Scared in a Small Town

I had something I really wanted to write about today, here, where I feel safe...to get some opinions and advice. Then I opened Facebook and saw a post from 4 years ago that was very, very tender. I reposted it and left a rather lengthy explanation describing what happened and why it meant so much to me. I am in a totally different place now and not even sure if I am going to be able to write the journal I intended to write. I am going to try...but if I am not satisfied with it I will just have to revisit it later.

I love to write. Even if no one reads my entries, it always makes me feel better to get my feelings out and I can express myself so much better in written word. No interruptions, and here I can lay open my heart and soul pretty comfortably. 

Writing, actually, is what I want to write about. When I lost Cassi, I was lost. But somehow I knew that if I were going to survive there were going to be a couple of things I had to change about myself...1) I was going to have to get real, immediately. I was going to have to be completely authentic about everything. 2) I was going to experience the pain, all of it, I would not run from it, hide from it, deny it. I knew, for my journey, I had to suffer through it, as long as it took, even if it took forever. I hoped, eventually, it would become a part of me, not all of me. I hoped I would have happy times ahead, and I have, with the sadness just a part of the whole of me.

I started writing a simple blog, nothing fancy, and posting a link to it on my Facebook page. I was surprised by how many views it got in those early days. I have access to the number of views. I got tired of it, and quit writing for a long while, maybe even 2 years, but recently started writing again. I read and follow other blogs and in doing so I have come to realize the changes I felt were imperative were not coming through on my blog. It isn't hard to figure out. I'm scared. I read blogs by other women who boldly tell their truths, their histories, their flaws. What I have found is that I have no interest in being impressed by them, I want to relate to them. When I read something another has written that could have come directly from me, it's absolutely thrilling. I don't admire a perfect home, beautiful, yet probably staged, photos of a perfect life someone wants me to believe they have. I admire the bravery of women who write about the Real. The deep, the dark, the mistakes... I am sure, at some time, they worried about being judged. I am sure they struggled to tell their truths, with kindness, knowing loved ones might be hurt by their words, their perspective.

I WANT to be completely real. I want to expose my flaws, my past mistakes, my present mistakes, but here's the thing. I live in a very small town. A very small southern town. We have churches galore...so many churches. We also have a lot of judgemental people and a lot of nosy people. I'm sorry to say this but it seems in small southern towns like mine an abundance of churches seems to go hand in hand with an abundance of judgement. I have never fit in...I am tolerated because my family goes back generations. I am a progressive Democrat, maybe even a socialist. I feel like there are more than enough resources to go around and all people, in all countries, not just ours, should not have to live in poverty. I don't know all the answers, I just feel like the endless greed of a few should not prevent a poor child from receiving adequate housing, food, medical care. I don't know how it could be done, but I believe it could and it should. As Jesus commanded us to love our neighbors as ourselves, you would think the general atmosphere of my church heavy community would be the same, but it's not. It's so far from it I can't help but feel many if not most of the community are hypocrites. When I study the teachings of Jesus, I find compassion, love, charity, forgiveness, humility...others see things quite differently. The election made it all worse, and I am afraid there is no going back. I am afraid future elections will be just as nasty, maybe even worse if that's possible. Everyone who knows me, knows me. I lost a lot of friends over the election. For the really important relationships that were most important between me and others, if we disagreed we found a way to agree to disagree, even if it meant just not discussing the topics, and kept loving each other just the same. But my eyes were opened...issues that I thought had been put to bed are once again causing suffering. 

I explain all this so you can understand how serious coming completely clean on my blog is. It is SO VERY IMPORTANT for me to be honest, but I don't know if I am strong enough to handle the blowback exposing myself will bring, not might bring, will bring. I want to write about child loss, grief, suicide...I want to write about how messy life can be and I want someone to read it and say "Me, too" with the same thrill I get when I read my pain in someone else's words. 

But people are mean. I have had Cassi's death thrown in my face. Just 2 weeks ago a young woman wrote a post on facebook about needing a suggestion, she needed help but could not afford the $250 it would cost her to see a psychiatrist. She was immediately attacked, by dozens of our God-fearing neighbors...from people making fun of her to accusing her of being a con-artist. A few people came to her defense and when someone suggested taking up a donation to help her I offered to just give her the money outright. I, sadly, know what can happen when a person is in crisis. This brought me to the attention of the attackers. Mostly, I didn't really care, I know what real pain is. Being called a bleeding heart libtard doesn't even register. But one young woman went to my home page and took snap shots and posted them in the thread...I was told I couldn't save my own child, who did I think I was thinking I could help another...and that wasn't even the worst. These are the type of people I would be handing over my personal information to.

Wow...I feel absolutely safe writing all this in this group, however seeing it in black and white...I think I have made my decision. In asking for advice I think I have found the answer myself. I think I should probably keep it vague. I feel like a coward, but I am not yet strong enough to weather the storms that might come my way. But someday I will...someday when I am stronger.

If anyone reads this, makes it through this LONG journal, thanks for listening...or "listening"...you know what I mean.