I am almost finished with the rough draft of my novel. But there as with here, I find myself bereft of words. I know what’s supposed to happen with the final scenes, but I can’t figure out how to write them without sounding hokey. Actually, the whole idea is hokey, but I think it’s the right ending. A couple of plotlines go unresolved, and I’m worried by that.
I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say I may finish this week. But it feels anticlimactic somehow; the idea barely registers. Finishing, though, overwhelms me for a couple of reasons. One, I’ll need to read over what I wrote and fix the typos (and more major errors). There are some parts I cringe at because they seem too laughably extreme. Then there are the ones that’re lopsided because they didn’t go according to plan.
But returning to blogging-land overwhelms me, too. Not that I don’t want to; I want to very much. But there are several factors. First, even if I’m not writing my novel’s rough draft, I don’t think I can be as active as I once was, both as a reader and a writer. Then there’s my insecurity that I’m not really wanted, etc. Or even if I am, I should just fade away anyway.
I realized something the other day. I want recognition, but I want to be anonymous at the same time. How can I be both? When people at a store start recognizing me, I stop going there.
Where was I?
Oh, there’s the adventure blog. I do plan on giving it another go, but as I said, I’m overwhelmed. It may be a while.
I’m teaching two classes this semester, one at eight in the morning. My sleep schedule is all messed up, and I’m trying to fix it. Nighttime used to be blog time for me, but now I’m going to have to try to find another time for it.
As I think I’ve mentioned before, I’m seeing a new therapist now. She’s young, and I already feel more comfortable with her than I did with my previous one. We’ll find out if that lasts. I’m seeing her once a week, but I might switch to once every other week if I get too overwhelmed (see how easily overwhelmed I am)?
I keep having these daydreams of being a known literary figure. I wish it could come true one day, but alas, that’s not a realistic idea. Grandiose fantasies never work out.
My therapist thinks journaling will help me, which is a reason I think I should return to blogging. Blogging helps me sort through the strands floating in my head, the strands that scream, that I can’t understand unless I unravel them. (I haven’t told my therapist about my blog. I never told my other one, either. I don’t know if I’ll ever tell a therapist about it; the idea makes me too nervous.)
So, without further ado, after all that rambling, I’m going to get straight to how I feel right now.
I haven’t been doing too well during the past week. It’s a shame, because I had a pretty good week right before that. It’s possible that I’m in a manic or mixed episode, I suppose. Bipolarity’s relationship to me is still murky. Ideas for stories keep flashing in my mind, but that’s the extent of my flight of ideas. Then I feel this urgency, like it all needs to be done now, but then I get anxious, and it spins, and I can’t keep up with it all. My head sometimes does that woozy, feverish thing. It knocks into my consciousness and makes everything feel distorted. Every noise makes me jump; I’m hyperaware of things when I am aware of them. But for the must part, I’m barely aware of anything.
There’s a crippling insecurity, a desire to sabotage myself and make people think I’m a terrible employee. Not that I’ve acted on that urge; I’m too meek for that.
Last week, I talked to my therapist about some of these things. I don’t remember how it came up, but she mentioned that, sometimes when they’re most depressed, people aren’t motivated to do anything. That’s why the idea of a breakdown is hazy to me, why I don’t think I can ever be sure if I’m having a real breakdown or not. Oftentimes my motivation is just not to be noticed, not to trouble anyone or draw attention to myself. If that’s my only motivation to seem functioning, does that mean I haven’t hit rock bottom? During the big break, because I took care to seem fine, did I not really have a breakdown? Am I so weak that a pseudo-breakdown crippled me so?
I keep getting headaches. I haven’t self-harmed in months; it’s not like I ever really did, anyway. Not more than superficially at least. But I keep wanting to do that. Problem is, I can’t think of a place that won’t be visible. I’m paranoid, so many areas that might not seem visible are included in that category. Well, there are a few spots, but that would require more than my timid self can accomplish. It’s too hard, and then I feel inadequate because my attempt is failing.
Instead, I’ve taken to digging my fingernails into my palms. It produces nothing other than indentations that quickly fade.
At the beginning of this year, I suddenly realized how truly fat I am. I knew I was fat, and I said it a lot, but it didn’t fully register. So I decided I need to start eating healthier. But there’s a problem: I can’t because I’m too pathetic.
I’ll explain. I decided the first step would be to curtail my fast food intake and eat less snack food. But over the past few days, I’ve been turning to them as much as usual. Food is one of the main ways I cope with my depression, and when I’m at my worst like this, it’s difficult to restrain myself. I just need a pick-me-up, I tell myself.
Then I’m confronted with the fact that half my clothes don’t fit and they never will because I’m a pathetic food addict, using food to comfort myself.
Since my psychiatrist has substituted Lexapro for Prozac, my anxiety has been higher. Occasionally almost so high that I need to avoid everything and just sit with my eyes closed. I thought the Lexapro was working better as a whole, though, until I hit this spell.
When I’m at work, I keep feeling like there are eyes on me, like everyone’s secretly eyeing me with hatred.
So that’s the long of it, what’s been happening with me.
I think I will be returning to the blogosphere more regularly next week. I should be done with my rough draft then, if not before (although I have to help my mom with something this week, so I most likely won’t be blog-ready if I do finish before next week). I’ll probably start reading y’all’s blogs again, although now I feel uneasy about how much I’ve missed.