Reconciling Saints

30 Years of "Cosby" Sweaters

The other day I had an epiphany. It had something to do with meds… and feeling out of it… it had something to do with wondering if I made the right decision to have a go without meds and if I need to go back on them… and how that thought was a crutch... could be a crutch… and that proves it was a crutch. I get scared, so I want my meds… because I don’t let myself deal with this myself. I need to do this OFF of meds so that I know that I can do this on meds.

I need to be off meds so that I can find out that I can do most of this off of meds so that I can do this with them, too. I need to develop the skills concurrent with the meds… so that I know I’m ok… so that I’m not a time bomb - won't feel like a timebomb - because I know how I’ll handle it… and that I can handle it… and it won’t stop the crazy. Nothing can stop the little things that will always bother me or the how of how I see things.

Let me back up a bit.

After some discussion with some close friends and my boyfriend, I went off meds once school ended in early May to try something out. I let people around me in on it so that they could help monitor me and my behavior, letting me know if I got too bad, or even calling me out if I slide too far one way or the other.

First of all, I wanted to get back in touch with what's wrong - try to feel it and figure it out... likely see if I can figure out triggers, and how it progresses, to how to stem the flow of the thoughts that might send me into depression or a tailspin. Some is for the sake of my writing (that sounds kind of hokey to me) since I feel I have to get back to the true feeling and experience of it, not make it just something remembered and botching the truth of it.

On TV or movies, one only ever sees the worst of it... and it's not always that way - usually it's subtle. I feel that it's much like the issue I had with telling my mom about being sexually molested when I was 7 (I told her when I was 9). What is shown is soo much bigger than what I experienced that I had a hard time recognizing what they showed on TV in me. The after school specials and "very special episode of..."s usually showed kids who were truly traumatized from their sexual abuse and I always thought about how awful that must be for them. What had happened with my mom's best friend's son (he was 16 or so at the time I was 7) was definitely less than that. He got grabby and did some exploring, but I wouldn't say it was traumatizing. I mean, I'm sure there are issues from it, and I've certainly talked about it with therapists, but I was not having behavioral issues, or wetting the bed, or anything like that.

I've gone off track a bit here...

Back to what this has to do with the bipolar. I want to write about an experience that's subtle, at least for the most part... and I have to remember how these things start... and that they usually come from nowhere and build. It's tough!

There's also the part of my... experiment... that has to do with making sure that I have my skills and that I can also learn to pinpoint what's coming on - be it triggers or how to tell if I'm a little off. I had a year off of meds when I first moved to KY because of lack of insurance and I feel like I was very good about using everything I had to make sure I was ok, especially since it was a tough year. My support group was not with me, for the most part. I had 2 people here that I could trust, so it was...scary. I was also newly officially separated from my ex of 10 years... with a pending divorce, at that! I mean, it was perfect for a meltdown and I had only been officially diagnosed for a little over a year! Still, I got through the year gloriously! I used all of my skills and the people around me for help.

However, I found that once I went on meds again and was with a therapist... I got worse. Well, not bad, but I wasn't as good as coping with things on my own, or paying attention to triggers and what went on in my head. It's like I got lazy and expected to let the meds do more. Well, that's my theory anyway. Also, I've been questioning adding medication since the psychiatrist I saw here was pushing to put me on lithium, which seemed excessive. Plus, she always wanted to add something if I had a bad day or if things were just a bit off and I didn't feel like anyone was really working with me to work out what was going on, like my therapists in Portland and California used to. It didn't and doesn't feel right to me.

So I wanted to focus on skills... and in order to do so I wanted to do it while I was in control of things and with a great network of people that can call me out and have learned what to watch for. I want to make sure I get this... and understand it, and with that learn about what happens to me and how to help it.

Woman on a park bench in Central Park, New York, 1957. Photo by Yale Joel

It scares me, not being on medication. Not because I feel out of control and not because I know that I'll go out of control. I don't. I don't know that. What if I can control it mostly, or maybe even keep it to minimum medication with the help of understanding my problem? I feel like I've become afraid of myself because I was told that I have to have medication, if not it would all go very badly. It's like... being the incredible hulk. It's not that I hate medication, and I do believe that it's very handy and necessary... I just... don't know that it's the only answer. I want more insight, not just medication. However, because I've had it drilled into me that medication is and always will be necessary, it's really scary to be without it... but in that scared-of-the-monster-under-the-bed kind of way. When you're a kid you're convinced it's there and you keep waiting for it to pop out.

