I like calling my mental illness Madness.
Madness (as defined by Merriam Webster:
the state of being mentally ill, especially severely.
synonyms:insanity, mental illness, dementia, derangement; More
extremely foolish behavior.
plural noun: madnesses
synonyms: folly, foolishness, idiocy, stupidity, insanity, lunacy, silliness;
informal craziness
a state of frenzied or chaotic activity.
synonyms: bedlam, mayhem, chaos, pandemonium, craziness, uproar, turmoil, disorder, all hell broken loose, (three-ring) circus
My April writing project this year is entitled Faith in Madness. I feel like the only thing that has been constant in my life, long-term as well as short, has been the chaotic spinning in my brain. I'm currently in treatment, and truth be told, I am terrified of getting well. I am frightened of being boring, both inside and out. The medication i am on does not let me skip doses. I am without a doubt, in need of the chemical change that occurs in my brain and body when i take my meds. So it was my intention to journal daily about the trek through my moods and my mood disorder. I, of course, have a disappointing word count and many blank days between the productive ones.
Physical illness has me changing my diet and I've joined a gym to combat a few physical changes that have happened with age and the meds. I even found a group situation with which i feel comfortable discussing my madness openly, although i have only been to the meeting once. (I will be back though.)
In registering for Camp Nanowrimo (the month of writing), I see plainly some of the projects I abandoned. I blame. I blame the lack of writing on exhaustion, or life, or time, or the dogs, or my ex, or my job, or whatever else I have in front of me on any given day.
My doctor asked, "Why now?" Why is it that I seek mental health treatment now? I have no one else to blame. "Why now?" Why have I beat myself up for not writing enough?" I have no one else to blame. I'm fixing my broken house. "Why now? I have no one else to blame. I am fixing my body. "Why now?" I have no one else to blame. And yes, if you're reading this on the Writing in a Row House page, thinking it should be over on the Heating a Home on a Hot Plate, you'd be absolutely correct.
I have a ton of guilt for not being my best in my past, but it was the best i could do in my circumstance. I have to become comfortable with that acceptance of what's done is done, even though i feel like a tremendous failure as a mother, partner, sibling, friend, employee, co-worker, writer, home-owner, bike-rider, and anything else i have put my hands upon in my life. The word sorry falls from my mouth so often, I've become an apologist, truly seeking exculpation, with every expression.
I made this website to keep me on track with my writing. I want to move from working for someone else full-time, and myself part-time, to working for myself full-time, and someone else part-time. I've neglected this site. And maybe part of the reason, is that I have this fear of failure, or even worse, success. I am afraid if there are people who like my work, i will change. I have been writing. Still in a chaotic fashion - not keeping to one project for completion, but at least ten manuscripts. I finished a play in a weekend and edited it over the course of a few weeks to sit on it. I found a play-writing contest to which i submitted the piece and i'm waiting to hear from the organization that put out the call. I don't know if i want acceptance or rejection.
Every day, i think about the words that will come from my fingers and when i have the time, I sit and turn on someone else's story (TV, Movie, Book...) instead of writing my own.
So why today? Why today did i open this neglected website and put this declaration that i'm going to do better today? I feel empty. I finally feel like i'm just sleep-walking through my days. I've become boring in my brain. I don't want to be boring in my steps. So before that boring becomes a veil around my need for exploration of my world and my thoughts, i want to revisit the creativity i know remains.
I saw a lovely dead bird yesterday. It was a reminder of finishing something. Sevy's Cosmica Sidera mentioned Dead Bird Season and i needed a reminder of that. In the moment i photographed this hollow passerine, i wanted to revisit the ending of Sevy,. I wanted to edit it for the eighth time, instead of working to finish Defame Thy Neighbor, about which I'm really excited. There is no reason i am not finished the writing on that story. I've even commissioned a cover artist and I could not be happier with the progression of the artwork. I want to push myself to finish the compilation of words before they become as boring as I.
I need to set aside time in every day to write. I need to get back on track with journaling on this website. I need to get back on track with making notes everywhere and then making sense of them later. I don't want to blame my madness, but explain that the delay has been the attempt to ease some of the internal chaos so i can function in the outside world.
