Last post I left off with the conversation that I had with myself on the drive home after a busy day. Today, I want to tell you about what happened after that....

I came to the conclusion that I think I knew all along. Once I cut away all the insecurity and all the garbage surrounding the truth, there it was waiting for me. It wasn't anyone's doubt in my abilities but my own. He didn't use me (or anyone else) because he didn't feel he needed to. He had the confidence in his work that I never seem to have in my own.

The review on Amazon for the book that I worked on with Nick was harsh but it was true. I didn't give the book the attention it needed on what should have been its second to last pass through. As I worked on the book, Nick repeatedly told me that it needed more of me in it and after taking the time to process the review, I think I finally understand what he meant. I tweaked his story but I didn't add to it. I didn't change it. It's still Nick's book with me making the most minor of changes, things that most people wouldn't even notice when reading it.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was completely calm and at peace with the situation. I had hope that no longer feeling the panicked anxiety that I had failed Nick on book 1 would allow me to get back to work on book 2. Wednesday is supposed to be my writing day, you see. It's the day that I have 3 hours set aside to do nothing but write. Except, that isn't what happened...

I looked at my bag where my writing notes live. I looked at the folder icon on my laptop. I did both these things but I couldn't go further than that. I was suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. I decided that perhaps the time had come to lay down and explore these feelings and to try to get to the bottom of the situation. Except, the oddest thing happened...I laid down on the couch, stared up at the ceiling and started working my way through things. What was the cause of the anxiety? That part was easy...

1. I "failed" at book 1. While people seem to like it, I didn't do my job to the best of my abilities and I let Nick and myself down in that.

2. Book 2 is supposed to be far more me. Nick has made that clear when we've talked about it. This book isn't supposed to just be me tweaking. It's supposed to be me adding things to it, changing it, and when I finish this book, I'm supposed to write a third book all by myself. I'm terrified of book 3. I don't know that I can do it.

3. See author in quotes triggered my ptsd. It brought back every moment when I was told that I couldn't do something and/or wouldn't ever be anything.

Except, as I laid there, I wasn't feeling any of the anxiety. I was laying there, completely clear minded as I went over everything in my mind. Finally, I asked myself one question, telling myself that whatever my first answer would be would be what I trusted. I asked myself, "What are you supposed to do?" and without second thought, I answered "Write book 2." I had total peace and no insecurities, no indecision, just peace that this is what I was meant to do.

What does this mean? Well, it could be a few things...

1. The anxiety over working on the second book may not be true anxiety but something I've taught myself. The only way to get over it will be to force my way past it and to just pull out the notebook, to open the file and and do something. It won't be easy but it will be something I do.

2. I've acquired a form of ...numbness when it comes to this. This happens to me in high anxiety/stress situations. I don't realize just how badly things are affecting me until I have some sort of physical manifestation of the stress. This first started happening to me when I was 19. It's called conversion disorder and it's not much fun. For me, it's happened different ways...I develop a cold spot in my chest, my hands go cold, one time I had a pain that raced down my left arm and for 3 days, my hand on that side was pins and needles as if I'd slept on it.

3. I have finally, on some level, accepted that this is what I'm supposed to do. I'm supposed to write. I have stories to tell and I'm supposed to tell them.

If I really have to say, I'd say it's a combination of all three. Knowing that gives me power though. It means that the next time I have the chance to pull out my files and notebook, I will take a deep breath and I will pull things out. It may take me a couple of attempts to actually start working again on the book, but  I will start working on it again. I have an April 30th deadline. It won't be done by then and that's okay.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Once upon a time, I probably lived without anxiety, without fear, without constant worries, but I don't remember that time. These things have been a part of my world for so long that they've become a part of me. I've lived with certain levels of anxiety for so long that to not have it starts a new wave of fear and anxiety.

Those are the thoughts that led to me writing this post today. No, those are some of the thoughts. There are times that my mind moves so quickly that i can't keep up with it. Last night wasn't one of those nights and that's truly what led to me sitting here now writing as if I'm sharing secrets with my closest friends....

Yesterday was a busy day. I had my first eye exam in about ten years. I wasn't nervous until they called me back and put me in a chair. Suddenly I was having to take deep breaths and to remind myself that it was only an eye exam...to fail it meant nothing more than getting a pair of glasses. I felt ridiculous for being anxious over something so small.

From there, I picked up my oldest and took him to his annual check up with his orthopedist. The appointment seemed to go too quickly and she has essentially released him from her care unless something happens. That led to another round of anxiety, especially when his stepmom questioned the entire thing. I had to remind myself that her office is only a phone call away and if I feel as if I need to go talk to her, I can go and talk to her.

After that it was picking up the youngest and waiting for him to get changed into his tux, taking him back to the school, helping a little bit with the concert set up and enjoying the annual Band-o-Rama concert. It was during this that I saw an instagram post that showed that I wasn't doing editing work on a comic that I had been 150% sure that I was. I was waiting on the file to arrive. It turns out that I misunderstood and there had never been an intent for me to work on the book.

My reaction scared me. There was the usual bit of hurt and such, but then something shifted. I took a look around the gym, at the kids rushing about to make sure everything was perfect and I just stopped caring about a comic.  For the next two hours, I didn't care. Instead of being wrapped up in my fears, insecurities, and anxiety, I was wrapped up in the music and what was happening in front of me.

It was after the concert, after I had dropped the kiddo off at his dad's and during the 30
 minute drive home that it all came back. I cycled between insecurity, being completely calm, and perhaps somewhere between the two. I had entire conversations with myself:

"He didn't use anyone. He probably doesn't feel as if he needs a proofreader/editor for comics, just for prose type things."

"Yes, but he said he was sending it to me."

"Yes, that's probably how you took his yes when you asked about seeing it that week, but that's probably not what he meant."

"What if he doesn't think I'm capable of doing it? After all, that one book review said I sucked as an editor and that a professional needs to look at it and fix it. What if he agrees with her?"

"And what if you acknowledge that you aren't perfect and that you rushed the second review of the book and didn't do a third like you usually do because you were more worried about disappointing him by missing the deadline than you were with your usual level of perfectionism?"