Not that I'm saying that medication is imaginary/all in my head... just that... I want more than that, I guess. I want more than a blind belief that meds are the answer. I've a sneaking suspicion that it's both meds and skills, but really, I just wanted to know, you know? I also want to know how they work... what they do, and I feel like people are never really told. I'm ok with accepting the meds on faith when first diagnosed to get things right again - that is the time to simply act and get things back to normal. Shouldn't we - I - learn more about my condition and how to live with it now that it's a done diagnosis?

So... that's where I'm coming from on this meds business. When I will go back on them, I'm not sure.

Why I haven't told you has to do with being told that I always have to be on meds; I feel like a five-year-old that's snuck out of bed to sneak a twinkie. Would I have gotten the twinkie if I had asked for it... maybe... but no one was around to ask, so... there's that, too. Also, I constantly question when I should start up again and how. At this point, I think it's something that I would like to discuss further with Dr. R at the University of Cincinnati's division of bipolar research, whom I started talking to a month ago, and Dr. B, my general doctor.

It's something I felt I had to do in order to know more. I know it's risky, and many will frown upon it, but I felt I had to explore this, and I feel I'm going about it pretty safely.

I hate it when people sigh OH SO LOUDLY in a "woe is me!" sorter way. You know, the kind that begs you to ask what's wrong... really, desperately begs you!

I especially hate it when I'm the one sighing!

I can't help it, though! I'm hoping that my coworkers can't hear me. And if they have heard me, that they don't think I'm doing it for attention.

There have been a handful of sighs escaping from me intermittently today that carry with them the air of one that is depressed and tired. Perhaps just Depressed, with a capital D - the kind where you don't have to add the and tired because it is implied with that kind of depression.

I'm not exactly sure where these are coming from, I just know that they're here, and they are making sure that I know it! I wouldn't say that I'm Depressed with a capital D so much, but I can feel it around the edges somewhere. It's hanging out, and it's threatening to swoop in.

So I'm taking this time to figure out why because, really, things aren't bad. In fact, it could be said that things are actually pretty good. This is a little trick of mine, this "talking back" (as my therapist liked to call it) when the Bipolar Door is swinging in the negative direction. The talking back can help stop it, or at least lessen it a fair amount.

For some reason... and I'm sure it's something in how it's being translated in my head... for some reason I suspect that people think I'm annoying. Well... thankfully not everyone! Friends are currently excluded from this, surprisingly, but that might be just because it's only slightly on the periphery of everything. I see it is as The Negative monster that's hanging out right outside the circle of light that my little candle is illuminating, so it hasn't been able to touch the real things within.

Perhaps it's had to do with delving back into 16-year-old me for the book, but I've this overwhelming feeling of being disliked and wondering if I really am annoying! Why? Well, I wonder if maybe I get just a bit too excited about things, gushing and posting about it like I'm 12. I could see that this might be annoying, especially if you're in a surly mood. OR!  Maybe I'm a bit too emotional about things. Sometimes, sad things make me really sad, bad things make me really mad... steaming even! These tend to come out ALLLL over the page, and can get ridiculous. So then it's ridiculous... and just stop it, really, she's just embarrassing herself!
But I don't stop it.

The Negativity monster that's pacing on the periphery is saying that the denizens of the internet are judging me, and no one has a damn thing to say to me about my silly little words and silly little projects. In fact, it's been concluded that I'm quite a dork, and mainly a nuisance, so I should just shut up and go away!

Well, when you do this for yourself and your friends mostly anyway, it really shouldn't matter, so I keep on keepin' on. Still, sometimes... sometimes, the little Negativity monster (he's actually quite little), likes to stick a toe in to test the boundaries and I find myself wondering if it is true... and if I should just stop.

But it's not really based on anything substantial, and I'm not doing this for you.
No. I'm doing this for you, and me, and my friends. That's really quite good enough. I just have to remember that.