Madness (as defined by Merriam Webster:
the state of being mentally ill, especially severely.
synonyms:insanity, mental illness, dementia, derangement; More
extremely foolish behavior.
plural noun: madnesses
synonyms: folly, foolishness, idiocy, stupidity, insanity, lunacy, silliness;
informal craziness
a state of frenzied or chaotic activity.
synonyms: bedlam, mayhem, chaos, pandemonium, craziness, uproar, turmoil, disorder, all hell broken loose, (three-ring) circus
My April writing project this year is entitled Faith in Madness. I feel like the only thing that has been constant in my life, long-term as well as short, has been the chaotic spinning in my brain. I'm currently in treatment, and truth be told, I am terrified of getting well. I am frightened of being boring, both inside and out. The medication i am on does not let me skip doses. I am without a doubt, in need of the chemical change that occurs in my brain and body when i take my meds. So it was my intention to journal daily about the trek through my moods and my mood disorder. I, of course, have a disappointing word count and many blank days between the productive ones.
Physical illness has me changing my diet and I've joined a gym to combat a few physical changes that have happened with age and the meds. I even found a group situation with which i feel comfortable discussing my madness openly, although i have only been to the meeting once. (I will be back though.)
In registering for Camp Nanowrimo (the month of writing), I see plainly some of the projects I abandoned. I blame. I blame the lack of writing on exhaustion, or life, or time, or the dogs, or my ex, or my job, or whatever else I have in front of me on any given day.
My doctor asked, "Why now?" Why is it that I seek mental health treatment now? I have no one else to blame. "Why now?" Why have I beat myself up for not writing enough?" I have no one else to blame. I'm fixing my broken house. "Why now? I have no one else to blame. I am fixing my body. "Why now?" I have no one else to blame. And yes, if you're reading this on the Writing in a Row House page, thinking it should be over on the Heating a Home on a Hot Plate, you'd be absolutely correct.
I have a ton of guilt for not being my best in my past, but it was the best i could do in my circumstance. I have to become comfortable with that acceptance of what's done is done, even though i feel like a tremendous failure as a mother, partner, sibling, friend, employee, co-worker, writer, home-owner, bike-rider, and anything else i have put my hands upon in my life. The word sorry falls from my mouth so often, I've become an apologist, truly seeking exculpation, with every expression.
I made this website to keep me on track with my writing. I want to move from working for someone else full-time, and myself part-time, to working for myself full-time, and someone else part-time. I've neglected this site. And maybe part of the reason, is that I have this fear of failure, or even worse, success. I am afraid if there are people who like my work, i will change. I have been writing. Still in a chaotic fashion - not keeping to one project for completion, but at least ten manuscripts. I finished a play in a weekend and edited it over the course of a few weeks to sit on it. I found a play-writing contest to which i submitted the piece and i'm waiting to hear from the organization that put out the call. I don't know if i want acceptance or rejection.
Every day, i think about the words that will come from my fingers and when i have the time, I sit and turn on someone else's story (TV, Movie, Book...) instead of writing my own.
So why today? Why today did i open this neglected website and put this declaration that i'm going to do better today? I feel empty. I finally feel like i'm just sleep-walking through my days. I've become boring in my brain. I don't want to be boring in my steps. So before that boring becomes a veil around my need for exploration of my world and my thoughts, i want to revisit the creativity i know remains.
I saw a lovely dead bird yesterday. It was a reminder of finishing something. Sevy's Cosmica Sidera mentioned Dead Bird Season and i needed a reminder of that. In the moment i photographed this hollow passerine, i wanted to revisit the ending of Sevy,. I wanted to edit it for the eighth time, instead of working to finish Defame Thy Neighbor, about which I'm really excited. There is no reason i am not finished the writing on that story. I've even commissioned a cover artist and I could not be happier with the progression of the artwork. I want to push myself to finish the compilation of words before they become as boring as I.
I need to set aside time in every day to write. I need to get back on track with journaling on this website. I need to get back on track with making notes everywhere and then making sense of them later. I don't want to blame my madness, but explain that the delay has been the attempt to ease some of the internal chaos so i can function in the outside world.
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