Writing Again

I’ve realized an urge to write again; an urge I thought would never return.

I wrote a poem the other day–the first in 11 months. It is only on draft two, so it needs work, but I am proud of myself. It is about the big fight Derek and I had a few days ago.

I am also trying, again, to move more of my stuff into Derek’s from my old apartment. I am hoping to get an office (at least a table and chair) set-up, so I can write at a table. It makes a huge difference.

The last time I had all of my possessions in one spot, laid out in the way I like, was 15 months ago. Since then I’ve moved three times. My stuff is in chaos, needless to say. However, the real trouble is that I don’t do well mentally with upsets like this. No wonder it’s been a struggle and a half.

My main mental health issue now is sleep. With 250mg of Trazadone and 24mg of Ambian plus Remeron, I still toss and turn, wake up, and can’t get back to sleep. I am really hoping some internal sweeping, as my poetry tends to do, will help the sleeping situation.

They tried to make me go to Rehab…

…and I said, “Sure, OK.”

It takes me a while to work my way to the truth. Or at least a somewhat stable version of it.

I am in rehab, an all be it outpatient one, but rehab nonetheless. The few friends I am in any kind of contact with are dealing with this fact in very different ways. One wants to take me drinking. One traveled 4 hours by train to take naps with me. One comes to my house for dinner and brings pie.

But how to I deal with this? I should be writing lots of great poetry.

I’m not.

I am trying to remember to take my meds. I am trying to remember they are good for me, and that I should stay on them. All but the week’s supply is padlocked into a great big black box I have no access to. I also receive a phone call every evening to tell me to take my medicine and charge my cell phone. If this new protocol fails to keep me on meds (and prevent another fist fight and an ER visit for a broken hand – or at least severely contused hand), people I don’t know will come to my house twice a day and watch me take the pills. Then they will ask me to open my mouth and move my tongue around.

I am trying to remember to shower everyday and get dressed. I am trying to put my clean clothes away and pick all the clothes up off the floor of my new bedroom. Almost all of the socks I own are underneath my new bed.

I am trying to slowly chip away at the mountain of paperwork I have to fill out because the poorer you are, the more paperwork you have to fill out.

I have learned if I drink the smallest amount, I will laugh until I begin weeping followed by a spiral that will probably end in physical violence to others or myself.

I have learned I have not really slept well for the last 20 odd years, that Ambian is a precious commodity never to be squandered, and that sleeping meds will be my new best friend hopefully very soon.

I have learned to admit to my bitterness over having to leave school and that no one really seems to care as much as I think they should.

And of course, I have come to appreciate that the times I can spend in the company of other people who have experienced psych holds and The System are actually a relief. I can use a shorthand–no need to explain myself or explain why I am such a shadow of my former self.

And finally, I think about how much time must pass before I can no longer call myself a poet and what to do with a life that has no purpose.

The early bird

At around 4pm on Wed. the 20, I decided to take a nap (after being up for 20 hours again). I wasn’t particularly tired, but my body ached a bit.

I woke up at 4am on Thurs. the 21. Nuts.

At least on Wednesday, I did find the insurance forms. Now I just need to find paper to print them out. No deadline was listed though, so that is a good thing.

This getting (or more usually being up already) for the early morning is quite beautiful. I am generally not the type to leap out of bed in the morning, so I usually miss the special qualities of the light coming into the world. Something about the quality of the air, the hush, the calmness of the dark after the sharpness of it earlier in the night, makes me particularly inspired and restful.

A restfulness of mind, which is so very hard to come by for me these days.

I feel more centered, more connected. And this only happens during my manic cycles since I am usually sleeping the morning away in a depressed funk otherwise. Ironic, isn’t it?

It makes me wonder if my poetry also comes from this place of centeredness, of connectedness, of burning in the womb, of mania. The poems I usually like the most are those that have a sizzle in them. When I look back at them after the initial fire of creation, I usually am surprised I wrote them. There is a sureness of voice, a strength, that I only feel in myself when I am manic. I feel like I am then a truer version of myself. One who is stronger. That is the one who survived.

Which makes the down times that much worse. Because that person is not the survivor. That is the damaged victim. Those halves are always present, but like id and ego figures, they assert themselves more at the highs and lows respectively.

Maybe I write Id Poetry–I kinda like that.