Yep, sometimes I'm pretty darn harsh with myself. Still, that last self was right. I didn't give it the third review that I do with all of my projects. I missed things. It's the accepting that it's okay that's the hardest. Anything less than perfection in this kind of thing isn't okay and I will be going over it again and sending it back in so that hopefully it can be updated.

Why am I telling you all of this? I don't honestly know. I think, more than anything, I felt the need to write, to share some of  this with someone.

There's more to this, but this post is long and perhaps it's better left to another post...




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

For the past few days, I've had this post in my head and yet, as I go to write it, that same mind is completely blank. This happens when the fog of depression begins to lift. The things that I had thought about while it covered me seem to dissipate with it. Still, I want to put down what I can and I hope that by sharing it, it will help those who care about me and those who may be having similar struggles or know someone who is. So...let's see what my brain wants to share...

Last week was absolutely horrible for me. You see, I was supposed to be spending the week near someone that means the world to me and a few weeks ago, that trip had to be cancelled. I'm not sure that I realized just how much I had been counting on that trip as a chance to recharge. At least I didn't until Monday.

You see, for as long as I can remember, I've set targets...points to get to...when I drive, I mentally break the trip down into little chunks so that it doesn't seem so long. When I have a period of time where I'm insanely busy, I find some point to get to. I tell myself that if I can just get to that point, it will be okay. It helps me keep going when I'm tired, rundown, and just want to give up. This trip was that point for me. If I could just get to the hotel, everything would be okay. I wouldn't have any responsibilities or anywhere I had to be.

Then, that was snatched away from me and I fell apart. That's the only way to put it. I woke up Monday morning and all day, my brain kept track of where I should be on the last stretch of the drive, of what I'd be doing in the hotel room, how long until I saw my friend...I mentally tortured myself and no matter what I tried, I couldn't stop it. Bipolar brain was fully in control and the more I fought it, the harder it got. I spent so much time in tears just wanting things to be different but knowing that there wasn't anything I could do.

Then, it got worse. When I wasn't thinking about what I "should" be doing, I started thinking about death. No, almost obsessing about it. I wasn't at any risk of killing myself then. I kept thinking about what would happen to various things if I were to die...my websites, my belongings...I became obsessed with the idea of creating a Death file on my laptop. I wanted to fill it with files laying out what I wanted to have happen...how I'd want Nick's original drawings returned to him because I truly feel that I'm only a temporary caretaker of them...how I'd want Geek-o-Rama offered to Brian and then if he didn't want it, I'd want a post placed on the site and left there for 6 months before shutting the site down. Every 30 minute drive in and out of town for 3 days, I obsessed over this.

Something changed on Wednesday evening...around the time that my friend would have been leaving me to go home...the fog started to lift. You see, in my head, the week had been planned out and when it reached a point where I would have been alone again, somehow it started to get easier. In some ways, it was as if I was living one week out loud and another in my head. At that moment, I came to some realizations and they've been floating in and out of my head since then.

Two paragraphs I said that I was at no risk of killing myself then, but that's not really true. I wasn't going to slit my wrists or take all of my medication at once, but I was killing myself...just slowly and in a way that nobody would realize what I was doing. I was going between starving myself and eating so horribly that it would eventually kill me. I stopped taking care of me and was so lost in the fog that I didn't notice. I was wandering blindly, desperately hoping that someone would reach out and give me something to hold onto.

It didn't happen though. Even though I pretty much disappeared from social media, didn't do the site's work for the week, or talk to anyone, nobody noticed or if they did, they didn't reach out. I was lost and there was nobody looking for me. Please don't misunderstand...I realize that other people are busy or just may not have been aware. I don't blame anyone. I'm not upset with anyone. It just hit home that the only people who said to me, "You matter" were on a Facebook post. It brought home just how isolating the fog is.

So here we are...a week out from the fog...and I'm not quite okay, but perhaps I'm no longer lost. I found my way through and I did it by myself. It was harder than if I'd had someone there to hold my hand but it shows that it can be done. I know that more dark times will come but I also hope that I can remember that I'm stronger than I seem and that I can be brave.




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

For the past few days, I've had multiple posts running around in my head, but I wasn't in a mental or emotional place where I could sit and write without it sounding like I was having some sort of breakdown. I want to start out by assuring everyone that I'm okay. I'm just having a really rough week, but I'm still here and I'm still fighting and that's the part that really matters. Now...on with the post....

Yesterday something happened that put me into a near panic attack like state for almost the entire day. It got so bad that I ended up with a migraine, which oddly enough may be the best thing that could have happened, but we'll get to that. So, what happened?

A friend of mine took the day off from work to celebrate his wife's birthday. He made her breakfast in bed, gave her amazing presents, and perhaps the best gift of all, he gave himself to her for the day. The day really was all about her. I'm sure you're shaking your head wondering what this could have possibly triggered. Fear. It triggered the biggest bout of panic and fear that I've had in a long time.

You see, I have a long history..39 years worth at this point of being tossed aside by nearly every single man who I have ever let get close to me and seeing what he was doing for his wife made me
afraid. I was afraid..and still am, though I'm working on it..that I will never have anything like that. I will never have anyone love me that much.

One thought..seemingly innocent.."I would so badly love for someone to love me like that." turned into a day of hell. My mind spiraled to the point where I was sure that it was impossible. If people saw me the way I see me...well, surely there isn't a single soul out there who could possibly love someone as messed up as me. I cried. I tried to fight my way out of it, but the harder I fought, the deeper I sank. I sank until I could no longer function and I gave up. I had a migraine, no rational way to explain the panic I was feeling, and nobody who I would completely subject them to the entirety that is the insanity that is my brain. So, I gave up. I shut down the laptop and I laid down on the couch. I tried to watch a movie, but I couldn't focus. My mind wouldn't stop. It kept right on going with its lies and nonsense... "You have an upcoming anniversary with someone and I bet they don't even know the date and they're not going to do anything special for you. You'll never be loved like that."

