It’s been more than four years since I’ve written a blog post, actually more like six years plus since I’ve committed more than a few hundred words to paper… er, um… digital paper that is.
It’s not so easy today to remember exactly what motivated me to start writing on my old blog, resistanceisfruitful.com. It was primarily, I think, my experience with recovery from being overwhelmed by pharmaceutical drugs. I felt I had a story to tell Whenever I have reached certain points in my life, I turn to writing. It is a sort of intermittent passion for me. A form of therapy, I suppose. I will keep that site limping along as long as I can, and will likely be referring to it frequently. For example, I’ve already written a bit about how Facebook enabled my breakup with blogging.
After this long break from blogging, I’m missing that therapy, as well as many of the many other things I’ve done in the past to cope with serious issues, like depression and other health problems.
Resistance is fruitful was a clever term I had coined, trying to capture my experience with getting anything done in this world. Whether it’s waiting for a customer service rep on the phone, a medical appointment with a specialist, or passage of legislation for equality, it seemed that persistence was required before being rewarded.
Nothing was offered freely. It seemed that it was always necessary to resist if one wanted to accomplish change.
As I continue (not always gracefully) to age, I can’t help but start to wonder if there is a point at which resistance is no longer so fruitful. Don’t misunderstand; I’m not ready to yield, but I am willing to reconsider. Resistance IS fruitful, it can also generate a lot of friction, which creates heat, which… well, draw your own picture.
Welp, that’s my excuse for changing my blog’s name, but it could just be a cop-out to my ego and vanity. I’ve spent a lifetime using my name to advance causes I believed in. It is one of the few assets I own that can’t be leveraged for debt. And while it has little-to-no monetary value, it is mine, and I’m proud of it.
Yes, yes, I know I’m using the words “I” and “me” and “mine” a lot, and I’m okay with that, because this really is all about me. This is my therapy and I’m doing it for myself. I’ve always needed some help to understand myself better, so this is my new attempt at writing more. I don’t know why anyone else would care, but I’ve strived to be an open book much of my life and we’ll see just how far I’m ready to take that philosophy going forward.
There are many things I might share and write about. Indeed, I plan to be all over the board with whatever the hell I might feel like writing about. If it’s not about me, it will be whatever I think about whatever I’m writing about. If it’s not me, it will be my opinion!
There is my porn addiction, for example. That should help my google rating.
There is my ongoing struggle with my body and my health—physical, mental and spiritual—as well as the many complications that accompany those issues. Things like self-esteem and confidence.
There is a new, yet recurring question about my mental health. Not just psychologically, but also physically. I don’t mean to be a tease, but a very recent MRI of my brain suggests at least the possibility, if not probability that one of my worst fears is waiting for me: severe cognitive decline, or maybe even dementia. I’m waiting for more information. What’s new about that?
There’s a growing sense of impending doom; not just for myself personally, but for the world and for humanity. As I write that and think that, I can’t help having flashbacks to a much younger age when I would dismiss the doomsday pronouncements of old people. Now I am one.
For now, I’m back. I don’t know for how long and I don’t know where this path will lead, but you’re welcome to follow along.
If you dare.