So I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I may be crazy, but I’m enjoying myself right now. Of course, in 10 days, the rent is due and I have $10 left in my checking account…

But I am working through that aftermath plan with baby steps. Today = kittens’ shots. Friday = a friend driving me around to the Social Security office and Human Resources to start the disability process and file for energy assistance, respectively.

All those offices used to be in the same building along with child services and food stamps, centrally located downtown near the main bus stop. Now you have to go to three different places all over town in a virtually bus-free town.

You’re only a conspiracy nut if you’re wrong…

My hope is that temporary disability and unemployment together will be enough to cover July’s rent. I’ll worry about August later.

Namaste

So, that’s a bad thing. Right?

As close as I can figure, I was up for 20 hours “yesterday.” I went to my counseling appointment, made a list of all the things I need to do to start dealing with the “aftermath,” as I am calling it, of those lost 10 days, went to my parent’s house and pulled up my Double Delight rose, transplanted it into a pot on my porch along with some pink clematis, and generally felt like I was doing pretty good. I also got most of the trash out of the house.

Obviously, I am ramping up for a manic cycle (if not technically in one right now). But I am having a hard time thinking of that as a bad thing. I am actually relieved. I have lots of things to do, and I need some get up and go.

Granted, the get up and go also tends to wander off and get distracted (in the time it’s taken me to write the above two paragraphs I’ve also played a few Facebook games, said good morning to unsurprisingly grumpy trash collectors, retrieved my trash can, hung a hanging basket, chased the kittens around the porch, put more soil on the rose/clematis, and watered some of the garden). And the not being able to focus long enough to really eat is bad for my hypoglycemia but good on the budget.

I understand that predicting cycles can head off calamity; i.e., knowing when I am about to become suicidal is a good thing to head off, but is knowing a manic cycle is imminent a calamity waiting to happen? My answer: Depends.

Granted, during my last two manic cycles I spent a grand total of about $1,500, and though that was not the greatest, I can’t really be too hard on myself. I struggle a great deal when I am down, and the ups are rewarding in their way. Ok, that was classic justification, but what the hell? I had fun and didn’t get evicted after all.

What are the other pitfalls of mania? Unprotected sex is a continuing issue I’ve faced in the past, but given my geographical location (i.e., not a large population of lesbians or bi-sexual men), travel issues (no money for gas + dizzy spells), and the fact that I have worked REALLY hard to have some sense of taste when it comes to who I fuck, I don’t really see that as much of an issue.

I don’t think I ever could endanger the lives of my cats, no matter how bad I get. Bad driving? Sure. Going into the 10-day confusion zone, I hit two cars (no damage), but since the social anxiety is still pretty heavy, I don’t see myself going wild outside.

So I waste a few days playing video games and watching TV. Who cares? So I rearranging the furniture in my apartment and throw away a ton of trash. That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Even if it is some nicer stuff, or I break some shit, still not the end of the world. Or I might finish a short story or actually dive into that novel project I’ve been nursing. I would put that down as a positive, even though the chances of that happening have been practically zero since the Cymbalta (curse you, fibromyalgia!)

My days of delusional thinking about how I was going to change the world are fewer and farther between, and while I still get that sense of my life seeping out of my hands as I do something pointless and shallow, I am trying not to pay too much attention to it.

Looking back, I think I was actually mostly manic all through college. I would have really bad crashes, but with the flexible class schedule and very understanding supervisors at the library, I was able to get through fairly ok. The delusions started even before college, though the collegiate environment is a fertile ground for delusions of grandeur.

I remember feeling so very different as a child. I was the only one in my immediate family born outside of the month of October. Since I was the only child born in a hospital, I would fantasize about being switched at birth. Until I was in my teens! (I still secretly wish I was the confirmed result of an affair).

I remember meeting a distant cousin once when I was 10 or so, and she asked me if I wanted to study medicine (after I’d rattled off some fact I’d recently read). I told her no, but she replied, “Well, I know you are going to do something special. I can sense that about you.”

That off-handed and potentially insincere comment stuck with me, gentle puffing up my ego. By the time I hit college, I was utterly convinced I could not only accomplish but succeed at anything I “put my mind to.”