I don't know what suddenly changed. The movie was about over (Life of Brian, for anyone curious. I hadn't seen it yet and thought funny might help) and in the final scene, they start singing this ridiculous song, one I've heard over and over again and suddenly something clicked. All day long, I'd been thinking that I was jealous or envious, but the reality is that I was afraid. None of those three emotional states are rational, but somehow fear is easier to deal with. I know fear to be a way that depression keeps its hold. Depression lies and uses fear to help.

Fear is the reason that I don't lose weight. Fat is a buffer against rejection. When my ex-husband cheated on me and it led to our divorce, my grandmother asked me if I thought it had anything to do with my weight gain throughout our marriage. It hadn't, but the question was out there and as I laid there last night, silence in the house, I realized the fear is keeping me from a lot of things. I don't lose the weight because what if I did and nothing changed, nobody wanted to be with me. I don't go out (partially due to finances) because what if I met someone (male/female/whatever) and I liked them and then I never heard from them again?

Fear and depression pipe up in their twin voices with a single message. It's okay because you don't deserve those things anyway. Nobody could possibly love you or want to be your good friend with your past, with how you are. It's an incredibly hard mental prison to break free from. I've given my heart fully and openly, showed my entire self to just a few people ever and of those, two of them stopped talking to me and have pushed me completely out of their lives. Fear uses that as evidence that it's right.

Knowing that fear is trying to become the motivator in my life is a blessing. Remember I said that the migraine may have been the best thing that could happen to me? This is why. It allowed me to shut out all of the outside noise that bombards so many of us every day. No Facebook, no Twitter, no music, nothing but me and when I can get to the core of me, I can find the problem. Knowing the problem allows for me to find a solution. As you may have heard, knowing is half the battle. The other half is the fight to shut down those voices, but if Fear is the enemy of love, the solution is love. Loving myself and my flaws, acknowledging them but not letting them rule me. It's not going to be easy. I have over 30 years of conditioning to conquer. Still, if I can love myself, take care of myself, and yes, even spoil myself, I'll be doing the best thing that I can do.




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

For the past few days I've gone back and forth with myself as to whether or not I was ready to put this out into the universe. Then, tonight, I read something that my amazing friend, Joel, wrote. (Yes, Joel..you are amazing, all survivors are.) I read his post and then we were texting back and forth. Joel always encourages me to write, to share, and to be me...and this...this post is a part of me.

See that graphic on the left? I found that when I was looking for something that said what a mother is. Here's a secret that I haven't shared with anyone who isn't exceptionally close to me. My mother was none of those things.

Amazing - My mother was determined to be a part of my life, when she felt like it, when it made her look good.
Loving - The first lie I ever remember my mother telling me happened when I was in no more than the first or second grade. I'm still waiting for that dollhouse with the electric lights.
Strong -  My mother couldn't be without a man that she put in front of her children.
Happy - I guess I can't speak to this, but my mother never seemed happy, certainly not when she was screaming at me that she hated me, wished I'd never been born, and that I'd ruined her life.
Selfless - My mother dropped me off at my grandparents' house when I was still a toddler because she couldn't be bothered to be a mother.
Graceful - My mother has never accepted anything or acted with grace. She'll lie to your face if she thinks it will get you out of the way and then do whatever she'd planned to begin with. I've heard her talk behind my back when she thought she couldn't hear me and she tore me apart in front of my children.

I no longer have a relationship with my mother, but she has affected every inch of my life for the past 39 years. I used to say that I learned how not to be a parent by being the daughter of my mother. People will point out that I was raised by my grandparents. That's true and they weren't bad people, but they'd already raised their children, my grandfather had health problems and my younger sister who was his princess. For the most part, I was left to raise myself while they dealt with my mother's drama or my sister. It left me clueless about so many things and left gaps that I had to try to fill in myself.

When my own children came along, I was terrified. What if I were like my mother? What if I was a terrible parent? What if my children turned out like me, broken at the core and left to try to rebuild themselves? My boys are teenagers now and I still live in fear that I'm doing something wrong. Am I too tough on them? Not tough enough? Do they know how much I love them? Have I been able to instill the confidence in them that I never had without it crossing over to them being egotistical idiots? Am I raising them to be independent, giving, loving members of society who only want to improve upon what's here?

I know that all mothers worry that they're not doing a good job. I also know that my fears of being like my mother had me deciding as a teenager to never have children of my own just in case. Clearly that decision didn't stick, but I think about this all the time. When I'm having a bad bipolar day and I feel my control slipping when one of them has pushed me and I say something to them and watch their faces, my heart breaks because I know where that voice came from. I worry that my apologies and my love and how rare it is that it happens isn't enough. I worry that I didn't break the cycle...

Mother's Day is a love, hate, panic kind of day for me every year. I have no mother to celebrate or appreciate. I declared myself an orphan and I meant it. As hard as it was, removing the toxicity of my birth family was one of the best decisions that I made. Still I mourn not having the kind of relationships that I see on tv, in the movies, or even with a few friends and their parents.

As a mother myself, I long for the breakfasts in bed, the days off, the hey let's do whatever mom wants today kind of mother's days. Part of me judges how good of a mother I am by that one day a year. As a mother to teenage boys, I know how ridiculous that is and sometimes I cling to the little things like Roger wanting to go grocery shopping with me because he was bored and I'm pretty fun to talk to..or Ben saying he'll help me with the house by doing dishes if I want. Still, my heart worries and it takes my head right along with it and in the end, mother's day...a day to celebrate me just leaves me in tears, completely rung out.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

I don't know how many people read my post earlier today, but this is a follow up to that. What I wrote earlier was based purely on anxiety and emotion and was logical in its own way, but not in the way it should have been.

I want to start out this post by thanking people for either giving me hugs, coming up with options, reminding me of legalities, or in the case of one just plain telling me that I was wrong.

Was I wrong? Not entirely. Like I said, there was some logic in how I was thinking. I really do love it here and don't want to lose this house because of my own hoarding issues. I'm also proud of me that I know that I deserve to live in a house that has things like hot water, something most of us take for granted these days.

