I’d Rather Become a Persistent Cough Than a Virus

In reply to the WordPress Daily Prompt Jan. 6, 2015

For Posterity

Your blog just became a viral sensation. What’s the one post you’d like new readers to see and remember you by? Write that post.


I suppose if I were to be really honest with myself, my pride wouldn’t mind the boost of self-importance and superiority that would naturally be felt, if my blog ever happened to become a viral sensation. But knowing myself as I do – with my complete aversion to crowds and criticism – I’m sure I would choose to disappear, rather than subject my writing to the microscopic analysis of too many “professional” opinions. I think I would rather my blog be given the attention of a persistent cough, as opposed to a virus. I would prefer the realistic hopes of staying consistent, rather than becoming a short-lived sensational explosion – with the resultant pressure of remaining suspended in the air, in order to avoid the inevitable fall.

Being that this is a bipolar blog, it would be easy to assume that I would want to be remembered by an eloquent post of affliction, or a newly discovered cure that would bring instant headlines of fame and fortune, and the illusion of success. But I’ve lived long enough to know that none of those things matter. If you don’t have your mind, nothing else matters.

I would prefer to be remembered as the simple person I once was – before I became broken by this complicated, all-consuming illness. I would love to be remembered as the attentive wife, mother and best friend, who was freely available to those I love. I would love others to recall my former vibrance and willingness to participate in life. I would love to see the mouths water with anticipation at the meals I once created with my legendary cooking skills – back when food still inspired my senses. I would love to be forever remembered as that good little girl I once was – back when I actually cared about hurting people’s feelings.

I don’t want to be remembered by this blog, and its words resulting from a stolen identity. I don’t want to be remembered by the self-indulgence it takes to create a place like this. I don’t want to be remembered as the damaged victim of a ravaged brain. But the truth is – no matter how selfish or defeated it may sound – some of us are victims. We are forced to live a life we don’t recognize, created by circumstances beyond our control. We are forced to live as the crumbs of our former whole self. We are forced to roll in the mire of self-pity, until we are sick of our own stench.

If I am ever to be remembered by anything I write, it would simply be this: If you can relate to any of my words, you are not alone.

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