I have been having a hard time putting into words how I have been feeling. Hell, I have been having a hard time feeling about how I have been feeling!

This past weekend was the anniversary of a couple of significant things:
1) A year ago today/last night Stephen broke his back - a complete fracture of the T12 vertebra
2) A year ago this past Saturday, I almost moved out.

After dealing too long with his self-destructive downward spiral, I was setting up a plan to move out of our house. I felt I was getting better while Stephen was still reeling from various things - most significantly his divorce... and most astonishingly (to me) his alcoholism. We were aware of the former, but I (and maybe he??) was in denial of the latter. That is, until July 5th when, especially with the 4th of July holiday, it all just came to a head for me.

I can't say exactly what was different this time, just that there was finally something in me that said, yes, he is an alcoholic, yes you are enabling him, and yes you have to do something about it for you. 

So I prepared myself to move out, knowing that I needed my own space for my sanity, especially because I still loved him and didn't want to leave him... just the situation. I also knew that this could very well mean the end of everything. He could easily take it as an act of aggression - an all-out act of war - and continue to do things that would make it so that I had no choice, but to walk away completely. Still, I had finally come to the point that I accepted the possible outcome of my move. So it was with wobbly steps that I went forward, trying to procure a place to stay as part of my first.

That Saturday the 6th he took me to dinner after he finished work, the conversation laying a good foundation for what I thought could make for a reasonable talk the next day. I hoped I could explain that I was moving out and why, without him calling an end to it all together. After dinner, he suggested we stop to see a friend's band play... which is where all the rest happened. Once at the bar, a bike and the boyo down later, we were on the way to the hospital maybe 30 minutes after we had left dinner.

I remember being so angry. I was angry because I didn't know what had happened, didn't know how badly he was hurt, and I was especially angry because, at the moment I was resolved to take action, something like this comes along and happens. What was I supposed to do now?

When I found out that he had completely fractured the T12 vertebra and that he could have been completely paralyzed with one wrong move, I was both horrified with how badly he was injured and thankful that he was still fine. We weren't all clear yet, though - surgery would tell the tale. He needed to get his spine fused, having surgery done where they used rods to fuse the T11 and L1 vertebrae to secure the spine. Depending on how surgery went, would depend on what the future held for him.

I was angry for a week after that, knowing I had to make a decision on whether or not to leave, whether or not I wanted to see if and how things would change, and whether or not I wanted to stick this out with him.

I decided to stay.

It's now a year later and I can tell you that I have been dealing with a bit of the fuzziness of how the accident and decision worked out. There are still reactions in me that come from long-gone actions and ways of being. So much has changed, but a little has stayed the same. Those little things still bring about knee-jerk reactions, so I spent this weekend mostly at home - thinking things out, weighing differences, checking my feelings, and mostly trying to avoid any triggers. It's not always possible, but usually the less I have to deal with, the easier it is for me to work with the triggers instead of reacting to them.

I survived the weekend with little mental discomfort, anxiety, or anguish. In fact, I made it through this weekend feeling like I've learned more about my relationship, especially how much we've both put into it and ourselves to make us work better. It's amazing how sometimes one walks away from something life changing a whole lot stronger, when the outcome could have been so devastating.

Last night I had a meeting with my career advisor... who is also kind of acting as a Life mentor for me. I nearly forgot that I had made my appointment over a month ago! Thinking back, I made it when I first got that feeling of "have to write this book NOW!" Wow, that was over 2 months ago. Meeting with her last night helped reanimate me and helped me find the focus that I've been looking for lately.

So for those that don't know/didn't get the speech, my friend Sean posted this article back in April. It's an article about the stigma of mental health issues and I highly recommend it. What it did for me was help me realize that now is the time to jump in on this conversation, and I want in! I have a lot to add to it and I want to do my part in helping kids especially. They should know they're okay and that there are more of us that feel the same way out there.

I'd say that it's been since declaring my major as creative writing in college that I've wanted to write and publish this book. That was sort of my acceptance that I wanted to write professionally. I had my second round of counseling my sophomore year and I knew that I wanted to help anyone who felt like I did. I hadn't been diagnosed yet, but I knew there was something I was battling, and writing, books, and music went a long way in helping me through things. I figured if creativity & art could help me, maybe what I could do when I am good enough is write a book that others can go to that will help them not feel alone in this.

