I spent some time today looking through a few of my older messages on tumblr. It was weird to look back at some of them. For a few, I find myself as confused now as I was then, when I received the message. For others, I find myself smiling and feeling warm.
At the height of my tumblr addiction, I was posting constantly. I was committed. It was my first outlet that was my own. No one had access to it. No one had the ability to touch it. It was my first outlet online. It was wonderful.
When I was constantly on that site, I was in a different spot. I was still a teenager. I was still coping with a lot of my issues. I was cutting myself. Starving myself. Treating myself poorly. A whole mess. It was the first social place I was comfortable with expressing myself.
A few years later, I am not as addicted to tumblr as I once was. No longer do I spend hours upon hours on that site. I do still use it and appreciate it. It will always have a spot in my heart.
The other day, I was bored. Stupid bored. I opened tumblr on my phone and was messing around. I found some old messages. As I read through them, I felt all warm and fuzzy. I found people sharing how much they appreciated me, kind words, and general conversation. I had forgotten how much I fun I was having then. I also stumbled across a message about my poetry. It was glorious to find such a message. I needed something like that in my life.
So, for the heck of it, I opened up my page. Started clicking around. And, surprise! I found some of my old pieces of poetry. It made me smile to see there were still notes appearing and that the pieces were still circulating around. People still liked what I had written.
Digging around for old works on a site that had once been the highlight and focus of my life led me to find that they still mattered to someone. Someone was out there, still connecting to my words. My words still mattered.