I know my blog can get pretty crazy sometimes. I’ve made no bones about my struggles with several mental disorders, my disastrous marriage to a psychopath, my history as an hypersensitive head-banging, hair-chewing child-dartboard, my early-adulthood stint with Scientology, my current poverty, my own narcissistic tendencies, my somewhat offbeat religio-political views, my unpopular opinions, and my tendency to be a socially awkward underachiever, among other delicate, controversial, and sometimes embarrassing things most people wouldn’t tell their second-best friend (or maybe not even their best friend).
I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable posting things about myself that are extremely personal or potentially embarrassing, knowing full well that thousands of strangers all over the world know things about me even my own children don’t know. I call this “running naked in public.” It’s liberating once you get used to it. (Of course it helps that I use an assumed name, not my real one). I feel like being this honest has made this blog more interesting than if I just posted my latest cookie recipe or about how to grow healthier backyard tomatoes. I feel like sometimes my most controversial, crazy, and strange posts become my most popular posts, just because they’re controversial, crazy and strange.
I don’t write those posts to be popular or cool though. I write them because I’m a strange and difficult person with a strange and difficult life. Maybe this blog gets so many views as a kind of online rubbernecking–“Hey, let’s find out what that weird borderline cat lady who thought she was an Aspie but really isn’t and who obsesses about narcissists and psychopaths and is afraid of relationships is doing today” or “Let’s see if that crazy woman who does exhibitionist self-therapy online and treats it like performance art has had any new ‘breakthroughs’ today.”
Or maybe it’s because somehow my brutal honesty about my personal life and recovery and my…well, overall weirdness somehow resonates with people and provides a voice for others who feel the same way as I do but don’t dare say it in public. Sometimes I wonder why people read this blog, but really, it doesn’t matter why if people like reading it, does it?
So I have to post this article I just saw at Forbes.com, because it sums up why weird and crazy blogs like mine tend to do pretty well.
Why Crazy People Make Better Bloggers
By Susannah Breslin, for Forbes
“Here’s to the crazy ones, the misfits, the rebels, the troublemakers, the round pegs in the square holes… the ones who see things differently …” — Steve Jobs
Crazy people make better bloggers.
Heather Armstrong parlayed postpartum depression and a stint in a mental institution into a cash cow blog.
Penelope Trunk grew her blog to over 750,000 page views last month as someone willing to write about stabbing herself in the head, smashing herself in the head with a lamp, and having a miscarriage during a board meeting while dispensing career advice.
James Altucher shares with his blog readers a history of suicidal ideation, depression, and going broke with a manic frenzy that inspires others to buy his books.
In the Forever Recession, we are all entrepreneurs, and everybody knows the best entrepreneurs are crazy.
1. We’ll say what you won’t.
I started blogging in 2002. Over the years, as a blogger and journalist, I’ve written about developing PTSD, the time I wanted to kill myself, and why I loved writing about the adult movie industry. After I got downsized, anyone who Googled me about a job I had applied for could find these stories online. This probably didn’t help my chances of getting a job. It’s probably part of what led me to conclude I’m unemployable.
But that I had been working and living outside of the box for so long — bending the rules or refusing to admit they existed — is what helped me go from unemployed to self-employed in a matter of months.
I used to be on TV. Being on TV can be stressful. You have no idea what’s going to happen, and there are cameras recording whatever does. After one of my first TV gigs, I was driving home on a Los Angeles freeway. I was vibrating from the stress of what I had done, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Was what I had done good or bad? That’s when I decided it didn’t matter. I decided what did matter was that I was brave. I hold that true to this day. I don’t want to be a coward.
Read the rest of this post here.
Fore more about crazy blogging, please see my article, Crazy Ride.