Notice I said when I am good enough. This book (that doesn't exist yet... well, it's a rough sketch at the moment) was and is important to me. It's the book I wish I had when I was in high school - one about a girl that is bipolar - just like me (so it turned out)! Who is going through the same emotions and changes - just like me! Oh, what I would have given for that character when I was 16! As it's so important, I want it to be perfect - or as perfect as it can be. So I never felt ready because I saw writing as this super important business that I didn't have the keys to yet.

When I first met with my counselor over a year ago, it was about another book. In getting to know me, though, she heard a lot about The Book - this one I have to write. So she wanted to know, why am I not writing this book? Which made me wonder, yeah... why am I not writing this book? Because I'm not a published author with answers as to how to write this?? One thing I have learned is... well, you never have the answers... you just learn some tricks. So, what was I waiting for?

It's taken some prodding, some thinking, and Mark Joyella's article on Medium to get me to where I am now. I'm writing this book. I'm writing it to join the conversation on mental health, I'm writing it to let kids know that it's ok - I feel that way, too, and I'm writing it for me... because I survived. If I can help just one kid survive it, too, then my book will have made all the difference.

When we were in New York last year visiting the lovely Amander, we would meet up with her at the different places she was working around the city. I was truly inspired by my time with Amander, seeing her day to day and meeting her friends/people she works with. I'm incredibly proud of her for going after what she's wanted to do, even when it's a struggle.

Our second night there, we met up with her at Juilliard where she was working on the costumes she designed for a ballet. As we were leaving, Stephen stopped to light his cigarette and Amander looked across the way at Lincoln Center.

"Everyone wants to go from here," she said, pointing at Julliard, "to there."

She stared back across the street at Lincoln Center.

We started walking, Stephen finally looking up from lighting his cigarette.

"Just cross the street," he said, and smiled.

Amander and I looked at him and started laughing. You know what? Yeah, sometimes it is that simple - sometimes you have to look at what you want to do and who you want to be like it's just that simple!

Just cross the street - just do your thing.

I just figured out that my little blog will be 7 years old in July! BOY does time fly when you're having fun... and living... and making a mess, but that's living. *shrugs*

Funny that!

We change every 5-7 years, and this blog is going to be changing right along with me, I guess. Who knew that my blog and I had synced up!? It's not that I have really changed so much as I feel the blog needs to focus on the things that I'm passionate about rather than just having it be my little soapbox/place to update the friends that are not so near anymore.

So this blog is going to be changing just a wee bit here in the coming weeks/months; I'm trying some new things due to ideas and feedback I got at the Books-In-Progress Conference I attended. Please bear with me while I try this new route.

Since her death last Tuesday, May 28th, I've found inspiration in bits I didn't know about Maya Angelou discussed in recent articles. One of the most inspiring for me is the fact that she was a sex worker and had no qualms talking about it (brought to my attention by the lovely Ms. Amanda Palmer's link in facebook to the post on Tits and Sass).

Dr. Angelou herself says she was never ashamed.

"I wrote about my experiences because I thought too many people tell young folks, “I never did anything wrong. Who, Moi? – never I. I have no skeletons in my closet. In fact, I have no closet.” They lie like that and then young people find themselves in situations and they think, “Damn I must be a pretty bad guy. My mom or dad never did anything wrong.” They can’t forgive themselves and go on with their lives. So I wrote the book Gather Together in My Name [about her past as a sex worker]."

I needed this. I needed it because sometimes I do start to think about the things I've done and worry about perception, worry that I might be one of the worst people in the world because of deeds from my past. The truth of the matter is that we all make mistakes, we all have bits in our lives that TV or print would likely gloss over unless it's scandal they're looking for. I am not the first one to make a bad call, nor am I one that will never make a mistake again.

I try to be as honest as I can with everyone because I do believe that people have the power to see past issues, mistakes, and imperfections; I trust that my nearest and dearest will still see just me.* With everyone else, whatever they (whoever they might end up being) decide to think or feel about how I've lived my life is up to them. 

