I like to be honest here. Honesty isn’t particularly glamorous though. And honestly, it’s been a rough few months. I know I ostensibly have no reason for it to have been, it just feels like that inside my head.
Inside my head is a rough and unforgiving landscape. Inside my head, it’s says that seven months have gone by and I have precious little to show for it. The things inside my head ignore the fact that I wrote two proposals and 25k words on a new book and successfully launched my debut novel, while getting over a serious back injury and attending conventions across the country and holding down my day job.
The things inside my head whisper loooooooooser at me, very loudly.
I stopped going to therapy in the spring because a) things were good and b) I couldn’t make the drive over the hill to my therapist with my gimpy back. And then my work schedule got worse since I couldn’t work 12 hr shifts anymore…so I do 8s and am over there more, am on a night schedule more, and the thought of driving an hour to therapy on an increasingly rare off day was too tragic to bear. Plus, I was fine (“fine”) right?
*holds stomach and laughs ironically*
I’ve been doing what I can, exercising, trying to keep somewhat of a normal schedule — although I do feel that my current schedule sucking is half the battle, between my night shift work and my thyroid condition — and I’m trying to see people? Only it’s been really hard to get outside lately. (I’d like to apologize here for all the people I have not hung out with and all the babies that have gone unseen. I have to muscle up a special strength to hang out with babies on the best of days, and right now I so don’t shine.)
Anyhow. I’m not the megadepressed of the “i live in a fog and everything is distant, so distant” heavy kind that I’ve been in the past. It’s more of a subtle perpetual exhaustion, which has taken a long time to realize. It’s just noting that thinking about doing anything seems like it’s too much to bear and so I don’t. I don’t think about killing myself, I just think about how nice it would be to accidentally die, because it would clear up so many ambiguities.
(Please do not send troops. I have been here before. I will probably be here again. I’m not in any actual danger. I’m just being honest because admitting I have a problem is, for me, the first step towards fixing it.)
((Also, note that I’ve still gotten everything I’ve needed to done. And been good at work and edits. Concrete tasks are fine — they’re preferable. It’s the whole waiting to see if I’ll be under contract again that’s eating at the writing part of my soul. People say “write what inspires you!” and I say, “what really inspires me is getting paid.” If that’s crass, so be it, it’s the truth. I just really like to know where I stand. Of course the not writing is another reason for my brain to pick on itself, which is awesome. Not. I’ll be trying to bail out that part of my brain this upcoming week, wish me luck.))
(((My crazy, let me show you it.)))
I’m also super anxious about going to RWA coming up. I had a roomie lined up whose company would have been awesome, but she can’t go. I’m hoping another friend of mine can just go with me, taking her on a trip with me, just so I can have a buddy. I’m mostly going to meet with my editor, and because it’s driving distance — but I don’t have the ties in the romance world that I do in SF/F. It makes me sick to my stomach just thinking about trying to be the brave nice new girl for five days. Again. The only shining light is that it’s near Disneyland, which is essentially my second home, so if things get really bad I’ll just head into the park.
The end result of everything (in addition to a heart to heart with my husband last night) is that I finally contacted my therapist again and now have an appointment set for next month. That irritating voice inside my head sees this as another set back, in “Really? You can’t make it for seven months on your own? What’s wrong with you?” sort of way. I’ll be ignoring it until then.
That’s the stat. I’ll be doing what I can do, ’cause that’s sort of all I can do recently, and be being very nice to myself and non-goaly for awhile, because goals = personal disappointment when I fail, and I don’t need to give myself anymore excuses to kick myself while I’m down.