Getting to sleep is really hard. Staying asleep is almost as hard. Even when I’m rested, I don’t want to get out of bed. I’d rather lay in bed, watch netflix, and read book then move. The problem is that this leads to me feeling crappy about my self. It also has lead to a decrease in showers (but thank’s to the good deodorant I skip smelling.). This decrease in me doing stuff outside of bed has lead to an increase in wrist pain, and That makes me not want to get out of bed.
So… I’m getting off of the ‘problem train’ and going to start taking sleeping pills again. I’ll pair that with setting-up times for me to be working on specific projects that I’ve got going. I’ll set this up today while I’m at work. I’m switching trains. The new one hopefully will let me go where I would really, really like.
There was a traumatic even, and I needed space to recover.
I used that space to journal, to take photographs, and spend lots and lots of time in bed. I also saw my wonderful doctor who got me on meds that are still helping me. But, there sidefects are almost more then I can bear to deal with. The most painfull one? I can’t do creative writing. I can still do the “true” writing, but don’t ask me to write a story, or to even be able to come up with a story. I just can’t do it. I know me, and I know my meds. It’s the meds. this happens every time I go on the newsiest one that I’m on.
I will be coninueing from where I am now, not where I left off the blog. Somethings should only be left to me, for me.
The first time I did art therapy, I was given a set of mostly dead markers. The only one that really worked was blue. so, I did my whole thing in blue. whatever. I didn’t think that it was going to be used against me to put me on meds. With the way that it was used, I think that it might have been done on purposes. Blue could just imply being under water, or being viewed through water, yes? Well, instead it was insisinsted that I was “depressed” when what I was at the moment was board, uninterested, and kinda pissed off that I was being asked to do *art*.
Needless to say, That didn’t work for me. I knew that I wasn’t an artist, that my work wouldn’t ever be understood long before that. In school, I was lucky enough to have some art lessons. However, my teachers didn’t like my art. If I tried to draw things from inside my head, I’d get more sessions with the school councilor. I will never understand why attempting to draw things was such a problem. I was teased, always teased for my artwork. Never was I praised for it, so I know that I wasn’t much good.
So, why would I go back to art? To overcome my fears. To express emotion with a few basic storkes in a safe place for me to do so.
Right now, the plan is to practice once a week. one complete art work, expressing fear right now. I’m hopeing that I will be able to get it out of me… that this will help me get over and deal with and process the amount that I’ve got chasing me right now. Hopefully the combination of this and the thyroid meds are going to be enough. Even if The thyroid meds are a “fix” I’ve still got to go back and deal with the emotional results of the fear. Just because the cause could be that doesn’t change how terrible the effects of it were.
I was starring at page 1 of 24. I have no idea what goes into the (insert kindergarden here) paragraph(s). I don’t even know if this part of the story should be written. Am I now writing something that will be, (If anyone looks at it) will be crossed out and say “why is this in the story?” “why is this detail being added?” well.. for two reasons. 1. I believe that there is enough of this story to become a novel. 2. I didn’t show anything until page 5, 3. This story is more interesting to me right now then the start of the other.
Maybe it’s time that I step back from the keyboard develop a true and undying love of the Johnny Mop. If I continue at this slow pace, I’ll get a novel ready for sale by about the time the sun destroys the planet… and there’s no money in that. At least a clean toilet is faster, and will be enjoyed by more people. Plus, that’s an easy one to turn into profit.
My brain is melting and running from my ears. My writing is so bad. I’m terribly scared that someone will read “wealthy”, right now. I’m also equally scared that it will be locked away in my computer because I never bothered to finish writing, or editing the story. ..
I couldn’t get through the whole thing on the first pass. The horror of it was so great that I had to stop. I’d written one too many paragraphs that had to be redone, and now I’m scared that I will never be able to finish the story.. and the anxiety is such that it stopped me form editing and to start filling in the gaps of the story. I got 2 pages written. That’s a respectable amount of work for a part time writer.
Now, I’m writing this post instead of working on my story. I’m scared that I won’t get to it, and I’m scared that I won’t be able to find the right words to tie the story to gather. I was so scared about this that i laid in bed for hours before behind hungry finally pulled me out of bed.
Is this writing any good? I don’t know.. and that scares me. Will no one read it? that’s as scary as someone reading it, and it being terrable.
I now have 2 stories sitting in the “rough draft” folder. The One that I just finished I believe could be very good. The other one sitting there… I think was just me figuring out how to get a story over 1,000 words on paper. It ended up as 14,000 words. This story is under the working title “wealthy”. It’s going to be my experiment with editing a story. My plan is to start today, using my iPad, or my computer to read through it and mark up what I think it needs. I’m *not* changing anything in the story (unless the change in me finding a really wrong word, or a misspelling after so long). Then I’ll make changes on the second pass. I’ll keep you posted on how this goes.