The Bloody Doors Off

I caught myself. Earlier I was having a downward bit. Had thought “well I’m not going to bed anytime soon, I’m staying awake, yada yada yada”. Basically, not caring if I deviated from my schedule of actually sleeping at a consistent time. Punishing myself.

I caught myself. And corrected it.

I’ve been putting off getting a refill of my Lorazepam, which is fucking ridiculous. Trying to control anxiety attacks without it have been difficult to say the least. It slammed me tonight, and kept me from going out and having a great evening.

Anxiety is a bitch. Breathing brings me back to earth, but it takes a good while to get there. I think I’ve put off getting the Lorazepam because I hate relying on pills. I take too many already. And yes, there’s the money issue. The EI medical is held up so I’m counting every dime. I put rent aside the first week of the month right now, and refuse to touch it, even for pills. I need the security of having a roof over my head in the back of my mind.

So tonight’s anxiety was a mixture of things. EI was the main, worrying about the upstairs neighbours not moving out — thinking I’d be subjected to more torture from them grated my gears — and not having really written in the past couple of days. The first two, I have no control over, and that’s frustrating. The last one, I do have control over; I just need to exercise it. Anyway the topper was a “hey, if I pack up stuff right now and run out and catch a train, I can spend the evening with someone”. It wasn’t visiting that was the problem. It was organizing it all last-minute. The having to remember to pack my pills, my cpap. I worried I’d forget something important, like my anti-depressant for the morning. It sounds ridiculous, but when the pressure builds and the doubt creeps in (I mean shit, I boiled water and poured myself a tea earlier and let the bag seep in, but then promptly forgot it was there for me until the water was almost too cool to drink), it fucks with my short-term memory. And I don’t like that.

I had to write down “pay rent” on the whiteboard today to remind myself, because the 1st fell on a Sunday and for some reason that acts as a blind spot for me.

One step forward, one step back. I can learn from that.

I can learn from that.

Finally figured out why my EI medical extension wasn’t in my account last Tuesday. It’s been held up. I only found out because I went to log in today to report the next week (which I was told to do last Monday).

headdesk

I’m amazed, truly.

It’s amazing how, some days, you remember who you were. And even more, you become him.

And that’s such a good thing.

Yes, it’s cryptic. Deal with it, motherfuckers.

Here’s a snippet of the backstory I’m writing for the play. I’m not sure why I’m sharing. You don’t need to read. This is more for me.

(more…)

Cabin in the Woods. Wish I could write like that.

Maybe I can.

Too tired to write a real update today. Spent part of the afternoon and most of the evening with my brothers and sister-in-law. Good way to spend the day.

I’m always looking for the meaning in things. Which can drive me mad because, honestly, some things have zero meaning.

Lady Gaga doing a Thanksgiving special, with the Muppets. If I was still on the sixth floor in H Wing, I’d think I was barking mad, trying to parse this.

I don’t know what I’m getting at tonight, except I’m tired of trying to figure shit out. I’m on a 2 week delay with the EI medical extension (even though I’m reporting the hours). If a cheque from work I did prior to breaking down hadn’t come in, I’d be rocking from side to side. Is this a teachable moment? How to deal with adversity? Or is it simply bureaucratic red tape and bad timing? Is there a difference?

I haven’t written in 2 days. I’m not freaking out over that, but I’m not happy about it. I have a twitter account but haven’t logged into it in months. The reason I think of this is I follow(ed) a television writer who would encourage her followers to do 1-hour writing sprints alongside her. It didn’t have to be anything specific; the point was to shut out everything else for 60 minutes and concentrate on writing. I can see now why that’s such an amazing idea.

I’m 47 and I have a zit under my jawline. Seriously?

I’m 47. And I don’t have a job, barely have rent and am trying to figure out what’s next. When I was writing the play, I could distract myself from these things for short periods of time. If I can get my brain and emotions to cooperate, I can get in touch with Second Career, although the career I had was working fine thanksverymuch. I’ve got what, 20 years before my only options are Wal-Mart greeter or working the morning shift at McDonald’s? (And given my anxiety issues, that’d be interesting.)

What have I actually done with my life?

Sorry, no music to encapsulate it tonight.

I’m pretty sure this appeared on a report card. At least once.

And you know what? I don’t. Not when it comes to writing. I’m not Shakespeare, nor am I Melville or Andy Sedaris. But I have a voice, an ear for dialogue, and a hell of a sense of narrative. You want me to create and embody a character? Done. But they’re gonna have their own lives, and fuck you if you don’t like it.

Backing up.

I rejoined a rebooted online RPG a few months ago. Hoped it would spark my writing. Turns out it took the play to kick the other stuff into gear. Problem is, my characters have their own trajectory, and I can’t be arsed to visit every member to make sure I’m not stepping on toes. There’s one writer I can free form with. We’ve been in sync for years. We ‘yes and’ each other ALL the time. Nothing’s off the table. We roll with the punches, sometimes literally.

Our characters’ first (re)meeting involved my guy trying to run down her character with his car. (He didn’t think she was actually real.) It was a fucking great scene. But ultimately, the idea isn’t to rehash old relationships or storylines, and we’ve barely written together since. I simply can’t, not with these two. There’s too much history between them right now and my brain screams ‘this isn’t right’; they’re meant to be as thick as thieves, not barely in each other’s orbit’. This is my issue and I own it. So I don’t write him right now. Not if/until he comes around.

And now I’m struggling with the other character. As bright as the fucking sun I know every move she’s going to make in any situation. But I’m hamstrung because I have to consider everything. Which leads me to second-guessing, which leads to writer’s block. And when someone (rightly) reminds me of the rules of the game, I get abrasive.

Thinking I know better. And I do, for my characters.

When I did rewrites for the play, they were based on suggestions and comments from the dramaturge. They weren’t demands. They weren’t rules. I listened to the characters and considered the narrative, and let them go where they needed to.

I had a meltdown this afternoon, over unrelated stuff. Tonight I shut down and am suffering anxiety and writer’s block because I don’t play well with others.

It’s October, all over again.

That could officially be called a meltdown. I was totally unprepared for it, and failed at managing it.

Oddly enough, I found this link because it was shared on social media. I’ve thanked my friend for sharing. Because it’s important to communicate, not simply connect.