Was I right? Not entirely. I never should have let the anxiety take over. I should have taken a deep breath, looked around at the work I had already accomplished, created a plan to deal with the rest and then contacted the owner of the house. I have a problem with overreacting before thinking clearly. I usually come around to the right side, but it's not always my first response to something. On top of that, I'm still forgiving myself for things getting how they were. So my instinct was to go into a mode where I felt ashamed and didn't want to let anyone in.

Nick was right. I was letting the anxiety make decisions for me and that isn't me taking care of myself. It's not me standing up for myself, even to myself.  I guess I'm still learning. I've come a long way but the journey isn't over and I know that I'm blessed to have someone who is willing to say hey, you're wrong. Even if it makes me defensive, it usually makes me stop and think too..because who likes being wrong?

So what's next? An email will be going out to the owner of the house about the water heater. She's always been good about getting things fixed when I let her know something was wrong. I need to keep working on shutting down the anxiety I feel about being on a month to month lease. I know we've been good about paying rent on time, we're rarely a problem and it is her responsibility to make sure the house is in livable condition.

After that? Well, I've started tackling the dining alcove. Who knows, maybe by the end of the weekend, it will be complete and the boys and I can sit at the table again to eat and play games. Won't that be a lovely thing? For now though, I have about 30 minutes before I have to go pick up the boys and I don't have a shopping list yet! Time to create one!




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

The plumber came. The plumber went. Nothing is repaired. Why? Because it's worse than anyone realized. Someone installed shoddy plumbing and pipes need to replaced. The good news is that it's only for the kitchen drain, not the whole house. The water heater wouldn't light and the gentleman who came out only does line snaking. The furnace and water heater vent together and the vent is rusting out. The water heater is ancient...and on and on it goes..

I'm not going to lie to you. I'm currently sitting on my couch with tears running down my face. Not because any of this is impossible to get fixed, but because I worked so hard to get the house to a place where I could let someone come in to fix these things and nothing got fixed. On top of that, I posted my frustrations to Facebook and while I'm thrilled that a few people jumped in to remind me of leases and laws, I feel a bit as if I'm being lectured as if I don't know that I ought to contact my landlord when something breaks...I do know..but I haven't and I won't. At least right now, I won't. I can't.

You see, I'm a hoarder. Remember? Maybe my landlord can't remove me because an ancient water heater breaks, but she can if she doesn't feel as if I'm caring for the property and having to wade into a room isn't caring for anything. I've worked really hard these past few months and I have four rooms that are functional spaces (except for what's broken). That's huge progress and I'm proud of it..but it's not enough. If I call them and tell them there are problems, they'll send someone out...that someone could be a spy for them. I know that sounds paranoid, but it's happened before. Until this downstairs is 100% , I cannot let them in here.

And it's hard...it's so damn hard. Everyone is acting as if I can't take care of myself, as if I'm not taking care of myself and they don't understand. I'm trying to protect myself. I'm trying to fix things. I'm trying to undo years and years of trauma and habits to reclaim my world, to make things better. This isn't about the fact that I don't know the owner should handle these repairs. This isn't about me not knowing my rights as a tenant. This is about me. It's about me trying to fix me. It's about me having the space to do those things and I can't do that if I'm sitting here worrying that someone might report back to her that the place is a disaster. The bipolar brain looooves obsessive thoughts, after all.

So yes, if me paying a plumber god knows what to replace a section of pipe will buy me some peace of mind then I'm going to do it. Is it going to frustrate me that some owner in the past 100 years went with cheap fixes instead of proper repairs? Hell yes it is. I hate half assed done things. Are there going to be tears? Yep. Sometimes I just need to cry out the frustration and the feelings of being ashamed so that I can reset and go on to tackle the next thing.

I say this to remind myself ....I can do this. I am doing this. I am being the change I need within my own world and if people don't understand, all I can do is try to help them to. I know people think I'm crazy (and I am..it's been certified, check my medical records), but this is what I need to do for me. Who knows...maybe I'll whip through these last 2 downstairs spaces and then be comfortable contacting the owner. Maybe I won't. I need to do this in my time to prevent setbacks.

I'm working hard at this and what I need is for people to try to be understanding that if I don't do things the "normal" way, there's probably a reason for it. I haven't been as public about some of my issues as I have about others, but one by one, I'm knocking down mountains and support is always appreciated. Remember those goals that I posted yesterday? Today is another day to chip away at them.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Every once in a while someone will ask me when my struggles with bipolar disorder began. I never really had an answer but for whatever reason, the question popped into my head last night and I spent some time actually thinking back over my life and the answer surprised me.

Most people with bipolar disorder start showing symptoms in their mid 20s. I'm not sure if that's the case with me. I would say that I was showing warning signs a good decade before that. I was in high school when I sat on my bike on the side of the highway where we lived. Now, to most of you, that wouldn't be a big deal. If this were an infomercial this is where the sales guy would say, "But wait! There's more!" Let me tell you about that day...

It was a typical sunny day. There was nothing majorly wrong in my world. I had decided to go for a bike ride around town so I was sitting at the end of our driveway, waiting for the traffic to clear when it happened. I looked up and saw my school bus coming down the highway. She must have finished her route and was on the way back to the bus garage. With a sort of cold detachment, I looked down at my bike, back up at the bus, and wondered what it would be like to ride in front of it and get hit. Without a second thought, my feet were on the pedals and I was racing through the gap. I made it to the other side before she hit me. She told me later that I'd nearly given her a heart attack.

It should have been a warning that perhaps my brain didn't work the same way as everyone else around me, but nobody noticed when I would do these sorts of things. The only thing that was ever noticed was that my grandmother used to comment how I was the least compassionate person that she knew. She never noticed that it was only in certain situations.

Even now, I know that people are puzzled how I can be the woman that people say has the biggest heart and who is always there for people and yet at times, I am completely cold. It's not an uncommon symptom of bipolar disorder. Emotions can be crazy, no pun intended. They're always intense but sometimes they just disappear and you're left just feeling numb. As hard as it is for those around me, it's harder on me. I know I should feel something and the fact that I don't, even over something big, scares me. It makes me wonder if I'm not slightly sociopathic during those times.