During my college career and even as recently as when I was working at the theatre, I tackled projects with a fever that intimidated the hell out of many people. I have a lot of cool things under my belt. But my days of working miracles are most certainly past. I don’t know if it is age, the fibro, or the Cymbalta (or their powers combined), but my magic wand is as limp as a, well, you get the idea.

I still have people tell me things that tend to inflate my Jesus complex from time to time, and my college roommate is my personal cheerleader to keep those delusions alive. But something about after college and my time living in New Orléans, and those delusions started to evaporate.

I was fired up again when I first started seriously studying poetry. But this time the fire didn’t last long. I still want to figure out how to not close the door on an MFA forever, but that is not my first concern in dealing with the aftermath.

Assignment number one today is calling the travel insurance and seeing if there is a chance in hell I can get my $900 for the airline ticket back.

Assignment number two is the write all my appointments in my appointment book and see if I’ve double booked myself.

And that is all I am scheduling, because I want to feel good about what I do accomplish.

In the time I spent revising this, I logged into Moodscope to chart my mood. It is interesting to note that on June 4, I tracked myself at  01% and that is when I wrote that I was not sure I’d found bottom. I definitely went down from there into the minus numbers.

Today’s score?

97% and the top of the mountain is still straight ahead!

Stephen Fry-The Secret Life Of The Manic Depressive-Part 1 – YouTube

Ok, so why didn’t I know about this?!?!?!

The program (in two parts that I can tell) is available for free on YouTube.

 

Stephen Fry-The Secret Life Of The Manic Depressive-Part 1 – YouTube.

OC87: The Obsessive Compulsive, Major Depression, Bipolar, Asperger’s Movie – Official Trailer – YouTube

OC87: The Obsessive Compulsive, Major Depression, Bipolar, Asperger’s Movie – Official Trailer – YouTube.

 

I can’t wait until this is available on Netflix (’cause you know it is never coming here!)

Tiffany Update:

Today I paid some bills!

I skipped my psych eval with the jerky doctor because I was too out of it at 8am this morning.

I plan to shower at some point…and I think that is it.

The role of this blog is…Part II

The word multitasking originated in 1966, referring exclusively to computers and their computations. Automation of tasks to make the human life that much easier. But in 1998, the word started being applied to humans.  On the surface, it might sound like a good thing: do more in less time with less effort.

But really, as a modern concept I think it sucks.

Because we got the do more part, and maybe even the less time part, but the effort feels like it has tripled.

And with my recent run of near-crippling anxiety attacks, I lack the math skills to compute my effort to do even simple tasks. Say good-bye to my days of multitasking.

I don’t want to work full-time, volunteer full-time, and part-time, and be a graduate student, and be creative on deadline, both personally and professionally, all while pretending I’m not desperately lonely and need a social life that does not include an agenda.

My day yesterday was perfect: I woke up naturally around 11am, cuddled with the kitties, met a friend for lunch, played with kittens at The Book Center (10 are ready for adoption), went to Southern States to look at flowers, played with my cats at home, did some light house work, talked to my sister on the phone, and wrote this blog.

No stress, no panic attacks, minimal hallucinations (I’ve started actually keeping track of that, too).

But also no work, no grading, no deadlines, no bullshit.

Which brings me to my point–dun, Dun, DUN–what the heck am I doing talking about all this in a public forum?

First of all, thanks to everyone who posted comments on Part I.

I’ve mulled this over for a while, and I realized this blog has had a bit of a multiple personality disorder (not a current diagnosis of mine). Or rather, I’ve tried to multitask. Maybe it is because I’m lazy. Or confused. I’m confused often. But I blame that on being born in the Year of the Monkey.

The way I see it, I have three reasons for writing a blog:

First–Personal: I am going through a major life shift wherein I am trying to truly deal with my health, all facets of it, in a more mature, responsible way rather than simply running away when it gets too scary or uncomfortable.

To do this effectively, I need to write about it. But I have a difficult time holding myself to personal deadlines (just look at the state of my website, some of those pages have been “Under Construction” for three years). I need to write everyday. That is how I cope best because I am a writer.

I also need personal connection and resources to support myself during this shift. My closest friends live literally hours (if not several time zones) away. And I’m crap at calling (phone anxiety, though my besties are kind enough to call me). Besides, the type of support I need is too much for a single person, or trio of persons, to deal with. And while some of my dearest friends have a pretty good understanding of some of my issues, I really need to connect with people who can say “been there, swallowed that.”

