is this the end of zombie shakespeare?

I’ve fallen into an uncomfortable blog habit, and it’s causing me untold amounts of anxiety. For the past few months, I’ve been trying to update less – give myself a bit of a break, as it were. I had been writing almost daily for over 11 years, and I was a little worn out (not to mention running out of stories to tell), so instead of shutting things down entirely, I thought that I’d write fewer posts and relish the time off in between. For a while, it was going well: I’d blog something, then by the time I felt I should blog again, I’d have something to say. I get a break, you get a break, and we’ll meet up again afterward all refreshed and looking forward to reconnecting. It’s kind of like makeup sex, only without the angry orgasms.

Unfortunately, the time between posts is getting longer and longer, and every time I think “I really need to update” I find myself staring a huge blank wall. Things are going on; I just .. don’t feel like writing about them. And then I feel guilty, and then I start to wallow in anxiety, and no shit sometimes I actually can’t sleep at night because I can’t stop freaking out about the lack of writing I’m doing. It’s not a good headspace at all, and I feel guilty about feeling guilty and the whole goddamn thing starts all over again.

There’s a level of interaction I’ve grown used to with my blog, and that has dwindled away to nothing. The advent of Twitter, Facebook and Instagram have spread people too thin, and no one comments anymore. I miss that; miss the feedback I used to get from people who read my words. It’s a selfish way to feel, because I’ve always been adamant that I write for me and not for comments or likes .. but now the comments are gone, I’ve forgotten why I’m sharing. Blogging has never before felt like I was speaking to an empty wall, but it’s what I’m experiencing now: a whole lot of “why bother?”. If I can’t muster up the effort required to care about the things I do on a daily basis, how can I expect others to care?

Of course, because I’m not clever enough to look at this ocean of ennui as a scientific experiment or anything, I’m worried that I’m falling into my standard depressive cycle again – but one so insidious that I’m not even fully aware of it. I really hate the “why bother” of it all, because to me that’s the worst possible emotion someone could feel about anything – it’s beyond upset and beyond giving up, it’s just .. why? It’s terrible; an endless nothing devoid of joy or anger or cookies. I’m pretty sure I’m practically pathologically afraid of feeling that way, and to feel it all over something so close to my heart? To not give a rat’s ass over something I’ve spent a third of my life cultivating? That can’t be real; it must be astral interference with my midichlorians. Makes perfect sense.

What if it’s not, though?

What if I’m just out of things to say?

The main thing keeping me from closing up shop is the loss of identity I’d feel. I still struggle over losing pieces of my past that I really loved, and the last thing I’d want to do is introduce another. I do wish I could shake this anxiety and get back to Ridiculous Inappropriate Adventure .. but even that’s changed now. All the people I used to Adventure with have moved on, but I’m still here. It’s hard to drag people outside to do things with me, so I either don’t do things or I do them by myself and grow too comfortable internalizing everything. I don’t know. There are a thousand things that could be playing a part in this terrible outfit of “MEH” I’m wearing. I don’t know if it’s worth additional therapy (hey Doc, I don’t want to write about my vagina: what’s wrong with me?), but I don’t feel much like myself and .. I miss me. Where you at, me? Come back.

And where you at, the rest of you? Are you still out there? I miss you, too.

well? is it?

12 thoughts on “is this the end of zombie shakespeare?”

Please do not stop, I may not comment on each post but I read everyone. You are a great writer and give inspiration not only to me but others as well.

Kimli please don’t stop, I check everyday for an update to your amazing life. I think I live vicariously through you and the adventures you have. Words are an important part of our lives, they tell us where we are going and where we have been in the good times as well as the bad. You should teach a writing class to those who have a difficult time stringing two words together. There is a new adventure for you!

I read them all. I’m just a silent stalker.

I find you witty, humorous, urbane, interesting, tear-jerking (cat related), brave, awesome and totally NSFW. And maybe a little psychic. Because when I need to get out of my head, I visit your blog and find something relevant. Your head is lovely.

Er, um, I think I’ll go back to silent stalking. Waaaay less creepy.

My wife was once a prolific blogger, and was in fact inspired to blog indirectly by you. Her blog was full of happiness and positivity because that’s who she was – there was no difference between the woman who sat at the keyboard and the woman people read about on their screens.

At least for the first three years.

In the fourth year she became sick, and gradually didn’t feel as full of sunshiney anecdotes and joyful musings as she once did. She couldn’t bring herself to complain on her own blog, some stuff is just too personal to share in a forum where every idiot with an internet connection can pass judgement with scant more effort than it takes to press ‘Enter’. She ultimately stopped blogging because circumstances changed her, and the effort in maintaining a blog that was no longer truly reflective of who she was exhausted her.

You’ve stuff going on in your life you don’t want to type about? Don’t type about it on my account. The biggest joy I get from reading your blog is your words. Your beautiful poetic words that re-kindle my love for the English language every time I read them. You do sound depressed, but is your reluctance to blog a function of your depression? Maybe. Or perhaps you’re depressed because you feel it’s time to move beyond your blog? Hopefully you’ll figure it out and find some peace.

In the meantime, Whilst you’re pondering your blogging future, why don’t you release a serialized version of one or two of the books I’m sure you’ve written, even if you think they suck? I promise I’ll read every chapter. I’ll even leave comments if you want.

Don’t stop Kimli. I check daily for new postings. Your life is so different from mine that I enjoy everything you write.
You are so honest and open; it is refreshing.

Moar boobs!!

Delayed reaction to London water ,yours was the eighth set of kidneys at least ! Pleeeze don’t stop.

I love your blog! Please don’t stop! I mean, I suppose I can stalk you via Twitter, but that’s not as fun. :(

Count me as another person who reads all your postings, but doesn’t usually comment. I’ve noticed that commenting has dropped off on my blog too (not that I ever had as many readers & commenters as you, but going from ~2-3 comments to ~0-1 is still a drop, right?). Of course, this makes me a big jerk for not commenting here, since I know what it’s like to feel like you are writing to no one, but trust me, we are out here and we are reading!

I am a selfish blog reader, I read but don’t comment. Mostly because I over think what I should write in the comment and then don’t comment. But please don’t stop writing!