There have been other times throughout my life where I've had that same detachment when it comes to pain or death, but there have only been two times that I have gotten to the point where there was no detachment and I had planned out how I was going to kill myself. I think that perhaps it was with that first time that I never truly recovered and the bipolar had set in. It was always there, but that emotional break gave it a chance to become something I no longer had the strength to fight against.

It would be another 15 years before I would get a diagnosis. In between I would watch my marriage fall apart (and always wonder a little if this played into at all), move away, be diagnosed with depression (which happens far too often because people with bipolar disorder seek help when they're depressed and doctors don't always think to ask about the other side), have my heart broken into a million pieces, move back to Michigan and lose at least one other person I loved intensely due to this disorder and his inability to deal with what it did to me.

So, if you asked me when it all started, it's still hard to say. I've lived with ptsd since I was a toddler so I will never know if those early days were that or warning signs there would be worse to come. I can only say that once you've been through hell and back and lost track of how many times, you realize that deep down you're a fighter and you will fight until you just can't anymore and you pray that when those times come, you have those who love you who will hold you up until you have the strength to stand again.




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

I'm tired and not the normal kind of tired. I call this depression tired..this unnatural need/desire to sleep all of the time. I feel as if I only have the energy to be up for tiny pockets of time and then I want to sleep again. It's hard to function when all you want to do is sleep and even though you battle, there's no real winning the war.

I know what triggered this, but like the battle for energy, there's nothing I can do to change the cause. I went to a convention last weekend and it was good. It was wonderful being back out among people and not just any people, but people who love indie comics as much as I do. I even helped do a panel which was amazing. It felt so good to talk about things that I knew and to have zero doubt that I knew what I was talking about.

I have to admit just remembering that experience has put a smile on my face. You see..I had planned on writing a personal post about my time in Columbus, but this wasn't it. It is now. You never know where things are going to go when you sit down to write, or at least I don't.

So, here's the thing...Columbus was a test for me. For the past year, I've shut myself off more and more. Some have noticed, most haven't. It's easy to hide when you don't live near anyone and everyone is so busy with their lives that they don't notice when you quietly slip away. Very few reach out and say hey, where did you go? I'm lucky that very few doesn't equal zero. Still, I needed some answers.

As I shut myself away, I slowly convinced myself that my other site would be better off without me. I wasn't sure if I still had the passion to do what needed to be doing. After all, the best person to run a site is someone who feels passionate about what the site does. With the struggles I've had over the past year, I wasn't sure if that person was me anymore. So, I decided that I needed to either find out or hand the site over to my second in command.

The test? Take myself off to a convention that is strictly 100% tiny indie comics..no vendors, no larger indie publishers that we already work with, just tiny indie guys. I figured that by the end of the weekend, I would know just how I felt about the industry and my future with Geek-o-Rama. Turns out that I was right. By the time I got back to the hotel room Sunday night and had a chance to reflect, I had my answers. I still love what I do. I love meeting new people and hearing about their passion for an industry that isn't the easiest to break into. I love being able to give bits of advice (though seriously, I may need to start charging consulting fees) and being able to share what I (and my amazing staff) do with them. Don't get me wrong, I still love working with the bigger indie publishers, but my heart will always lie with the underdog.

Honestly, it came as an incredible relief. I was afraid that this was one more thing that had been taken from me. It wasn't though and over the summer, I plan on diving back into the pool and working harder than ever.

To close out this post, how about a Top 5 list of random things from SPACE 2016?

1. Spending $5 to purchase an 11 year old's first comic and an art print from her is something that will never stop bringing a smile to my face. It's important to support our children's passions.
2. Having towels in your hotel room is really a good thing and hotels should be on top of that.
3. There's something great about making random connections on the road with people you'll never see again, but in that moment, you connected.
4. Waffle House post con with two really fun people is an experience that I hope to have again. One of the toughest parts of conventions is the sitting alone in a hotel room with takeout afterwards.
5. I really do love what I do and I need to stop letting anxiety get in the way of getting out there. 

If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Once upon a time, I used to write. I wrote stories. I wrote poems. I wrote articles. I was always writing. Then, I stopped. Oh, it wasn't all at once. It was bit by bit. First, the poetry stopped. Then, the stories. My blog posts became fewer and further between. I desperately tried to hold on by keeping my recipes flowing, but even they stopped after a while.

My writing became limited to Facebook posts, occasional tweets, and even more occasional reviews. As my mental health issues grew worse, I found it was easier to give in to the silence. I convinced myself, or maybe the depression convinced me, that I didn't need to write, that I had nothing left to share with the world and if I did, no one was listening. Instead, I took other people's words and I tweaked them. I poured pieces of myself into other people's work. I became an editor. I took pride in my work and when something went to print, it was as if I were still putting a piece of myself out into the world.

That's changing. I find myself frustrated that they're not my words. Recently, a story that I did the editing on went to print and even the author didn't give me public credit for the work that I had done. I knew the publisher wouldn't put my name in the book, but I thought the author would thank me when he thanked others. Except, he didn't. It hurt. I'd never had that happen before. My authors always have made sure that I got credit when it was due.

Now, I find myself wondering if I'm still a writer. Are the words still there inside of me? Can I put them down again and make them sing? Can I find that part of me again that was one that I cherished the most and was the hardest to let go? Or am I destined to just be the tweaker of everyone else's words, silent in my work, an unsung hero in the publishing world? Or worse, will this part of me continue to fade away until it's gone completely?

Or is this the first step?



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

When I wrote the other day, I mentioned "people hoarding" in passing towards the end. I'm back here again to write about that because it's been on my mind ever since it came up in conversation with Justin. So, here we go...this isn't going to be pretty, but as always, it's going to be me...

