Thursday, 19 February 2015

Don't bother reading this, I'm just venting.

I have writer's block. I'm stuck. A couple of weeks ago I wrote over 7,000 words on my manuscript and since then I've only stared at a blank page. Crap.

There's probably a thousand reasons I can't get past this, of course here I am writing about the fact that I can't write. I have things going on now in my life that are taking priority in my head. First off we have made the decision to surrender the dog, Prometheus. He can easily walk over the back fence now, and the other day he attacked a young boy, who I should point out, was asking for it, but that is no excuse. I can't have a dog that attacks. There's other problems with him, he's destructive, he won't let anyone in the house, he's too rambunctious for us, overall, he's just too much to handle. It was suggested that we just chain him up outside and that will stop him from jumping the fence, but is that any way for a dog to live? He's a greyhound labrador mix, it's in his blood to run. And run he does. Right over the fence. So that's on our minds to the point that ironically enough, I'm the one talking people off a ledge.

I'm not used to being the one to talk people down. For the past four years or so I've been the one with debilitating mental illness that has this house on edge. I've been the one with the breakdowns so bad that my family has to work hard to bring me out of. Freaking out, panic attacks so bad I can't breathe, aggressive outbursts, manic states, and slumps of serious depression. It's fun! Now the shoe's on the other foot, someone in here is suffering similarly to me, and I have to talk him down. I haven't got a clue how. It's kinda like the patient diagnosing the doctor. I'm no doctor. So that aspect of recent life has increased my stress greatly. I haven't got the foggiest idea when an episode will occur, just like the family with my episodes. They're random and unpredictable. Yesterday I found myself talking on person off a ledge while at the same time consoling another about the dog. I'm not a very good multi-tasker and it showed. I'm not good at this therapy stuff unless I'm on the receiving end.

There's a host of other issues going on in my head, but I won't get into them here. Suffice it to say I've had no sleep lately. I lay awake at night wondering how to solve the problems, which in itself becomes a problem. Then I worry about how to solve the problem of not being able to get to sleep because I'm too concerned about other problems. See the problem? Someone please tell me a solution instead!

I have a story in my head that's been there for years. It's a good tale, full of mystery, intrigue and adventure. But for now it will stay in my head because life is getting in the way. Fiction is pushed aside for non-fiction, and that's kinda boring. So I write that aspect here, not so much to get readers as it is to get it out of my head. This blog is a release for me. It's a place I can log my thoughts and hopes and problems for future reference. I often go back and read the old posts just to see if I've changed, and low and behold, I have. I have written about the worst times of my illness and I've written about eureka moments, this is neither, it's a long drawn out status update. But I digress.

A couple of weeks ago I changed directions because of the writer's block. In the process of researching topics for the manuscript I saw something shiny and walked towards the light. In the distraction I found myself looking at old family records. We've been researching our family heritage for about 25 years, my mother started it as a hobby and we jumped in both feet. Since then it's been an ongoing fascination and relentless pursuit of our roots. We've been stuck at a certain individual for years now, and I decided I was going to break the code. Well that didn't quite work. We're still stuck and probably will always be. Damn dead people. Never left a forwarding email. So I changed cars again, back to the writing. Nope.

Problems in life are inevitable. Those who don't encounter stress and bad karma occasionally don't exist, they're myths only found in stupid fairy tales. We're human and we have to deal with the curve balls life throws at us, it's how we dodge them or hit them that matters. Lately I feel like I'm standing at the mound with no bat.

Writing is an escape. It's a process by which I can switch off the world and it's issues and focus on another life for a while. I can live vicariously through characters and lose myself in a make-believe world. I can walk away from the dog, the mental problems, the stress, the broken stuff that hasn't been fixed, and much to my wife's dismay, the chores. I can immerse myself and for a short time I'm okay. But that only happens when I can actually put something on a page. Which has not been the past few weeks. It will pass, of that I'm sure. In the meantime I will post here, take care of some chores, take the dog out on a leash 20 times a day, help people with their internal demons, and maybe eat something.

Maybe it's not so bad, the week I wrote 7,000 words I accomplished bugger-all. What's worse?


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