Writing and reading through Depression

Post, post, no posts. Here I am once again eeking slowly along in the blog-world. I wont say blogosphere because I hate the word. I don’t know why, it just sounds, trendy and lame like it’s trying to be so clever.

I just finished reading The Grapes of Wrath. I never read it in high school because they put me in the “slow” kid courses so instead I just remember watching a lot of WWF, why I’m not sure. As I watched Rowdy Roddy Piper scream and lunge at Hulk Hulgan, my fellow students were reading Steinbeck. Go figure, but hey WWF taught me some things. So twenty years later I decide, I’m going to read that book. So I did. It was slow going at first, the characters are rich, and it took me some time to get into it, but once they hit California I just ate up that book. It made me upset, as it should. I am also a little sad that it is over, I came to really like the Joad family or fambly I should say. I don’t know how I feel about the very last sentence, the last paragraph really, it was a little uncomfortable, but I think that is because I am reading it from the perspective of a woman in the 2000s and I have been jaded to certain things that at the time would be seen as self sacrificing. I’ve moved onto Ulysses.

I was doing really well with working on my novel, and then I just stopped. I think it is my depression. It ebbs and flows, and sometimes it is hard for me to know when I am in it, but my writing suffers. I’m so excited that I could actually use my insurance for head doctors. I never thought I would be excited about a head doctor but there you go. I’m ready to try to get a little control over this or at least a better understanding of how to work through it without having to have my book, or finding a more suitable job be the things to suffer. It can be really challenging to stay above it. Most of the time I feel like I am drowning, and I can barely keep my head above the water. I don’t sleep well, and my body is always hurting, and a new edition is some serious body morphing. It really sucks. No wonder I can never get anything done. Right now, I am trying to plan another fundraiser to help pay for the rest of my school. It is a lot of energy to get it started, and it is like trudging through sludge for me to write people, work on my own stuff, get it organized, and this is all the pre-planning. I fake that I am on top of things, but as I get older the faking gets harder. It’s funny, I work with kids who are sometimes in a locked down facility, they suffer from PTS, depression, many things, and I’m there to help them through writing plays and performance. It is a great program, but sometimes during a downtime when I’m just sitting and watching, taking things in I think, “Man, I wish I could be in lock down. I wish I could just have a fit right here, go into the angry room and just scream and bang my head against the wall. Be told when to eat, when to sleep, not have to take care of myself all by myself.” But, I shake it off and go back to work.

I’m trying to force myself to get back on the writing track and not lose focus. A friend of my said, once you know what you want you will be held accountable for that thing and that’s when you’ll do it because you are ready. I get what she said, but I don’t think she has depression. I know what I want, I always have, I just don’t think I deserve it, or it is not meant for me or the biggest swallowing wave, it doesn’t matter anyway. That’s when the water really starts to rise. At least I have been reading that’s a good sign that I’m not sinking, yet.


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