Last night was not a good night for me. The weight of 2020, combined with the stalker and not being sure what’s going on with my hands (my left thumb’s been sore for a week now), finally caught up to me.
I was taking my 2nd walk and was barely holding it together as I did the laps through the store. When I got back into my car, I finally let myself cry. Not long, only a couple of minutes, but it’s what I needed to do. It was the release of months of unbelievable stress after a year of questions that had few answers.
My son and I have plans for today. Burning sage & dragonsblood, decorating the house, making chocolate pie. Maybe a movie or two playing while we do all of that.
I believe my stalker is back to following my blog, though I cannot prove it. As such, I won’t block the account until I’m certain. This is problematic. As an author, I want to connect with readers. As a person, I want to feel safe.
This blog is my safe space. It’s where I can talk about my hopes as much as my fears. They are mine. I own them. Some are reasonable, others not so much. But NO ONE can dictate to me what I can or can’t be afraid of. What I should or shouldn’t reach for.
I spent a childhood having the fears of another dictate my life. Never again. Nor do I expect readers to understand why certain things get my Witchy senses tingling. You have not led my life. I have not led yours.
But I will not allow the insecurities of another to silence me again.
So, Stalker, if you’re reading this: It doesn’t matter how you think I should react. It doesn’t matter how you think I should feel. What matters is that you stalking me online, leaving comments, or otherwise challenging me to ignore my own instincts have made the situation beyond reprehensible. You do not dictate ANY part of my life. The only thing I want from you now is to be out of it. I asked for space. For your own reasons, you decided to ignore the request. I really don’t care if COVID isolation is causing you problems. Goddess knows I’ve been dealing with that as well. But that’s an excuse. It’s not a reason. You do not get to add additional stress to my sphere simply because you want to change my mind about something. I do not write books on your schedule. I do not plot them with your preferences in mind. And I damn well do not have to check my tone on my own blog in accordance to how you want to hear the words.
The tears are done, and my spine is stronger than ever. My life, my writing, my hopes, my fears, my circle of friends is just that – MINE. It is my choice where those go, who is in it, and who is not.
Now to finish my coffee, get the laundry in the dryer, put the dishes in the sink, and get ready to do things. Answers for my hands are coming. I’m strong enough to deal with whatever the doctor says, and I’ll follow through with the treatment plan they suggest. Because I will keep writing. I will keep living.