The Shit & The Fan

The shit hit the proverbial fan yesterday.

Last night, post shit-laden fan maneuvering, I posted a little ditty about my dilemma. Having offended someone about whom I've written, I was asked to do what anyone who knows (1) how much of a struggle exposing my writing was for me and, (2) how isolating and difficult an existence this little cluster fuck that is my life remains, would never ask of me: To delete posts.  My question then became this: Do I obliterate the posts relevant to her solely, as requested, or do I obliterate the blog entirely, rather than complacently give in to self serving censureship? Or, do I leave my writing as it is, standing firm and strong, spine in tact?

I thought about it all afternoon and night, weighing all of the arguments thrown at me.  Between yesterday afternoon and last night, I have wavered and regained my footing countless times.   I knew that I had said nothing untrue and, even though it was unflattering, it was nothing I haven't said out loud, in person, to the person herself.  I decided to stay true to myself and, for once, not succumb to the mandates of people who give not one shit about me.

This morning, I awoke feeling sick and friendless. I wondered how people continue to write when they feel strongly about something, but realize that those upon whom they rely for support aren't actually standing in the room with them anymore once controversy enters. I  have spent my morning bumping into walls and babbling to myself.  In the end, I fear that my spine lies crumbled on the bed between the neatly folded laundry and Waldo the Cat.  I give.

Aidan of Ivy League Insecurities said something about the post I've just deleted, before the crumpled spine hit Waldo's big orange tail and while the post was still something on which she could comment.  And her comment cut me to the quick.  She was encouraging and sweet and, utterly true to the Aidan I am getting to know through her wonderful writing, she placed it squarely before me. She said, "Obliterate nothing unless you see compelling reasons to do so."

Reading it made me cry, Aidan.  Thank you for that.

The beautiful encouragement everyone wrote here has been wonderfully cleansing, as odd as that may sound.  I thought it had fortified me, had helped put me where I absolutely needed to be to do what was right for me.  But Aidan's simple refrain just kept ringing in my head.  It refused to step away from me, it insisted on becoming that song on the radio that gets stuck in my head.

My compelling reason to obliterate my posts involving this person, true and fair a rendition of the event as each may be for me, is that Evan asked me to do it.  Knowing that this person is important enough to him that he would ask so impossible a thing of me also makes me cry, but, frankly, that's not such a big deal since I'm already a blubbering mass of tears and snot.

I'm not going beige, I'm merely allowing myself to be censured.  Wild.  Fucked up.  I'm not sure what the difference is, to be honest.  I'll let you know how it feels.  In a fully censured sort of post, of course.

I'm still not convinced that it's the right thing to do, but here goes...