I love that she wrote about her experiences so that people could read it and know that they aren't alone. That's one of the main reasons why I'm writing - I want to be a voice out there for others that says, "It's okay; me too."

*When my lawyer has allowed.

Things I'm currently in love with - OR - Things's that remind me that I love life:

• I recently purchased the vinyl of Bird's My Fear & Me after I heard A War. I'm in love!  If you didn't see my post last weekend on facebook, you can check 'em out here: 

• I've put it out to the 'Verse that I'm a very excellent Gal Friday and Professional Monster. We'll see what the 'Verse has to say, eh?
• I'm writing a book because I feel like it's high time that I added my voice to the conversation about mental health that is going on online... and hopefully elsewhere as well! So I found a mentor, I made some inquiries, and I'm currently listening to my brain. It pours out stuff that I had no idea it was already forming in there. This is very exciting for me!
• I'm attending the Books-in-Progress conference at the Carnegie Center here in Lexington, KY. That's this Friday and Saturday!
• I'm taking the GRE this Sunday. yay? Why??? Because...
• I'm applying to the Masters in Library & Information Science program. The deadline is July 1st. I waited because I had a lot going on with school and work, then I needed to unwind and study between my last final and now since some of the math slips my mind. So here I go!
• I'm headed to CA in August for my 20th (what?!) high school reunion. Oh lord! My friend Keith rallied the small group of us and I decided why not!? It's kinda going hand-in-hand with the book. In case you forgot, it's going to be a YA novel about the year the bipolar kicks in for a girl in high school. 
• A new friend recently pointed me towards Kristin Hersh's Rat Girl. It's her memoir of the year that her band Throwing Muses was signed to 4AD, she was diagnosed as bipolar, and she got pregnant. You can see why he thought to point me to it, yes? It's lovely and it's helping with my book, mainly because Kristin says things that truly hit home, like: 

"That I had a calling, I was on a mission. That music was beautiful math, that it's owning violence. Songs are electricity, my religion." 

And

"So I'm not me anymore; I'm bipolar. No matter how okay I feel right now, I'm not okay and I never will be. Apparently."

 Which is exactly how I felt when I was diagnosed. I finally have a book that speaks to me about it, that's helping me write a book to speak about it. This, I love!

I've thought of all sorts of reasons as to why Stephen drank so much - he was still reeling from and dealing with his divorce, he was rebelling and since she wasn't around it fell to me, he was self-medicating for the mental disorder that had yet to be diagnosed and couldn't be diagnosed due to lack of insurance.

Seriously, it's like a death knell, like you're branded, once you're diagnosed.

... but I digress.

Here I am having to deal with the reality that I am dating, I am in love with, an alcoholic. It's really very hard and scary for me. I mean, this is really happening? How did I get here, how did it come to this?

This is really happening.

Women and children first.

Too many details to confess. I was ready to leave in July, I had made my decision.

And then... the accident. Stay... or go now? Would I be that girl that left her boyfriend when he was down and out?
Can you believe she left him when he was recovering from surgery?! He lost the house, his car, his job...

That could have been me. There but for the grace of god go I.
Ummm ... wait...

I no longer cared if that would have been me. I didn't care if people thought I was a bitch for leaving... but I had to make that decision. Maybe despite my better judgement... I stayed.

I am the one who stayed.
We came together because of it, and I have become all of it - ready to unleash the same force as it had, ready to stop travel, ready to divert this flight.

I've finally made peace with the fact that we don't always get answers as to what happened and why. I'm finally ok with that.

But...

... but how will I relearn to go when I've lost my will to? How do I get back there when and if the time is right, before it's too late?

How does one leave after the decision to leave has been extinguished?

Sometimes I need a swift kick in the pants!

Well, a swift kick in the pants and a deadline...

I'd like to say I'm sorry, Jim.

You were always nice to me, always thought of me with things like taking me to see Madness at the Troubadour, and I repaid you by allowing it all to happen. Some call it aiding and abetting. I didn't cause it, but I didn't help; I was an accessory. I was more concerned with my friend's needs than I was to yours... or even your marriage. It should not have happened like that.

Would it help if I told you she was going to do it anyway? That nothing I said would have changed much - didn't change much- save for the fact that she wouldn't have had an alibi?