Hence a personal blog is a major priority for me now.

Second–Creative: If you look back at some of my first posts, this blog was intended to be a creative outlet. While I have always written poetry, I originally planned to study creative non-fiction, particularly the personal memoir essay.

This makes sense as an author for me now as well because most of my poetry is pulled, at least is a small way, from events in my life or experience. Even the themes in my fiction can be linked to personal obsessions, which is true for all writers. So writing about things that are superficially personal would be a way to build a platform for my work, laying the foundation for a book later on.

While this has some appeal, I am far too overwhelmed to do this consistently. The energy that goes into churning out a 1,000 word essay of literary quality every week, let alone every day which is my current timetable, is astronomical for me. I am a slow writer and an even slower composer. I feel for now, this option is an impossibility.

Third–Professional: Finally, there is the professional blog. This is where statistics come into play.

The standard advice is to pick a niche you are passionate about (or can at least fake a healthy interest in) and then you blog regularly about it in hope that eventually you get enough hits to attract the interest of advertisers.

Alternately, you can create a following surrounding your small business service to attract customers, with the idea that you give enough advice/service/copy away for free to attract attention and a warm fuzzy feeling (engagement) until some of those hits turn into paying clients (conversion). This is also where most writers get the advice to be writers writing about writing in the hopes of getting writing jobs.

When I think about this, I alternate between feelings of resistance and panic.

I don’t want to!

Not only does that sound deadly dull, I also have to admit that I can’t force myself to read those types of blogs (even when they are written by writers I like with the possible exception go Neil Gaiman). And if I have zero interest in reading them, should I really be adding to the glut? I mean, not all of them are totally spammy. But most of them are hardly original.

And how am I expected to blog about freelance writing in an original way? I guess my post about teaching the kids’ workshop comes close, but realistically, I’m not going to pick up new freelance clients that way.

Most of my freelance writing jobs fall into one of two categories: marketing or manuscript. Those people are looking for people with solid reputations for quality and efficiency, which means they ask around. They don’t troll blogs.

So the roll of this blog is….Personal.

I am going to keep it linked to my author’s page on Facebook, my website, and various other online profiles and what-have-yous.

And if that costs me some freelance clients, so be it. I mean, if they turned down a freelancer in a wheelchair, we’d all think they were assholes, right? So let’s treat mental health issues the same way.

Yes, I have health problems, but I am still a damn good writer.

And very modest, too.

Arts in the Schools Week!

When I was little, I remember making my sister play school with me. I’m pretty sure she hated it, but I was always pretty good at convincing her to do things my way.

Like that time I convinced her to give me all of her dimes since they were smaller, and therefore obviously less desirable, than my pennies in exchange.

I would have her write things and do simple math problems that she could understand. When that got boring, I started teaching her algebra. She was about 5 years old. She actually caught on fast.

I remember my mother being worried that I was confusing her, but as I have discovered throughout life, kids tend to deal with challenges better than we expect. As long as we phrase things simply for them and spark their interest.

I was honored to be invited to participate in Arts in the Schools Week this past week. Monday through Thursday, I visited South Penn Elementary School to teach an hour-long writing workshop with the theme of Japanese fairytales.

Though I am ridiculously tired, I am very pleased with the way the classes went. On top of that, I was actually paid to be there! Which is obviously a very good thing.

I began the session with a quick introduction and an interactive overview of Japanese culture. Then I read two versions of stories about the Chin Chin Kobakama while the kids followed along. The story selection seemed to be a hit since it is so different.

Then I explained to them how I start writing.

I usually start with a “what if” question or a “I wonder how that would/does work” thought and go from there, making things up on paper. I gave them one example from my short-story-that-needs-to-be-a-novel, The Murcep People, and also how the sea became salty. I gave them some ideas based off the story I read, like changing the point of view, then let them loose.

I love the performance of teaching! Making funny voices, pretending to whisper or making jokes.
~
I tried to draw a map to show the general location of Japan, which ended up with Europe as a swirly ball and Japan as a banana off of the eastern cost of a big, blobby China.
~
I had the kids sit on the floor so it was a less formal setting.

One interesting thing about South Penn is that it is built in the 1970s style of open classrooms with few interior walls. I was in one of the few multi-purpose rooms that was actually enclosed. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about open classrooms. I loved how the “library” was at the center of the entire second floor, so books were extremely present.

