Follow Me, Follow, Down To The Hollow — An Open Letter

It’s time for a wallowing post. It’s been a while, and I’ll be brief.

A bold hippopotamus was standing one day…

I’ll keep it brief because I don’t feel like blogging right now. apoplectic.me has given me a lot of joy. I’ve loved the comments friends of the blog have posted, as well as the other interactions I’ve had with y’all about the blog. The whole experience of apoplectic.me has been wonderfully therapeutic. I feel that I understand myself, and what has happened to me, a lot better for having written this blog. The benefits of journalling for people who have survived traumatic experiences are well recognized. Even more so for me when I get to share it with you.

So there won’t be any idle threats to quit the blog today.

But, much as I try to ignore it, there are people out there who read apoplectic.me not to enjoy the writing. Not because they think it’s funny. Not because they particularly care about my recovery.

But instead, with negative intent.

And because google analytics and similar programs exist, I know when they visit the site. I know what pages they read. I know when they read them.

And that destroys a bit of the therapeutic function. It makes me feel that bit more stroke-y. As I write this, it’s happened again, and I feel sore and nauseous.

The story of my recovery, such as it is, has been one of relentless positivity amidst the crushing pain and tears. An effort to turn a terrible, terrifying event into something that has a meliorating effect.

The message of apoplectic.me has always been a positive one.

So, if you are one of the people who reads this blog with negative intent, please, please, stop.

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