Looking over old posts.

 Looking over some old posts and noticing the ones with the highest reads are typically angry posts about bullshit that people in some group I've been involved with have pulled. I think I manage to stumble onto key words in my ranting and that's how I wind up with something like one hundred and eleven views on a single post. I also noticed that I was getting more traffic across all my blogs when I was posting more a few years ago when I wasn't having as severe problems with seasonal affective disorder and with my other brain issues.

This leads me to conclude that I should be posting more across all platforms. I just don't know what to write. I feel like my life is boring, depressing, and that no one is really going to be interested in the fact that I had the spoons to put a whole basket of laundry away today. I know what's going on here is that I internalized the bullshit that my mother spewed at me when the concept of blogging first came up: Nobody is going to want to read what you have to say.

That rattles around in my head a lot when I'm depressed. When I was younger and struggling with bouts of depression, I was regularly told to shut up when I asked for reassurance or even some understanding that I was struggling. I was regularly mocked in my home and at school for the outward symptoms of depression (i.e. evidence of poor self care, downcast expression, slow speech, etc.). When I attempted to do things that made me feel better (i.e. isolate from my toxic family members, spend time making art, writing poetry), I got the third degree. I was accused of taking drugs. My room got ransacked on a regular basis. They went through my journals when I started keeping them regularly (I didn't note which notebook was for what and carried the one that was my daily journal on my person almost all the time, so they didn't get into everything, but they tried). My randomized notebooks for poetry, fiction, and other writings made a half way decent method to secure the journal that was handling my life and inner thoughts. I also hid them in random places because of the fact that I had no privacy.

I digress, but who knows, maybe that'll pick me up a bunch of readers. I don't know what I'm doing. I just know that I need to write more. I've been writing more off line and that's getting a bit hairy. Exploring this plurality expression of trauma is creepy shit. I'm having trauma memories come up as I'm writing what feels like somebody else's memories being dictated to me by somebody in my head. Somebody that I don't know but knows me.

I just don't know what to write. Some of the therapy journaling stuff is horrific. Like being beaten for taking a single slice of cheese and accused of trying to starve my younger brothers. I don't think that stuff is quite appropriate to post on here just because it is distressing. If I do take the therapy writing online, which I tried a while back and then deleted after I got extremely anxious and uncomfortable, I will probably be doing it on a different blog.

I may post recipes on a weekly basis. I don't know. I'm not really cooking anything with variety now. There isn't the time and the kids won't eat it. Our menu has been fixed at:

Sunday: Pizza
Monday: Burgers
Tuesday: Tacos
Wednesday: Meatloaf and mashed potatoes
Thursday: Sandwiches
Friday: Fishsticks
Saturday: take out

We've been doing this for a few months now. I'm bored out of my skull. Lunches have been nothing but salads for me and sandwiches for the kids. Deviation from this norm gets the kids up in arms and kicks my anxiety about my carb load into gear. I can't have my favorite foods from the take out places. I've developed a shellfish allergy, so I can't even have my favorite soup once in a while (clam chowder). The stuff that I loved from the take out places are all too many carbs. This has Beloved and I resorting to scanning the nutritional facts about everything on a given restaurant's menu to try to find things. 

It's stuff like basic burgers. It's depressing. It's also very stressful when we go to the in-laws. My half-addled father in law either keeps forgetting I have diabetes or is trying to insult me by talking about food that I should try. It's equally bad with my sister-in-law. It's been three years now since my diagnosis. You'd figure that they'd recall. I don't know. Maybe I'm looking at it the wrong way. I'm not ascribing malice to what could just be falliblity and/or stupidity. I'm just sick of it.

Anyways, old posts. They seem to get the most readership when I'm ranting and accidentally hit buzz words. I make a point to keep this blog separate from the other blogs that I have. I do my best not to cross-reference material. This is a more personal thing than the others. But sometimes it seems to bleed into them or vice versa.