This post is going to be as real as it gets, which is something I haven't done for a long time. If the only words you can think of are critical and hateful, then don't say anything. In life, you are presented with times when you should speak up and other times when you should...
Now you know my situation may be sorry, but it isn't hopeless. If it were hopeless, I'd lose the ability to find the humor in something inappropriate and profane like the above image.
A couple more unhelpful suggestions (because believe me, I've heard and/or tried them numerous times)
"you should seek counseling."
Never helped. Don't trust them damn crooked vultures. I live in the middle of nowhere. I'm not making a 100-mile round trip once a week for nothing, which is exactly how much counseling has helped me in my life.
"You should get on medication."
I have paradoxical reactions to psych meds. I can deal with the black dog. I have a fragile peace with that bitch most of the time. Today she has the upper hand. We're lifelong companions, the black dog and me. What I can't deal with is being manic and psychotic, which is what psych meds make me.
Right, here it is.
I created Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp with the intent of talking about the mental health aspects of my life, but it’s never gotten the audience I hoped for. Sometimes I think I should just close it down.
I feel like an outcast in the world of writers, particularly romance writers. I’ve never adapted very well to the promotion aspects of writing, which I feel take away from the, you know, WRITING aspects of writing. I'd leave the promotion stuff to my assistant if I could afford one. I suck at it.
I feel like I’m drowning or being crushed under a mountain of credit card debt. My credit score is below 500. I’m in the shit. I need to pay off and get rid of the cards that have annual fees.
I always thought I’d be somewhat successful by now, but here I am approaching if not the ass end at least the lower back of my life and I am anything but successful.
I’m hungry, and I hate being hungry.
I wish I didn’t have to eat. In fact, right now, I kind of wish I was dead.
I’m so deeply ashamed of what I am. I can fool myself for a while, but the shame really never ends.
I’m a fuckup, a failure, a nothing nobody.
I can’t even tell anybody about it, because the fact of the matter is, nobody gives a fuck.
There’s nobody to hear my cries. It’s pull myself up by the bootstraps or die in the gutter.
There will never be a prince to ride along the sea and the mountain.
There will never be the roar of crowds.
There will only be a slow, plodding march to the grave. Or, in my case, a limp to the grave.
I still hate myself.
That's as real as it gets.
Hugs. You are not alone.ReplyDelete
Thank you. I'm better today. This is one of those months I just have to get through.Delete
I notice with a degree of wry cynicism that whenever I write posts where I lay it on the line, they get very few views, which is why I can never take it seriously when people post things like "you are never alone, someone always cares." I find such statements disingenuous, which is why I never make them. Even though I care in a charitable way about everyone in the world who may be hurting, I can't possibly help all of them.
Shame is so debilitating and other than smother it with mind-numbing drugs, there doesn't seem to be anything anyone can do to get rid of it. And it's so hard to get out of that place. Please be kind to yourself. You deserve it.ReplyDelete
Thank you. I'm doing better, and some of the things I've been trying to learn for years about writing effectively may finally be sinking in.Delete
I still can't promote worth a gnat's fart in a category 5 hurricane, though.