Been feeling somewhat discouraged, to the point that I took a week off writing anything intensive basically under the advisement of my therapist. I've had to reflect on why I write at all. Beyond the sheer need to just do it, because my life becomes indefinably bad if I don't, it's clear that I literally have no sense of self worth and writing feels like the only skill I have with which I can prove myself. My internal life is a high-stakes world based off a histrionic variation of the Ingmar Bergman quote, "I don't create, I don't exist." Specifically, it's, "If I don't create, I don't have the right to exist!"
Even the motivation to succeed so I can say "That'll show them!" of the people who cut away at my self worth over the years -- sometimes coming away with whole, bloody chunks -- still grants them lawful possession over that worth.
This is all getting a bit difficult to write about in an almost hilariously literal sense. I guess I'm dissociating, and doing so bad enough that I keep getting paralyzed. It's genuinely difficult to be honest in public any more, at least where it involves the ruinous state of my mental health. I got roundly abused for it in the past by people who I thought were my friends, and the fear of either being told that my problems aren't that bad or, weirdly, having someone judge my writing style in a largely unedited blog post that I wrote in a mood of mental stress, are both overwhelming.
I must reclaim the right to be honest about myself. Openness on the subjects is my ideal. I know that I've been helped by people who were willing to talk openly about their experiences online (including this old blog, which I read back in high school), though lately, it feels like a huge presumption to even consider that I might be helpful to anyone.
To make it short, the period of time between the last blog post and today has been a mess of the usual crushing doubt, alternating with the blithe and inflated sense of feeling fine and not engaging with All That™, fighting my ADHD-related RSD (Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria) over all the rejection letters (yes, I know that's part of the industry, but try telling that my RSD. Also, try telling me that the industry is good for anyone's mental health), and then the like 2-3 day resurgences of outrageously intense self-harm urges that I have to actively resist whenever I am not blankly staring at a screenful of Farscape or Civilization 6 (my vice as of late). Those self harm urges can make doing the dishes really difficult, let me tell you.
I am planning on signing up to do some online classes through CSU, specifically their Master Gardener certification and their Landscape Design program. The best job I ever had was doing gardening, so the hope is that I can get back into that field some day (though Colorado Springs doesn't seem to be ripe with opportunity, and probably won't be for a while what with this economy!) rather than going back into the service industry.
I'm also trying to figure out which short story idea comes next. I've made several starts, but none of them feels quite right. Then I've got an inchoate mass of ideas floating around that can be separated into probably five or more short stories, one of which involves this thing:
(The writing on the facing page is unrelated, for a small roleplay I have been slowly doing with a friend).
Even the story that involves that monster, which is the sort of raw form of a deity, involves rooting through my trauma for inspiration, which is a double-edged sword that I'm struggling to approach lately. μέν, it can help me get a story done in a rush of inspiration, δέ, it's a bit rough on the mind to begin submitting that story to places. Besides, it's been a bit difficult to approach all that lately.
Well, I must eat lunch, and then I must spend some time editing today. I am planning on submitting to The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction when they open submissions back up. I gotta get these rejection letters as fast as possible. Give me more, more, more!
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