‘I write very good poems / when people die,’ I declared recently. Those lines were the start of one such poem, one of several I wrote in mourning for an online friend who had died from a brain tumour not long after her 18th birthday. I also blogged about the experience, but have now removed those blogs.
I was not the only one intensely grieved, nor
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Mental illness on the internet; we see it in many forms. Depressed, angry, anxious entries and comments and flame war threats that are completely unproductive, but the made up persona is just a whole new level isn't it? I can barely keep my life organized as it is, the time and energy it takes to make up stories and pretend they are real-and have to live them out! that is just so far out there.
Doesn't she know truth is stranger than fiction?
I'm sorry you had this experience and glad for the poems.
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Ha ha, I too had a small press back in those days, but everyone knew it was just me. I was quite proud of achieving so much on my own. But I think that is obviously the difference between something entered into without thinking it through properly, and something which has been planned in every particular. We thoughtless hoaxers are quick to rectify the situation when the ramifications begin.
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She convinced other intelligent people besides me, so I don't feel like too much of an idiot. What it says about all of us is that we have tender hearts - not a bad thing. Anyone who loves accepts the possibility of pain.
What is disconcerting is how quickly all that grief has gone! Perhaps, between sobs, blogs and poems, I released it well.
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I am surprised I don't feel anger. Maybe I'm just numb.
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