Sometimes in life, you have a light bulb moment and with people who have things like ocd, for them to make progress, that has to happen. Justin and I were talking the other night...okay, he was talking, I was...what's the word..venting? ranting? I was pouring everything out that had been stuck inside my head. One of the things I said was that I don't know why I even keep certain people in my world...and he agreed with me. Neither of us was sure why I kept people around, even those who had been horrible to me. Then, there was the light bulb. I keep people around for the same reason I keep stuff around. It's a security blanket. I'm afraid that if I cut them loose, it means that I've given up on them and I've had people give up on me and know how painful that can be.

It's more than that though. I'm afraid that if I cut them loose, others may leave and soon, I'll be completely alone. Is that rational? Heck no. Is it a pretty typical thought pattern for someone with anxiety and other issues? Heck yes. We worry that we're such a burden that everyone is going to leave..we're just too much work to be friends with, to love.

With any light bulb moment comes a decision. Do I stay in this pattern or do I try to break it? Today, I'm going to work on breaking it. It's going to be hard. It's going to hurt. With each person, I'm going to mourn what we had and that they chose to not have that. I'm going to list those people here, not out of some sense of revenge, but as a reminder to me of what these people did. In a way, it will be me saying goodbye to them...and as I finish each person, I'll be removing them from my social media and other accounts...It's time to move on with those who truly love and care about me.

Zac - Cheated on his girlfriend with me (I had no idea he was with someone). A few years later, our paths crossed again and he talked about having a relationship with me. Instead, he lied to mutual friends about me, tried to create drama, and then when something happened within the group, allowed his girlfriend who didn't know me to threaten my life.

Brian - Became an incredibly close friend, asked me out and then started dating his best friend that I didn't care for. The problem was that he just stopped talking to me and I had to find this out through a mutual friend. I was okay with him dating her but the fact that he refuses to talk to me tells me that our friendship wasn't all that important to him.

Dawn - Yes, as in my mother. The list of things she's done is too long to mention. Let's just say that her latest childish behavior has pushed me to go past avoidance to just plain removing.

Mark - Yes, my father. He's had a lot of years to make an attempt at being part of my life and instead is just on the drama train with the rest of them. No thanks.

Jim - Someone I considered one of my closest friends. So close that I gave him my grandfather's pen set the last time we exchanged Christmas gifts. Then, he got a girlfriend, got a new grasp on religion and suddenly I no longer existed in his world. He stopped responding to all messages, didn't return phone calls and when a mutual friend died didn't even call me...even when I left a sobbing message on his voice mail.

Other Family - There are a few other family members on my friends list on Facebook and there's really no reason for them to be. I have no relationship with them and due to circumstances, have no real desire to.

That's it for now...I know others will come to mind over time and I hope I have the strength to say goodbye and to move on. Just like surrounding myself with trash and stuff isn't good for my physical or mental health, neither is having these beacons of negativity around. They're constant reminders of people who made me feel as if I wasn't good enough. Even though it's hard, it's time to tell myself that I deserve only the best people in my life, not those who would hurt me without a second thought.

I'm not going to lie to any of you and say that this is easy. My anxiety levels are high and there's that little voice saying, "What if these were the best people you could get?" and "What if there's some kind of fallout from this?"  I'm not listening though. I'm hearing, but I'm not listening. I know for a fact that I have some amazing people in my world already so the first is nonsense. As for the second, I'm fairly certain that none of the people listed above will even notice.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Today isnt a good day and I question my own judgement in writing this here, but I swore that I would live my life out loud, where people could see that others go through maybe what they're going through....and so here we are...

About ten minutes ago, I posted this to Facebook...soon it will go onto my other site:

I want to apologize in advance that I may be scarce in the coming weeks/months. I have some mental and physical health problems that I need to take care of and really focus on. This may mean me taking more time for myself so that I can get well enough to tackle life head on again. I've been trying to juggle so much that I'm not giving my best to anything and the guilt and stress of that are adding to everything and are taking their toll. I know that I owe things to people and I will get them done. I just can't say when. All I can do is apologize and hope that you can understand that right now I need some time away from things that aren't directly helping me get better.

 I promise all of you that I will get better and I will come back stronger. I'm not disappearing but taking a step back. Call me, text me, email me, message me...it all helps but please understand that right now my focus is on fixing myself and my world. I love you all very, very much. That will never change. I just want to be okay and that's going to take some work.

I wrote that last night and waited about ten hours before posting it. I had hoped that sleep would change how I felt, but it didn't. I feel as if I'm falling apart and nobody sees me anymore. Oh sure, the rational part of my brain knows that isn't true, but as so often is the case with the things I suffer with, the rational side isn't completely in charge.  Instead, I find myself in this place that I don't understand and I don't like. For 90% of Valentines Day, I was okay. It was just another day and then suddenly a post was made by a friend of mine and I got angry. I got angry that he's with someone and I'm not...and yes, a bit that when he was single, he didn't notice me. Please, don't mistake this for jealousy. It could easily be seen that way and it's not. It's not just certain people being in relationships. It happens when a friend had a story published in an anthology and I saw him give a ton of credit for it to someone else even though I was his cheerleader and his editor. It happens when someone tells me I have no idea what I'm talking about even though I've been doing something for years. It's just that right now, I'm having these knee jerk reactions...I'm reacting and it's taking every last bit of energy that I have not to lash out. I'm living in a constant state of stress...my chest feels as if it's ice cold and burning at the same time all the time. I'm breaking apart and though I know there are others struggling too, all I seem to be able to see is everyone else's joy...new babies, new relationships, happy relationships, etc. More and more I feel like an outsider and it allows my fears to get a stronger grip.

Things that I thought I had gotten past...like my family and their pure jackassedness ...are popping up and instead of walking away and shaking my head, I'm struggling with the desire to just tell them precisely how I feel about how they're behaving now and in the past. My blood pressure is up, my body is one stress reaction after another...
 
How many of us have seen this image on places like Facebook? I'm sure a lot of us. I saw it again last night and it hit me...I'm not getting better. I had been getting better, but something shifted and now I'm getting bitter. When I feel as if nobody sees me or nobody appreciates what I do, I'm getting angry. I'm getting frustrated. I just want to throw my hands up in the air and walk away from everything. I want to say "fuck off" to everyone and just live a life of seclusion where I can be alone...except, I'd be alone with my anger and everything else. It wouldn't help. 

