"Deep breaths, sweetie." This is what I say to my cat, Beans, as she struggles with an upcoming hairball that obstructs her breathing. I say this, and set an example with my own breath. Good thing, because I've been on a chaotic ride with my emotions today. I hate rides. This kind is particularly scary because I don't get to tell myself that it'll be over in a few minutes. That I won't have to endure it again. To do so--to say that--would be cruel. Being honest is tough, but necessary, and lying is often more exhausting anyway. But, sometimes, the truth is just so distasteful--so unsatisfying.
Funny, lately I've almost exclusively been reading and writing nonfiction. Maybe that's why I've been so depressed.
Having said that, I'm not sure that picking up my copy of Dune or revisiting my character notes/story ideas would be of much help. Then again, you never know. At least it's something different. Maybe that's what's been missing...change. Movement. Speaking of movement, it's probably time I get off the couch.
As for Beans, as usual, she sets an example by doing what she needs to do for herself at a given moment. Right now, that means curling up in a ball and slowing her breathing, while listening to relaxing music.
Until next time, here is some music. Some Mascis. Beans approves.
Hi! Remember me? The one who used to share my writing on here? Some of you may be wondering where I've been, so here's the low down. Low. Down.
Yes, that's pretty much what I have to report. I've been struggling. I pride myself on being honest (most of the time) so I want to share what I've been going through as honestly as I possibly can, but this isn't easy.
It's been over a month since I've done anything with this blog. Once upon a time, I promised to post something new every week. Clearly, I'm not keeping up. That shouldn't surprise me, since promises have never really been my thing, but I will admit that I am feeling a little--a lot--disappointed. I guess it's hard to commit yourself to much, though, when you're having a difficult time doing the bare minimum. That's what it's been like. That's where I've been. At the bottom.
It hasn't just been a month-long struggle, though. I've been sinking for several months now. Occasionally, I've forced myself to reach out--share writing--and maybe even seemed okay, but I wasn't. I'm not. But I will be. I have to believe that.
This may sound like whiny drivel, but that's not my intention; I simply want to offer an explanation. Some will understand and some won't, and that's fine. I just don't want to leave anyone wondering. Part of the reason I started a blog was to get me writing in another format, and to do something I've never really been too comfortable doing--share. In doing so, I've gained confidence and felt pretty good. So, why, then? Why have I been feeling so badly? I'll explain using a little anecdote. A Kenna Rae recap of sorts.
As a child, I never felt normal. I had friends, by default, as you kind of have to have them to blend in. No child wants to stand out, right? I still did, though. Stand out, I mean. You can't run away from what you are, right? So, anyway, I've probably mentioned before about how the time I most enjoyed was the time I spent alone. It's true. I would play for hours in my room, creating characters out of my stuffed toys and action figurines. I even had a make believe tv show with a storyline and a theme song. It featured a group of animals trying to relate to one another without killing each other. Hmm...
The reason I bring this up is because, although I probably seemed alright, playing away, creating on my own, sometimes I wasn't. Sometimes I just had to hide because nothing seemed alright. I never knew why I felt like that. It sucked, and it continued, and will continue. Furthermore, it's not easy to explain. Sometimes, when I stop contacting people, when I shut down and lock myself away, it's because I'm creating and I'm fine. But sometimes that's not the case. Sometimes I can't do much of anything. I pretend to function well, but I don't. Being diagnosed with depression and anxiety helped to explain some things but, honestly, there's just so much that cannot be explained. So many plot holes.
One thing I've come to realize is that I will have to continue to work on managing this. It is work, make no mistake about that. Hard work. The kind of work you should get danger pay for. It's like you're working on scaffolding without the general knowledge of how it works--how to maneuver--how to get down. Sometimes you do get down, but you don't always remember how. It's frustrating. Full-blown depression blows. All you can hope for is that you are able to arm yourself with the right ammo, so when the enemy sneaks up you don't have to feel so scared.
So, there you have it. There may be times when you don't hear from me much. I might be okay, but I might not be. And that's okay. It is what it is. Sometimes I'm caught in a storm, and sometimes I'm hiding, waiting for it to pass. I like to build my own storm shelter, and keep the emergency equipment handy, but I don't always remember how to use it. And sometimes I use the wrong thing. It happens.
That's a pretty heavy way to say hello, I know. But, hello again! I'm here. Just like I've always been. I'm here, and I'm trying.
I thought I would share this photo that I took while on a walk in my neighbourhood. I love animals, and they always help me to see the light when all is dark.
Here's The Downward Spiral, an album that helped get me through the teenage years. Seems fitting.
I'm finally doing it--pulling my insides out and splattering them around for all to see. Here we go!