I'm sorry for the betrayal, I'm sorry for my part in it. I was only trying to save her when she seemed so lost because she had always done the right thing... because she thought she had to be the Good Girl. I was trying to help her embrace her whole self - her true self - all of her, which include the bad bits. When we own up and embrace our faults and the ugly bits, then we can be happy because we can completely be ourselves. That's what I wanted for her; I wanted her to stop doing what she thought she was supposed to do and just be her.

... but not like that. Or rather, I knew you were a casualty of it and you had to be, ... but not like that.

For that, I'm sorry.


*A Choppy Yet Sincere Apology is a title of a Riverboat Gamblers song I actually find quite... true for my life. I wish I'd come up with such a good title for apologies I've had to make or will never actually make. You can find it here.

1. I promise to never go home early/ not do something just because I'm concerned as to whether or not my boyfriend is having a good time. I would stick around if it was the other way 'round. When I have before, I've generally found that I can enjoy it, especially by just letting go and letting be. I mean, Hell! I put myself in the situation!*
2. I will stop working myself into a tizzy.  If I'm not happy with it, I need to talk about, get over it, or say no. Simple.
3. I control me. I have final say on what I choose to do… or not do… and what I am willing to put up with. PATEOTS!**
4. I will remember that I know I am self-reliant. I am not some damsel in this dress,*** therefore I will not feel dismissed if I don't get the help that I never asked for (see also work-myself-into-a-tizzy). I can do it myself; I didn't want, ask, or need the help. Just because person A doesn't offer to help me do B does not mean one should be second guessing their loyalty/ reliability. If I haven't asked for help when I do need it and I don't get it, it's no one's fault but my own; people can't read my mind no matter how well they know me.****
5. I will be wooed and I will be loved. Anything less is inexcusable. I need to love me enough to know that I'm worth someone loving me just as much as I love me… and them... if they're lucky.
6. I'm not a doormat.
7. I promise to hold my partner responsible for the other half of the partnership, illness and special circumstances excluded (limited time offer).
8. That being said… I promise not to try to hold up all of the partnership. I will ask for help when I need it and not just expect it (see the bit about people not reading my mind).  One cannot and should not do it all by one’s self… not in the long run, anyway.
9. I promise to keep the knowledge of how awesome I am with me at all times. Certain exclusions apply for humility when necessary and/ or called for.
10.  I promise that the one thing I know is that I don't know everything. I will continue to learn and remember that learning can come from anywhere, even the person that seems to be the dumbest person I know.*****

I used to write really long posts, especially when I was stuck at my parents' due to The Fiasco.


I remember reading somewhere that people can't/don't really pay much attention to a post/article that's too long if it's on the internet.


With that being said I give you this post:




Today I noticed that on the dean's calendar, she had marked a spot to play polo after work on Friday (she uses her Outlook calendar for personal stuff too 'cause it syncs with her iPhone and iPad). She marked it simply as POLO.
...
It took everything in me not to "schedule" a spot simply titled "MARCO" for the hour before it.




Now, here are a couple of pictures to also hold your interest and help this post.

Fear has stopped me from doing a few things in my life.

When I was a kid I remember backing out of the student council in Kindergarten (I know, right?!) because I didn't understand what was going on and because I didn't want to be singled out from the other kids. Trust me, I learned it was a dumb reason about a year or so later, mainly because I was singled out again and this time I thought, "Hang on a minute! Not being with everyone else isn't so much a bad thing."

Not being afraid of fear, conversely, has made a lot of things happen in my life that may not have happened. I like to think that my kindergarten experience has some to do with that. These, however, with the exception of a few big ones, have been small things like just allowing myself to be me and not give a damn what anyone says or thinks in order to live life the way I think I should live it.

I call them small because some big things have been placed on back burners when it comes to, oh, you know, my writing.

I was watching a rerun of an old Project Runway the other day where one of the youngest in the competition finds herself as one of the last 5 and she resigns. They showed some insights from the other designers as to what they thought of her decision and the guy who ended up winning says something like don't think that it's an easy or stupid decision for her to make because you don't know the pressure or what it's like to be here.