There's so much more to this....how I've become afraid of the outside world, why I hoard people even those who have been nasty to me, how I don't feel as if I'm worth spending $35 on....and I know that I'll write those and maybe a few of you will read them and maybe it will resonate with one or two of you and somehow help. If it helps even one person, it makes the fight a little more worth it. 



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

I never wanted to go back and yet here I am. It's been about six weeks since everything seemed to fall apart and in those six weeks, I've slowly been trying to piece my world...myself...back together again and all it took was a couple of pictures and I'm on the floor, curled up, crying all over again.

PTSD can be a bitch like that. All it takes is one little thing and suddenly you're reliving everything all over again. I thought I was getting better. Sure, there were rough moments, but I'd kept going. I'd fought. Even in the worst of it, he told me that I would get back up again and go on kicking ass like I always did.

I'd been trying to condition myself for things that might come...things that might hurt...things that might trigger, but I didn't expect them to come the way they did. I didn't prepare myself. I have this cold spot. It's right in the middle of my chest. If you touch it, the skin is actually colder there. It's as if seeing what I did sent an ice arrow right through me and it's so cold that it burns. It'd been weeks since that had happened. I was stronger. I was ready to move on.

Now, it's as if everything just happened. I want to hide. I cry. I sob. I pant trying to stop myself from hyperventilating. My skin feels like there's something crawling and I have to fight not to scratch. Every single awful thing keeps running through my head like a movie reel. I stare at my screen...at pictures of friends...and I whisper help me, someone please help me. Take me from this hell...but they can't hear me. I'm alone in this awful place.

Why do I write this? I write this to save myself. Maybe if I share this with the world then maybe there's a chance I can survive this. Maybe I can tap more into the anger that's deep inside of me...anger at myself for giving anyone this kind of control in my life and anger with him for letting his cowardice lead to cruelty. The fact that it's in there means there's hope. I'm not totally lost to this. Maybe if I share this, someone else will realize that they're not alone when it happens to them.

So what's next for me? I don't rightly know. More and more I'm starting to think that therapy is something I should seek. There's also the voice of someone I love in my head telling me to fight, not to hide...I don't know what I'm going to do. Hiding keeps me safe from the world and the scary things in it. Nobody can hurt me if I don't open myself up to them.  I feel as if I don't really have anyone that I can talk to about this. The platitudes don't help a lot though the thought behind them is appreciated. Those who try to intellectualize this just make it worse. My support network has gone eerily quiet, even when I've tried to reach out. I don't judge. I know life gets busy and that there's not always the time for things like this.

For today, I'll make some lunch...and wish that I weren't always the one reaching out to those I love...and maybe let the cat have her way in her desires to sit on me.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Over the past few weeks, it's been pointed out to me that I've changed...the girl who used to be so open has hidden herself away, she's more careful with what she says and she doesn't really talk to anyone anymore. Sure, she posts on social media, but it's shallow. It's not what's inside her. It's just enough so that people will leave her alone.

Those people are right. Losing Reece changed me. It woke up every feeling of insecurity and worthlessness that I've ever felt. It took me to a place that I never thought I would see again. A few weeks ago, I planned on killing myself. While I'm glad that I didn't, living with these feelings has been incredibly hard. I've shut myself off to most people. People scare me. There. I said it. People scare me.

There are very few people that I trust right now and it's to those people that I turn. They're doing their best to remind me how amazing and awesome I am and while I don't argue with them, it's hard for me to believe them. What happened to the girl who was starting to believe that she could do anything? It's as if she got knocked down and then trampled on until there was nothing of her left but a battered and bruised shell.

The thing about bruises is that they heal. Some take longer than others, but broken bones, broken hearts, and bruises all heal. It's a process and for someone who constantly has a voice in their head that tears them apart, it can be a long process. Yes, I've hidden myself away but I needed to. I needed to focus on myself and deciding if I were worth the effort. I'm not ready to come out yet. I need this time with me so I can try to be okay again. I have doubts that I'll ever find happy again, but right now, okay seems like a pretty good place to be.

Yes, people scare me, but I know that over time I'll slowly start to stick my head out again. I'll find my place and maybe even love again, but right now, I'm going to be quiet. I'm going to protect my heart because it's fragile. The wrong thing said by someone I care about starts the tears flowing. Letting even a few in has been incredibly hard when all I want to do is hide. We're all built with the instinctual fight or flight response. Mine has always been flight. By letting even one person in, I'm trying to fight. I'm trying to silence the awful feelings of worthlessness, of being forgettable, of being a nobody unworthy of anything good.

I'm here...and I'm fighting...but for me, right now, it's a silent fight...



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

I should probably apologize for falling off the face of the Earth, but all I'm going to say is that the past few months took on a life of their own and everything came to a head last Tuesday.

I'm not going to get into a lot of details here because on some level, they just don't matter. What matters is the end result.

As most of you know, I deal with a multitude of mental issues every day...bipolar 2, ptsd, anxiety, ocd...and most of the time, I manage. This time, I didn't. In the midst of a depressive cycle, the man that I had fallen in love with decided that he wanted to pursue a relationship with someone else. It was too much. I've been fighting my own demons for months and I was emotionally exhausted. I had nothing left.

So, last Wednesday, while driving into town to do homework with the kids, my brain wouldn't stop ticking. It wouldn't stop thinking about everything and suddenly, I had this moment of clarity..the kind where everything seems to fall into place. I didn't want to live anymore. I wanted to die. This wasn't just one of those passing thoughts. It was as if a lightbulb had gone off in my head. There's no reason for me to be on this planet. I could die and life would go on for everyone else and it would be okay. Everyone had someone. They didn't need me.

I did homework with Ben. I tried to spend time with Roger. I tried not to cry. The one person who I had trusted more than anyone on this planet reached out to me and I told him. Even though just seeing his name caused me physical pain, I told him. He reached out to others who tried to contact me. I ignored them all. I didn't want to be talked out of this. The decision felt right.

