my story. It’s absolutely rocked my world, in the worst way, but it’s not my story to tell. I’ve told a small handful of people, only because if I hadn’t I’d have had absolutely no support. 

It’s partly because it just hurts too much. 

Mostly, people understand why I don’t want to talk, but there are some who hover waiting, trying to pick details from me, like vultures picking at a carcass. Not because they care, rather, they like a juicy story. 

(I won’t be blogging about this for the aforementioned reasons). 

The reason I’ve deleted facebook from my phone is that the majority of people on there are people I know. Not one of them has stepped up to offer support, not in person, and not online. But I can say with absolute certainty that they would be all over me like a rash looking for details. I’d be the talk of the town before the end of the day if I even engaged with one real life friend. Isn’t that a sad thing? But when something terrible happens is when you find out who your friends really are. And it turns out that mine are not who I thought. 

My friends have turned out to be a handful of friends that have been around online for a long time. They have asked my privately HOW I’m doing, have directed me to professional support, and have loved me when I need it most. They have held me together with tape and glue when every part of me wanted to lie crumpled, broken on the wreckage of life as it is. 

The reason for this, frankly miserable post (sorry) is just that this is why I’m not tweeting, taking photos of my breakfast, and knocking out book reviews all over the place. This is why I’m not interacting with anyone really. 

I’m still here, I’m just…I’m trying to protect myself, while trying not to completely isolate myself. 

Bear with me, send a hug (or two) my way if you can, hold my hand across the virtual web, but don’t wait for headlines, hot off the press, like a tabloid rag, don’t tell me it will soon be ok, I cannot swallow inspirational quotes right now. 

I don’t want platitudes, I don’t want my problem splashed across your screens for attention, I want to find my way back, step by step, minute by fucking-painful-minute, and I would really really appreciate it so very much if some of you hung around for me to find my way back to. 

I want to be alone, but I don’t want to be alone. 


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