Me, posturing with my comment, trying to seem smart on a smart person’s blog:

The detritus from abandoned blogs and terminated online relationships makes my last 12 years hard to revisit. I felt like some of those bloggers were among my best friends until one day they disappeared for good. I often think about looking them up, but I realize that because they vanished, they may want to stay lost. I wonder who will mourn when I log off for good.

Bill wrote about a disappeared blogger. About reaching out and receiving a disappointing reply. He wrote about other stuff too, but the lost friend part hit home. It made me want to respond. The attrition is endless. They leave for Substack. They become bored. Their muse takes flight. They birth a baby. They lose their voice. They get a life. Whatever. They vanish. Usually, it takes time. They write less. They read less. They take a break. They return months later promising to do better and then evaporate entirely.

I miss them. Do they miss me? My early days of writing featured vulnerability—newfound sobriety, growing insight into my Tourette, my OCD, my anxiety and depression. I cut myself open and spilled out prose. Those I read did the same. We built a community of injured souls. We understood and supported one another. I’m not sure how I would have succeeded without them.

One by one, they disappear. At first, I usually don’t notice. One day I think, “Huh, when was the last time Robyn commented on a post. When was the last time she liked one.” I check her blog and see she hasn’t written in weeks. She never posted again.

In time, others took her place, but they fell away as well. And then more. My desire to look them up—cyberstalk them, google their email and drop them a line—comes in waves. A strong one now, obviously, writing these thoughts. I once met up with Robyn at a trail race. We had so much in common. The running, of course, and punk music. Social anxiety. Autism—her son (definitely) and me (possibly). Plus, Gettysburg, her husband is a history nut.

She told me her family once took a photo outside the library where I work. She tried to guess which window was mine. She didn’t come in, social anxiety and all. The time we met was awkward. We tried to talk while we ran. Our paces mismatched. Me, out of breath, Robyn, itching to run ahead. Coffee would have worked better, assuming a pair of social misfits can hold a conversation.

One day I’ll quit blogging. I won’t fade away like most. I’ll drop out cold turkey. White knuckles, like I did with alcohol. To others, it will seem abrupt, but I’m sure I’ll have agonized over the decision for months. Will you notice? Will you reach out? Ask if I’m all right? Tell me what I meant to you… if anything? Blogging, I think, is dying. Different media, newer media is taking over. I suspect each of us will bail eventually. Find different hobbies, different ways to express ourselves. Or not. Possibly some of us will simply mourn one more lost bit of our lives.

Photo from Pixabay