I could see myself, especially at her age, going right back to my kindergarten days and saying, "Get me off of this thing!" Is it a big deal? Yes. Would it, if she won or even made it to Fashion Week, change a lot things and open doors in her life? Probably, yeah.

I know it's good to know when you're in over your head for whatever reason, but enough is enough.

I feel like I can look back and see when I've quietly retreated or let the other things in my life over-run my want-to-do-s or should-be-doing-s. I really want to stop this pattern and that's why, in part, I'm seriously thinking about what to do with this little space of the internets that I call mine. At some point I have, and I feel that I do, take responsibility for where I am creatively.

Something's gotta give... and I don't feel like it should have to be my writing which means that I have to do something about that.

' "The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax - of cabbages and kings." '
~ Lewis Carroll ~

So I came across this old favorite of mine:

I sat down to write and I thought I'd do a little mind-puking first (as one of my creative writing teachers called the process of voiding our minds of all the other "words" running around in our brain that were cluttering it up) and found this pic whilst looking for a good graphic for this post.

I found it fitting as I have sort of started to take a "Oh fuck it; let's shoot this fucker!" kinda attitude to my writing lately. So here I am for the... 50th time??.. finally sitting down to seriously get some shit out there, and no, not just on this here blog o'mine.

I think it's kinda cool when I find something inspiring again.

So I'm still thinking about changing up this place. Maybe just a new look... maybe just a place to spew... I'm not sure. I kinda got tired of this being diary-esque but I also do like a place where I can just ... talk... and keep my friends updated (when they do read it... no worries, it's not your fault).

I don't know yet. However, I do know that I want to write more although not necessarily here, but I think I will from time to time. Kinda like my "word vomitorium."

To go back to the pic, I'd like to say that it's also fitting of who I am today. I'm trying to channel all of that into my writing and by doing so, just... writing, which is doing more than I had been and trying to do something about getting it out there.

The story of all that was and what it was, i.e. my marriage to Da5id, is a hard story to write. Last weekend I was working on a memoir for a contest submission and I found it quite difficult to write. I just couldn't seem to put the story of us into words and I've been trying to figure out why. It might be because there's more to it than just my side or his side or it might be because there's no way to really quantify what we had. It existed and at times was a great love story with miracles and overcome hardships and at other times it was all heartbreak and miscommunications. Still, maybe I can't come to terms with it and perhaps that is why the writing of it was so hard.

I took on the subject because, if I were to ever write a memoir (hypothetically speaking), that part of my life is a great and vast story that did a lot in the shaping of my life, especially as it's 10 of the 35 years I've been alive.

Unfortunately, I couldn't do it and I missed the deadline. I found myself with the proper word count but no real shape to the story of it all, just a mix of points of view, ways of telling it, and what looked a lot like my "spew" on this here blog. Where, I asked myself, was the story? How do I shape it? To that, I don't think I have an answer yet.

I'm still working on it as there's next year's early deadline of February, which seems a long time away. It's possible that I'll never be content with how I tell it, what I got from it, or even be able to concisely put into words the essence of it. It might be that the story of us is much bigger than anything I can put into words... or maybe I've just had a hard time seeing the big picture. It's still something I'd like to work through in writing, though, if only just to tell this great story that I have to tell. It was and, yes, still is one of my favorite stories and I think that that comes from the joy I had of just living it.

I've said it a thousand times and I'll say it again, I love my life and if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't change a single thing nor would I trade it with anyone in the world.

... and talking to Tracy about my site.

Maybe it's time to clean house and redecorate.

Hmmm....

Still no at home internets, although I'm lucky enough today to have found a little bit of WiFi open today.

It's a good thing that they aren't working, really, as this makes it easy for me not to post anything dumb and makes it so that I don't have to lock down the blog again for fear of what I may vent.

I've hit a bit of a depression pocket and I'm trying to work through it, but it's done little for my writing as I end up going in circles over a current situation and a variation on one of my favorite stories. I know. The depression should technically help with my writing, but currently it's just making my head spin and it comes off as... formless. Dunno how else to put it.

I have a need to work on things, though, and lately I've been working on everything but my writing.

Thought I'd keep you guys posted. Chloé, I still owe you a letter.

So I'm currently writing from work.