I was stumbling through the Web when I landed on a blog on Tumbler. It was an interesting blog written by a 17-year-old entitled “The Frustrations of Being A Writer”. It had some astute observations, coming from such a young source, although I had to smile at the phrase “during the first couple years of my career”. Still, I enjoyed reading the blog, so I started exploring other blogs on Tumbler and came across this:
I landed on a blog that had only one post: “This was a
mistake.” As a writer, I recognized the power of those four words. Dozens of
potential stories popped into my mind, all beginning with those four words:
“This was a mistake,” he thought, as he pushed the red
button, launching the missiles. “It had to be a mistake.” But his orders had
been clear. Thinking was outside his pay grade.
“This was a mistake.” She stared at the gun in her hand and
watched the blood envelop her shoe.
“This was a mistake,” she said, gathering her discarded
clothes.
“This was a mistake,” the renowned scientist said, but it
was too late to turn back. The experiment had begun.
“This was a mistake.” He looked down at her and wished he
could take back the last 10 minutes of his life.
And so it goes. That’s how we writers think. So, I saw the
lone blog post and my eyes drifted to the “About” box. “Just a 15-year-old kid
that thought maybe he could meet some other teens and make a few net friends.”
Fair enough. So how to explain his “This was a mistake” post?
My first explanation was frustration. Maybe he tried to set
up a blog and couldn’t get it up and running, and just gave up. Or maybe he had
had a blog but deleted all the posts because he didn’t get any followers or, as
he phrased it, net friends.”
Then, it occurred to me he might have revealed too much
personal information in his blog. “This was a mistake.” Maybe something embarrassing or that should
have remained private was posted in an unthinking moment, and that information
had now gone viral among his circle of friends and classmates. I thought back
to my high school days and tried to imagine how dreadful it would be to be
forced to sit in a classroom surrounded by classmates who had read excerpts
from my diary the night before. Had he let slip the name of a secret crush or
doubts about sexuality, or some admission of a past misdeed?
The writer inside me imagined more scenarios. “This was a mistake.” Had I just read an online suicide note? Suicide is the third leading cause of death among teenagers. There are about 11 teen suicides every day. My instinct was to reach out to him, but then I paused. Was I reading too much into his words, attributing a finality to them he never intended? Should I, an adult, even contact a teenager online? Would that be viewed as improper or even creepy? Would I later be saying of my well-meaning intentions, “This was a mistake?” Then, I realized the post was three days old. If it was an online suicide note, it was probably too late.
I checked back a few weeks later. There were no new posts. I hope he just gave up on his blog, and not on his life.
I checked back a few weeks later. There were no new posts. I hope he just gave up on his blog, and not on his life.