I like to write. This is not new to most people. When I have a camera in my hands or I’m writing are some of the few times that my soul feels at peace. And that may sound smultzy and smooshy and overly sentimental, but it’s the truth. So, in my head at least, I feel like it should come easy. I should want to do it all the time. And it does. And I do. Sometimes. Other times it’s stupidly hard. Add in that I work 6 days a week, every week. And two of those days are 9 hour days with no breaks. Then add in depression And writing doesn’t come easy. My brain feels like someone took a 3,000 piece puzzle and just shoved everything into a jar. All the right parts are there, they’re just not working together yet. I’m working on getting properly medicated, but it’s a process. (Oh hey, guess who forgot what a special kind of hell it is to detox from antidepressants? THIS GIRL.) While I’m playing the world’s smallest violin here, let’s add that until recently I had a computer that barely worked and the most exciting thing I had to tell anyone was about my cat. (Spoiler alert: he pees on my walls!) There’s only so many times I can say that I’m sad, or I’m lonely, or that I picked back up the knitting I abandoned last year.
It’s hard for me to write when I’m like this. It almost comes on like hypomania, which according to the googles is not uncommon with creative folks. The problem comes in that I can’t force it, not when I’m depressed. And if I walk away or get interrupted when I AM writing? It’s gone. I can’t find that thread again. No matter how hard I try I can’t get my brain back to the space it was when I was writing.
So, now that I’ve got a modicum of things to actually tell you (weight loss! online dating! cats peeing on walls! shiny new computers!) my brain isn’t cooperating.
I want to be here, telling you things. I just don’t know how right now.