Writing Words With the Tips of My Toes
Having a mental illness that hasn’t found its right meds yet means being sick all the time. Also, I have fibromyalgia, which likes to creep up on me in unexpected moments in the form of flares or annoying pain that should not be present because, seriously, I’ve only been standing for ten minutes and my hips and lower back are already killing me.
In any case, it’s freaking hard trying to keep my head above the water when my depression makes me irritable 99% of the time. I just don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to have anything to do with anyone. I don’t want to eat, read, play games, watch television. I just want to sleep because I feel detached from it all.
People think being depressed means being sad all the time. I wish, because when I am in my sad cycles, I’m more sensitive toward people and just want to make others smile because the thought of others being in pain makes me want to break down crying. But no. Depression primarily involves irritability, anxiety, and apathy.
I am doing everything in my power to stay attached to the idea of self-publishing my novel. Because it is exciting. It’s exciting to know I’m taking control of my own dream. This damn dream I’ve had since I was freaking eight. It’s hard though. I’m tired all the time. Sometimes mentally drained, sometimes physically. For no reason. Or perhaps a reason: I’m sick, but some people don’t want to hear that because they can’t understand it when I don’t work twelve hour days or parent. Being tired all the time makes me wonder how I’m going to be able to edit once that time comes. But I’ve got to try, right? It’s my dream, and no matter how I’m feeling, I have to continuously remind myself this book is my dream.
But then there is the irritability and apathy, these two demons that creep in my head and try to make me not care about my book. I’m fighting them though because these two demons don’t stay all day. And I don’t want them anyway. It’s not easy though, especially because I don’t have the right meds. These feelings are here for no reason–or perhaps a reason. They eat at me, and I hate it. I just have to think about the book though, while not obsessing about the book.
I’m having a rough time. A hard time. I’ll admit that. But if you’re a dreamer like me, the tough times can’t kill your purpose. This book is my purpose. No matter how I’m feeling, no matter if I want to die one day or cry the next because bipolar depression sucks, I will remind myself about this book. Heck, tomorrow, I’m designing my trilogy’s logo type thing. And I’m going to put it on a canvas tote bag or something.
You just gotta keep dreaming. Hold on to your dreams. Because the moment you let them go, you’re good as dead. I heard that somewhere, but I don’t remember.