Yes, YOU

Dear Vocal community,

I missed an appointment today. ECG. They rang me, and they sounded properly pissed off. I don’t blame them, what a waste, with waiting lists as they are. It’s not like me, though, to miss an appointment. Not the kind of thing I do. It’s just, it’s all felt a bit much lately. The other day, I tried to unlock the front door with the car key – not the key itself, the fob, the little button to unlock the car doors. Pointed it at the house and pressed away with mounting frustration. Didn’t even try the door mind you. Perhaps it worked. I wouldn’t know, I didn’t complete the necessary steps to facilitate ingress. I feel a bit like my brain exploded and the pieces are all in there, but rolling around like spilt marbles. I suppose I should be grateful I haven’t lost any, really.

So, the upshot is, I’ve not been around much. This is partly deliberate. I am experiencing a particularly nasty resurgence of an RSI and trying to stay off my laptop and phone, when I don’t need to be on them for work. But it’s partly that it’s all a bit much.

Of course, you are part of the problem. No offence. Because, well, we’ll come to that. Anyway, you are part of the problem. I logged on today, to Vocal. 68 notifications in one day. It’s overwhelming. I read one story, felt bad and came away. There’s this weird mix, isn’t there, between camaraderie and hustle. Do you find that? There are the flagrant hustlers. “Read my story, check me out, you too could be making four figures monthly with my scheme”. There are the covert hustlers, with the AI stories, or worse, the plagiarised pages. Are they even hustlers, or outright twats? Is AI just more complex, synthesised plagiarism? Is it doing what we are ALL doing anyway, reading, consuming story-telling and recasting fresh tales from the spoils of our own consumption? I digress. What was I saying? Hustle. Yes, for most of us there is a hustle – we want to stay, I don’t know, included? We want to be in the conversation. Read me, I will read you, we will touch each other. I could digress again but let’s just leave that hanging.

The truth is, I’ve never been a hustler. Hustling is not my thing. Part of that is a general unwillingness to push myself forward and part of that is that I am exhausted by the effort of social exchange. Not only exhausted, you understand. No, that would be rather simplifying wouldn’t it. Exhausted AND invigorated. I am one of those cats that twines about your legs and arches their backs into your hand and purrs, and purrs, and pu….bashes you with a paw and runs away.

Anyway. The hustle, that bit is just about me feeling too flat out used up to engage lately. The camaraderie, the invigoration, this is the bit about how I’ve not given up, abandoned ship, or lost interest.

That’s the weird thing, isn’t it? I’ve not met a single one of you, but sometimes, when someone goes quiet for a while, I worry, and now, when I go quiet for a while, I find I have a pressing desire to just drop you a line saying “I’m ok, if not now then shortly.” And I have seen others do that too. “Hi, shit going on, sorry I’ve not been in touch.” You know who does that? Friends. Friends do that. People who are invested in each other do that. People who hold one another in mind do that.

Now, I’m not claiming you’re my bosom buddies and inviting you all to my wedding or anything, but I AM saying that there are voices here who I have come to think of as friends. Perhaps it’s the emotional nudity. I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, right? We’ve had some laughs, of course, but tears, too. And honesty, alongside play. We’ve experimented with stuff we’ve liked. We’ve experimented with stuff we have not liked so much. We have had differences of opinion. And we have also had kindness and encouragement, we have lifted each other up and we have championed one another. We have not turned away from one another’s metaphorical lumps and bumps. We have made missteps, forgiven them, and had them forgiven. What is that, I ask you? Because it looks a lot like friendship to me. Am I kidding myself to think one or two of you might, if you lived nearby, take me out for a wee walk or a cup of tea and a cake, when I am feeling blue? Because, my vocal friends, and I believe you know who you are, I would do that for you.

But I am not finished. Noooo. My gratitude is flowing now! But my pain is mounting, so let me be succinct. Without your comments on my work, I probably would have given up. There. Succinctness sometimes helps boil it right down to its essence, doesn’t it. It means a lot. A LOT. I mean, a slightly teary eyed fucking lot, to read those little jewels that say, whatever they literally say, “this is worthwhile”. Because I love to write. Love it. I am missing the fuck out of it while I am not doing it now. And it shouldn’t matter whether I am the best damn writer who ever lifted a pen, or spout the kind of drivel that doesn’t make the cut for the “My First Poem” anthology. Shouldn’t matter at all, if I like it, right? But to have the sense that others like what we liked making? That is a gift. A little bit of self-esteem? A momentous gift.

And so, really, at the end of all of this meandering and gushing and so forth, I just wanted to say, well, thanks, you know?

Thanks.

Hope to see you soon,

Hannah