I thought I’d come back to my blog since my husband is gone so much lately it’s almost like I have an office. I’m not going to try and predict if I’ll stick with it or not, as that has backfired in the past, I’m just going to go one day at a time and see what happens. It’s better than sleeping all day, which is what I have been doing, and I KNOW that’s not good so I guess we’ll see if my brain has anything worth spitting out.
I do have a question for other bloggers, if anyone happens to stumble across this: How much do you filter yourself? Obviously some of you have a specific topic and stick to that, but if you have a personal blog about yourself and just getting by, how much do you edit out? I ask because I think some of my earlier posts may have been what I needed to say, but not what the whole world needed to hear. Not that the whole world saw them, of course, but if I died tomorrow and my parents saw them I’m not sure I’d be cool with that. On the other hand, what’s the point of talking about our lives here on the spectrum if I don’t say what’s really going on in my head and in my life? So how much should I filter? Or should I filter at all? ‘Tis a hard question for me to answer on my own.
I have been playing the “what if” game in my head a lot lately. It’s not a healthy game at all, but there are so many what ifs in life I don’t know how people avoid it. It started when my husband’s Nana–the matriarch of our family–passed this summer, and I had to think back on the fact that yes, I had forgiven her (a story for another time) but what if things had gone differently even before then? What if my first pregnancy HADN’T been the most miserable, lonely, stressful, time in my life? Would my son be different? It’s a fair question because I did take Prozac during that pregnancy because I was miserable and alone. Its also fair because I moved out here and lived next to a fertilizer plant and was surrounded by fields that were sprayed with all kinds of stuff through most of my pregnancy. It’s particularly fair because I never wanted to move to Minnesota in the first place. The problem with those questions isn’t their fairness, I have every right to ask them; they’re just not answerable. And, I really have forgiven her, not because she died, or because she was alone for a long time and miserable herself, but because I couldn’t stay angry for ever at someone my husband genuinely cared about. And While I genuinely did NOT want to Minnesota, I’ve grown to love it out here on the prairie, so that worked out okay.
Those nagging what ifs, though. I used to be a firm believer in “Life works out how it’s supposed to” and lately I’m not 100% sure that I haven’t messed up royally. Maybe that’s just what middle age feels like?