When it was time to leave the school, I sat in my car saying goodbye to my children, to those that I love. I sat there crying for a while, the pain raw and consuming. Then, I started my car and headed out of town. As each car passed me, I prayed that it would hit me and I would die. I scouted places where if I drove my car off fast enough, it might roll or hit a tree or cause enough damage that I wouldn't live. As I got closer to home, a truck stopped a ways up in front of me and for a few moments, my foot didn't reach for the brake. I thought if I ran into him, it might kill me and I almost didn't hit the brake. In the end, I did...simply because I wanted to come home and finalize some things...then, the next night, I would do it. Some would say this was me looking for a way out, but it wasn't. I wanted to die. I just didn't want to leave more chaos behind me than was going to happen anyway.

In the end, I made it home alive and since I'm here writing this, you can guess I didn't go out the next day and off myself. Some tiny thing shifted and while every day has had its battles, I'm still here. Still, I'm tired and I'm fragile. Sometimes I'm living minute by minute, not day by day. Mantras that worked in the past are now contorted by what has happened. My brain changes you are loved to you are alone. The battle with myself is one of the hardest that I've fought.

Is there a moral to this story or even a point? If there is, I'd say that it's a simple one. Take care of those you love. Don't accept I'm fine as a response to how are you? Get details. Care enough to listen. Be there for one another and if nothing else, hold someone's hand so that they don't feel as if they're alone as they struggle simply to survive.



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

I've spent the past 30 hours wanting to write here, even needing to write here but not knowing what to say. I always find that to be such a sad irony; the girl who has a writer's soul not knowing what to write. I guess let's start with what the doctor said...

I broke it down for some friends like this:

1. It turns out that I'm brilliant. IQ testing, for what it's worth, put me at smarter than 90% of the people on the planet.
2. I have PTSD that mostly likely began when I was about 3 and has continued untreated well into adulthood. The other "traumas" that I have gone through have only made it worse and in part most likely led to...
3. What is most likely Bipolar II disorder. The testing that I did wasn't geared towards that but it did come up as a possibility and after discussing my symptoms that the testing didn't go over, he's pretty convinced.

So...now what? Now, I wait to hear back from my primary care doctor to see if they'll write me a prescription for a lithium based medication. I also have to call and set up a therapy schedule with a therapist who specializes in trauma therapy for women and children.

On paper, that's where I am right now. Inside my head, I'm so far from there. The stress and anxiety of yesterday has led to exhaustion and depression today. Add into that what one friend calls the "female chemical factory" that's going on inside of my body and I'm left wondering what the point of it all is.

I'd love to be able to say don't worry, I'll be fine, but the reality is..or at least the reality inside of my own head...I don't know. I don't know if I will ever be "fine" again. I look around and I see people smiling and laughing and so much of the time, it feels as if I don't even recognize those emotions. I put on a brilliant show, but deep down, I'm not sure what happy even is.

There are times..maybe too many times..that I sit and think about how I wish nobody really cared about me because then I could just vanish. Somehow, I could just cease to exist on this planet and the world would be such a better place. The oddest part? When I have those thoughts, I'm disconnected from them. There's no deep emotional well that they're coming from. If I were to say it out loud, it would be said in that same bored tone like, "Yeah, I should take the garbage out."

So I would love to say don't worry...because I'll be okay, but instead it's don't worry, you'll be okay. Who knows, maybe I will be too. After all, this is only 2/3 of my world...the rest of it is nothing like this...

For now though, I'm going to leave you with two posts..written by someone who has said and illustrated it so much better than I can right now. She's been there, so she understands...please go and read these and leave her your support.

Adventures in Depression Part I and Adventures in Depression Part II



If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons:

Tomorrow is the day where I find out if I'm officially crazy. I've said it before and I guess I'm going to say it again...I don't know which idea is scarier..the one where he looks at me and says there's nothing wrong with you or the one where he looks at me and says yeah, you were right. You have entire subscriptions to issues. I've spent so many years fighting this and I'm so tired. I'm so dang tired and scared.

I'm tired of the days where I wake up and my brain just doesn't work right. It's so hard to explain. It's like I'm in a room and one minute, it's open and light and airy. The next minute, it's filled with dense fog and suddenly there are walls that I can't see and I keep smacking into them. If I try to push past it, I get terrible headaches.

I'm tired of the days where everything seems to be okay but then suddenly I'm caught up in this whirlwind of fear and anxiety and all I can do is sit and rock while I cry, whispering please can't someone help me? Those are the days where I feel so incredibly alone. I feel as if nobody on the planet has the time to just sit and spend a bit of time talking to me. Those are the days when I want to throw myself at the feet of some and beg them to just hug me and tell me that it's going to be okay because okay is the last thing that I can see.

I'm even tired of the up days. The up days where everything is remarkably clear and I can focus and my brain works at super sonic speeds and I get a thousand things done. I'm happy and cheerful and optimistic and nothing can bring me down. They also leave me exhausted, both mentally and physically. Plus, I can't maintain those levels and when I crash, I crash hard.

I'm tired of living life on this rollercoaster where there are times when I don't feel as if I have any control. I'm tired of the "side effects" of living a life this way. I need answers and tomorrow, I will get answers. It's been close to two weeks since I sat in that room and took a battery of tests. Before I took the tests, the psychologist told me that he thinks part of my problem is that I'm too smart and that I'm not using my brain to its potential so it gets bored and bored brains are bad things. He wasn't surprised that I found myself doing editing since it requires a high level of intelligence and attention to detail. Then, I took the tests and I left feeling like an idiot. It's not surprising. The tests are meant to challenge your brain and mine hasn't been properly challenged in a long time. It's like using muscles that haven't been used in years..they moan and groan and struggle.

Tomorrow, I get answers and I'm scared. Deep down I know that it will all be okay but on those upper levels, I'm scared and I just want someone to hug me, to hold me and to tell me that it's all going to be okay.




If you like what you've read here, please share it with others using these buttons: