Category: Mental Health

Middle of the night floods, epiphanies, and dinosaurs

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I was going to do the usual poetry update today…but my kitchen sink busted last night…well a piece of it did. We have a hose attachment that allows us directly to use water (my dishwasher is a portable) and the hose busted. It is not going to be an expensive fix. Just was a panic at 2 in the morning because of the flooded kitchen. It got me thinking, much as most incidents like that do.

My daughter was the one who had found the flooded kitchen, and bless her she immediately went to work cleaning up the mess. She sent me messages to wake me up. She was comfortable enough to curse at me for not answering the phone (I was actually in a deep sleep for a change). I wonder if I would have ever been so with my mom.

We had a conversation while we were stuck at Walmart about what our favorite dinosaur was (hers is a Saurolophus, mine has always been a triceratops) and I adore the little things that I can get to share with her. (The dinosaur conversation was initiated due to a figit toy she had in her purse. A club tailed dino filled with sand that can be manipulated various ways.)

I don’t remember ever being comfortable enough talking to my mom about anything. My doctor finds my mom and I to be a funny topic. I told her (doctor) that My mom still is blaming me for a virus I had as a teenager. I had infantigo when I was around 11 or 12. Mom is still convinced that I caused it by picking at it. And even though I am in my late 40’s brought it up as I was going to cause myself to get it again. The doctor thinks it’s funny. It is a bit of the epiphany for me.

I always expect my daughter to be amazing. Even if she has a bad day, she is going to be amazing. Nothing can change my mind on that. My mom expects the worst about me. She always has, always will… and I have to stop letting her voice color my self view I have spent 47 years trying to be good enough for a woman who is never going to see me as adequate. Time to change my aim.

Justice doesn’t always come

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I last saw the man who has lived in my nightmares at around 9 or 10 years old. Still, he has made my life miserable not because he was actively in it, but because of what he did and the fact that when I finally got the courage to tell anyone… well they did not believe me. He said that they would not. So if he was right about that, what about the other things that he said? Was it all really my fault?

Biden just signed a Bill…I am so happy for it…it takes away the limit for how long you have to take your abuser to court. How long you have to get the world to see them for the piece of shit that they are… for some people that is a miracle.

For some of us…there is no justice.

I am not saying that just because he is dead. My abuser committed suicide just a few years ago…Don’t expect me to mourn him.

No, I am saying that because I can’t go back and get my family to see the truth. I will never be able to look at my self and think I am not deserving of the way that I was treated… why? Because I obviously missed something. Something that he saw.

My mom doesn’t understand. She asked me if she ever actually said that she didn’t believe me… no not in those words. She said that I must have been remembering it wrong. That I didn’t have the dates exactly right. Okay…I was supposed to handle the memories better. I see. I was supposed to get over it… because that is what you do right?

No, Justice doesn’t always come. But the Bill that Biden signed is a huge step in the right direction.

Hush, Hush

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Some days it is harder than others to feel like I have a voice.

A lot of the reason I do the publishing thing is because I have had my voice stolen too often. I want to help others find their voice. Sounds kinda cheesy I realize…but it is the truth. I strive to make absolutely sure that when I edit I do so in a way that never changes the author’s voice…while still addressing readability and grammar. I realize that might not be important to some…but to me that voice is often what makes the story.

I know others feel like they are a burden, like I do. For me though it is harder to fight that because I spent much of my childhood not being heard. I have spent a good bit of my adult life the same way.

Let me explain.

Have you ever walked into a doctor’s office and told them your symptoms only to have them yell at you for not taking medicine for a disease you did not yet know you had? or have you gone in and said I am having trouble and get diagnosed with something with no test or diagnostic process simply because the doctor was overworked and you were in his office like the hundreds before you that day? Oh, and then there were the doctors who were quick to blame all of my issues on my size. Yeah. I have had really bad luck with doctors.

Perhaps that is why I avoid going until I have no choice.

Still it is not just doctors that it feels like I am ignored by. Though I understand that I am not the only person in anyone’s life…there are days when I will speak and get the response of *Sigh* What? – Which makes me want to pull away. Because that response only hurts. I understand if you are busy. Say…Hey I am busy, can I get back to you? And I will get it. But to say it like that…

It silences me. And makes my inner voice into a scream.

I feel like eventually I will never speak again, but that voice…the one inside that never shuts up…the one that says how horrible I am and that no one likes me…That will be so loud that everyone outside will hear it.

Then who will I be?

So, today….I am going to be quiet, because that voice is too loud and my voice is too small. I hope that none of you ever are hushed.

Late Again

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I sometimes feel like Alice… the rabbit hurrying me for fear of being late. Admitted, I expected to be late for today. I was not in the mind space for blogging last night. To tell you the truth I am not quite there yet today. I survived the MRI. Though I was scared to death of it. This week I am going to be late if I post anything. I hate doing that but it has been a crazy week and it is only a Monday. I guarantee that I am not going to be able to do my blogging usual, but hopefully what I do post will be worth reading.

So, hurry hurry and let us see… what exactly the rabbit has in store for you and me.

Words, words, everywhere and not a thought to think

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I am five poems away from finishing The volume Handprints on my soul…and I am struggling with my writing…Not because I am unable – obviously. I just have too many topics and too many thoughts… so many that I have been fighting Insomnia. The end of a volume is always an anxious time for me. It is when I question my writing. It is when I question my motives. It is when I question my value…

Yesterday I answered a poem with a poem. The first poem was written by someone I love very much. A child I had given up at birth because I felt myself in a poor position to care for them. The child is now grown and I am amazed by the similarity they have to me. Also a talented poet, they posted one to their Facebook page. I have in the past found it fun to respond to poets with poetry…A slightly odd behavior perhaps but I find it a fun challenge. (I have been specifically responding to haikus written by my friend, on his Facebook feed In haiku because I find the syllable count to be challenging.) So I did not think twice to do the same with my child. Their reaction surprised me.

They said that they would never be as good as I am. I responded that they already were. In some ways that is such a lie. I see their poetry as better than my own. I see everyone who writes as better than my own. I am incredibly biased. I will never stop seeing the flaws in what I write. Though I imagine that most authors do the same. The problem is though I have some days where my writing is brilliance…I also have the days where putting more than one word on paper feels impossible.

I have days that I feel like I am too insane to be allowed to speak – much less use my voice to put something into this world that will be around for an indeterminate amount of time. (That is what writing is you realize? Passing your thoughts into the hazy future for the random person to read.) And I end up feeding the darkness of those days with my own self doubt and anxiety. That is why I refuse to be jealous of other writers or artists. Why I just judge my work and no one elses (unless I am editing their work which is when I am trying to help them get it to a state of technical perfection…) I shy away from people who cannot understand that I do not require judgement or want to be around jealousy. Those things make me harder on me. Instead I need honesty and just simply to be accepted for who I am.

Today I am a poet. I am strange and I am quiet. I am introvert. I am a writer. I am an explorer. Who are you?

Ps I also seem to update the blog more at the end of a volume…mostly because as I stated…This is when I am questioning myself more so I end up coming here with the random thoughts of am I good enough…knowing that I will never hear the answer I am needing to here.

Thursday Talk

Ever want to just scream? Or throw everything in the garbage and just say the first idiot thing that comes to mind? Yeah that has been me lately. I Don’t wanna be that girl who is always there for everyone. Hell Really I am NOT that girl but I am not that boy either. To be flat out honest I am not ever even sure what I am. I am not anything that I can put a label on. I tried to talk to my therapist about it…Only to find out the words I did use to describe myself were not good. (Weird is apparently hateful)

So I am the lonely introvert who pushes everyone away. I don’t fit anywhere. I don’t know if I mind that so much…though it adds to that feeling of not having anyone who sees me. Don’t get me wrong – I have a best friend…who I feel like I am burdening because I have no way of talking to with out complaining. It doesn’t help that I am high functioning in my anxiety. So I take on more than I can do…and then refuse to ask for help. She wants to help and I end up doing what I do ask her to do because my brain tells me I am asking too much.

My damaged soul is just enough that I can see the problems I put out into the world, but I cannot seem to help myself from pushing away those who try to accept them. I normally avoid talking about the mess that I am because I am trying to put forth an image of competence and professional nature…but as I said Lately I am wanting to say the first idiot thing that comes to mind. Instead…I think I will say thank you all for your patience with me and my lackluster blogging of late.

I am hoping after the MRI on Monday I will be in a better headspace. I am hoping to get back to our regularly scheduled half mad idiocy.

Tuesday Tunes

A day for me to discuss music

Lyrics:

Dreaming comes so easily
‘Cause it’s all that I’ve known
True love is a fairy tale
I’m damaged, so how would I know

I’m scared and I’m alone
I’m ashamed
And I need for you to know

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

Healing comes so painfully
And it chills to the bone
Will anyone get close to me?
I’m damaged, as I’m sure you know

I’m scared and I’m alone
I’m ashamed
And I need for you to know

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

There’s mending for my soul
An ending to this fear
Forgiveness for a man who was stronger
I was just a little girl, but I can’t go back

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

I didn’t say all the things that I wanted to say
And you can’t take back what you’ve taken away
‘Cause I feel you, I feel you near me

Can’t go back

I can’t go back
I must go on

My Two Cents- I feel like the lyrics speak for me. Some days surviving is harder than others. Somedays the voices of the past are louder than they should be. I am looking at an MRI for the migraines on the 19th…The problem is I am petrified of closed in places. I was abused by someone I should have been able to trust. When I was 9 years old I finally got the courage up to tell him I would scream if he came near me again. He locked me in the trunk of his car. He said that I would die there and made me believe that He intended to kill me. Though I am nearly 40 years older than that scared little girl….I still can’t handle closed in spaces. So I am having serious issues with the upcoming test. The man who abused me killed himself a few years ago. The last time I saw him I was still a child. He is still powerful, and I am somehow powerless. Some things the mind refuses to accept. Logically, I am no longer able to be hurt by a dead man…but since when is the brain logical?

The trouble with writing …

I have always loved the written word. So much of my childhood was spent in the idea that I would be a writer. I had a best friend, Lucretia Fisher. (only one of a handful of friends I had) She lived near my grandmother. She and I would talk about being famous writers some day. We would argue about which of us would be published first.

When I was not writing I was devouring books. I read at a college level in 4th grade…And now I find that I am having trouble finding the time…last year right about this time I decided that I missed it…between October and December I read nearly 60 books…

I think I will likely do it again…but I am trying to get a habit with my writing. And I find that I am having trouble getting motivated. I always have 500 million other things that I have on my to do list. I wonder if Lucretia managed to get her books published. She was such an amazing writer.

The to-do list never goes away. I am fighting to help authors get heard. I am fighting my own demons to see what I write as being worthy of the world. And sometimes I am just hurting my own feelings. So, if I seem to be a little bit more in self-doubt please realize that I am still fighting.

Handprints on my soul is 10 poems away from being done. I am hoping that I can get it done in time to publish by the beginning of November. However, I don’t want to promise that or start the promotion of it until I get the last poem written. Because I somedays lose that fight.

Oh! And I will be releasing a new kids’ book in December. Not Another Danny is going to be released December 2nd during Fae Corps Kid’s Week ! I will try to get the cover reveal up later this week .

Thursday Tunes?

A day for me to discuss music

Lyrics:

I’ve been dreaming of friendly faces
I’ve got so much time to kill
Just imagine people laughing
I know someday we will
And even if it’s far away
Get me through another day
Cover me in sunshine
Shower me with good times
Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning
And everything will be alright
Cover me in sunshine
From a distance all these mountains
Are just some tiny hills
Wildflowers, they keep living
While they’re just standing still
I’ve been missing yesterday
But what if there’s a better place?
Cover me in sunshine
Shower me with good times
Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning
And everything will be alright
Cover me in sunshine
Shower me with good times
Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning
And everything will be alright
Cover me in sunshine
Cover me in sunshine
Shower me with good times
Tell me that the world’s been spinning since the beginning
And everything will be alright
Cover me in sunshine

My Two Cents- Due to personal reasons this has been a bad week. Today is not Tuesday…but I needed Music and I wanted to do some posting. So though it be Thursday…Here is some shared sunshine.

Imposter in the house

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I recently joined a few writing discord channels. There was an article shared. It spoke about Vanity presses, small presses, and indie presses. It advised the author to avoid all three. I will link to the article…as it was an interesting read. It gave me a bit of an issue, however…as I run a small press. It spoke in the article about checking the education of those running the press…I am not classically educated. I could not afford college. I learned via free classes and reading everything I could get my hands on.

Soooo this article made me wonder when the writers in that discord would call me out for the imposter I know myself to be. I have been publishing for a decade…and I am still learning. I don’t do everything perfectly. No human does. I, personally, advise you to use common sense. Does the small press expect you to do everything? Are they asking for money upfront? If you have to pay to get your book published then yeah they are likely not legit.

However, not everyone can afford to go to college. Those who go do not always know what they are doing, and those who cannot sometimes do have knowledge. Sometimes you have to ask questions and make choices that are not based on how many degrees are hanging on someone’s wall.