I find it somewhat amusing that I can articulate how I'm feeling, but I can't seem to write fiction. Of course, I also find it extremely frustrating.
After Wednesday, as my husband was holding me super tight, afraid to let go, he said, "You should finish your book."
That was super awesome to hear. I'd never heard him be excited or supportive about that particular endeavor before. Not that he complained or said anything against it, but he hadn't been a cheerleader, either.
However, when I sit down and stare at the screen, I don't hear the character's voices. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm crazy, but when I'm in the middle of a writing streak, it's like I'm seeing a movie in my head. I can be each character and act out what they'd say and how they'd say it. I'd hear their voice, then I could put it into words on paper.
It doesn't work anymore. Just like drawing. When people describe an idea, the normal for me is to be able to envision what they're imagining and attempt to sketch it out. Now when people talk about an idea, I attempt to 'see' it, but end up struggling to remember what again was it they wanted? Squirrel.
I miss creativity. I miss caring about creativity. I miss feeling like I had a place in the world and knowing where it was and how I fit. I miss me.
I'm still not entirely convinced I should still be here. And I know that's a problem.
Boy, for a long time I thought it was all cool and stuff that I could tell when I was in a downslide. I could call and ask for help before things got bad. I had a safety plan and wasn't afraid to use it, so ha! Now here I am. I logically *know* things are bad because it's been pointed out to me, but I don't FEEL it.
I feel like being here is all wrong and twisted. My reality is skewed and I can't find the ground.
I still try. I want to find my self. I know I have help, both seen and unseen. I know I have people who love me, as evidenced by the explosion on Facebook when I went missing. I was trying to get home; not here home, but Home home. I just wanted to get out of this trap where gravity is all wrong. I feel like I'm dancing with David Bowie in Labyrinth and the stairs are all wonky.
I know bed. I know sleep. I know children need breakfast and school. I know there is cleaning and dogs and oh, yeah, I should eat. Sleeping is hard. I know that plays a big part in the stress because I get three or four hours at a time before I wake up and can't get back to the dream I was in.
Are my meds working? Probably not. Not when I think about it. Not when I'm sitting here wishing I could just escape and fly away. But the thing is, I don't feel the fog. I can feel the sunshine. I can find the laughter. I just don't feel connected to it. Does that make sense?
It doesn't make sense to me, but that's my reality right now. I enjoy the quiet, but I am afraid to be alone. If I'm alone, I might float away. But I don't want to be alone with my rowdy, lovely, loud, wonderful children. Yet I have to, and yet they drain me. They need me. Right now that feels so overwhelming.
So here I sit, writing the words about my mind. About my brain. Wishing that I could lose myself in fiction, and unable to. Wishing I could create, but stare at a wall or a blank page in a sketchbook unable to find form or figure.
Creating, zoning feet, connecting with people: that was how I felt the spirit, that was how I knew who I was. I could feel God guiding my hands, my thoughts, feel Him encouraging me along. And now that's gone.
How does one function when one's talents disappear? How does one re-learn how to listen? it's as if everything I've known and done since I was a child has been ripped away from me, and I am an empty husk.
If there truly is a reason for me to still be here, I have to find ME. Have to. I have to fit somewhere. That may make no sense to some. That may sound entirely selfish to others. But I am more than just a mother. More than just a wife. Kids grow up and leave the nest and I refuse to be a shell when they find their own lives. I was me before I was wife or mother, I should be able to continue to be me while in those roles.
I don't understand why my brain chemistry suddenly changed. I don't understand the plan. I wish I could see it. I wish I could know what the proposed end to this road is. I need to find my connection to it if I'm going to survive.
I have a friend who is a therapist, and he mentioned something about self-identity and how it related to one of his clients. I think I know now how I self-identify, and I don't know how to adjust that image to accommodate the changes in my brain chemistry. I thought I could a few months ago. I either don't know or can't remember what my plan was.
What am I now? Just a mother? Someone who cleans, cooks, and pleases everyone in the home except herself? Has dinner on the table at 5:00 and fresh cookies from the oven when the kids get home? Has that EVER been me? Oh heck no. Nor do I ever want to be that. I want to play and make messes and throw water balloons at my kids. I want to teach them how to play football and giggle at Junie B. Jones books. I want to read, and write, and express myself.
WHERE DID ALL THAT GO????