The issues with privacy have become too crippling for me to write in Paralyzed Into Dance anymore. Stan, Pia, La Netta, Lita, Taylor and others want their identities to remain private by the use of a pseudonym. I couldn't keep the pseudonyms straight, nor could I keep straight names like Person A and Person B. And if I referred to them by their initials, my readers might not understand that L.C. sometimes refers to La Netta Crater and sometimes refers to Lamesha Crosby.
Some people also don't want me mentioning diagnoses. In my blog I would often say that Hortense has bipolar disorder or Barney has Tourette's or Gertrude has Asperger's. To reproduce a conversation faithfully, I sometimes have to mention someone's mention of a diagnosis. To write "This is why they have you diagnosed as psychotic", followed by "I am not psychotic!" out of a conversation would turn the conversation into a train wreck and leave the reader confused.
Aside from the privacy concerns, writing in my blog is such a chore. My brain does not look forward to blogging about my day, because remembering everything important that happened, remembering what order it happened in, and then figuring out how to express it verbally is taxing on my reserves. I often got backlogged and would have to write five posts over the week-end. My OCD compulsion to make at least 15 posts a month was like a hamster wheel.
And for all that effort, where's my reward? I would write hundreds upon hundreds of posts, and most of them did not get a single response. The majority of the responses were spam. Sometimes spambots would look for words like "pomegranate" or "açaí" and post a response hawking their açaí remedies. Other spammers would post a generic compliment or other generic comment that doesn't prove that they read my post, and include a link to some product or service (free phenelzine!)
In the 4 years and 4 months I've been posting, much in my life has changed, and yet so much remains the same. I've been through several pairs of headphones and CD players, and now own an iPod. I've spoken about logaesthesia in both the Richmond office and the Hayward office. I've run across a woman at Berkeley Grocery Outlet who reads my blog -- by some miracle we found each other. Jolene has left CIWP and Carl has joined. I've finished three drafts of my rock musical, which recently changed its name from Angst to The Bittersweet Generation.
And yet all the same words and objects that made me purge in September 2007 make me purge now. Words have the same tastes as they always did. I'm still living in Stan's group home, afraid of coming out of my room lest I hear a purge word on the television, and still attending CIWP. I still haven't gotten my logaesthesia formally diagnosed (although I do have an OCD diagnosis I got when I was 8 or 9) and still haven't gotten the medical community to investigate my condition. I'm still not famous. Even my blog gets very few Google hits; it has languished in obscurity for more than 4 years. I'm still asking, "Did I hear the WH-word?" when I go into stores. I'm still closing and cupping my eyes a lot, and need my sunglasses.
I hoped that this blog would change my life. In some small ways, it has, but mostly it has changed my life for the worse. And it certainly hasn't reached the level of popularity I had had hopes for. A lot of people still don't understand me at all, thinking I have sensory integration disorder or am masturbating or don't like profanity. There have been no Discovery Channel specials on me.
So I am saying good-bye to all of my readers who have faithfully read my blog for at least a few months, albeit without posting much, and am putting the free time on my hands now to good use. For those who are going to miss my blog, just take to heart the words of Semisonic --
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end