Everyone worked hard on their stories. A couple of them really stood out, like Why the Firefly Lights Up, How the Chin Chin Kobakama Got Their Job, Why Pigs Taste So Good, and The Real Story of Dragons and Knights.

I also made sure to plug my free workshops offered through Tri-State Community School for the Arts. Some of the kids said they were interested in coming, and I promised to send the reading instructor more information.

One little boy, who carries his notebooks full of stories around with him everywhere, wanted to know more about getting his stories published. So I made up a quick handout for him Wednesday night, and he met with me for a special conference Thursday morning.

I also followed up with children on Wednesday morning since time seemed to fly away. We could easily have taken another half hour. The reading specialist even mentioned the possibility of having me come back to do more workshops!

Another little boy was so enthusiastic about Japan, that I was a little intimidated. He is apparently very bright. He rattled off names and facts I didn’t have a clue about, like exactly how Japanese houses were the first ones for be earthquake-proof. His story was fantastic.

My first thought with both of those little boys, the writer and the savant, was one of concern. Because I know how much their lives are probably gonna suck. And I also know how closely creativity and genius fly to crazy and substance abuse.

I had an overwhelming urge to protect them somehow.

I saw bits and pieces of me, and it made me sad. I really hope they turn up at one of my workshops, so I can check in with them.

For the first two days, while I was still working the kinks out of my presentation, I left time at the end for kids to share their stories…but by the time Wednesday rolled around, everyone was so intent on the writing I didn’t have the heart to pull the plug until the last-minute. I really wished I would have been able to read, or better yet listen, to everyone’s story.

The Great & Mighty Cockatoe

I am far too tired to write a whole post tonight (I always write the “night” before and schedule the drop for the next day, currently at 9am), but I didn’t want to miss a day…

So I will share this picture and story instead. Monday through Thursday this week I am teaching an hour-long session at South Penn Elementary School for Arts in the Schools Week on Japanese fairytales. I am really honored to be invited (and paid!). It is also a big ego boost to see my headshot in the lobby proclaiming me as the guest author!

Today, when it came time for the writing prompt (which I will talk about in a later post, I’m sure), one boy decided to start with a picture and then write a story. He drew a very nice bird head, and said he wanted to write a fairy tale about how the cockatoo got its head plumage. But he was stumped on the spelling of  cockatoo, whether it needed two Os at the end or an E. He asked me, and lousy speller that I am, I wasn’t too sure. He was going to go for the E, but we agreed that would be cocka-toe, a very funny creature indeed.

Jokes ensued, about being a smelly bird and how it would hope around lamenting the boy’s bad spelling…so he drew this:

If you look closely, you can see the stink waves coming off the toe part of the bird! It looks like something you might find hoping around Wonderland.
~
We ran out of time before he was able to share his story, but I offered to come in early in case any of the children want to talk to me about writing.

And that is why I really love working with child writers! The ability to jump over mental, self-imposed hurdles is much greater, in general. I could easily have stayed another hour with these kids. I really hope the school invites me back!

The role of this blog is…

Follow my blog with Bloglovin

…I don’t know! Well, yes I do. I want a platform to talk about myself, which sounds selfish and ultimately is, because a) I like to and b) the few friends I have who I would feel close enough to talk about this stuff with need a break. Don’t make your friends your counselors–is a piece of advice I try to follow.

I also want to connect in a deeper way than the commercialized and jaded world of Facebook. I especially want to connect with people who deal with similar things and to swap notes.

So I decided to link my blog to Bloggers and Bloglovin. But I am wondering how many essentially mental health blogs are listed on these sites. I mean, the reason to broadcast is to gain followers to boost ratings and ad dollars. It is a pretty straight path to monetization with a fashion, food, or travel blog.  But I can’t imagine advertisers being too keen to hang around these pages.

In the larger scope, I am wondering about this blog. I have listed my real name and linked it to my business website. Do I really think someone is going to read a post and decide they want ME in charge of their next writing project? Or if a potential client is looking for an editor, do these posts merely show off my writing skills for him or her or put them off altogether.

And when it comes to connecting, my numbers have been all over the place. Is it the days I did multiple postings (while rather manic I think) or the subject matter or the time of day??? Has anyone thought of this?

I would really love some feedback to this one!