Saturday, March 12, 2011

Disorganized Serial Writer*

I've been wrapped up reading some pretty dark material lately which I think has stunted my creative ability and consequently caused a flare up of self-doubt.  Any new reader looking over my posts (all 105), will note there is a discrepancy in continuity of content.  (Does that sound correct?  Because I feel like I am using big, important grown-up person words, but I don't believe I am using them in the correct context.  Feel free to correct me).  Some days I'm really goofy and creatively effervescent while in other posts my fears of failure and struggles with depression are made painfully obvious.

There's no way for me to hide it or pretend like the shift in tone is not noticeable, so why not talk to the elephant in the room and introduce it.

"Hi.  I am chemically imbalanced.  I take meds every day to keep those chemicals in sync with the rest of my bodily functions.  While most people have their bodies naturally regulate their serotonin levels and other weird chemicals that I can't remember the name of, I don't have those regulations.  (I've always been F' those rules!, I'm doing it my way! so it makes sense that my body does the SAME DAMN THING).   Some days I am a bit happier, funnier, creative, and more optimistic about life.  Other days, I may be woebegone like Charlie Brown, end every sentence with FML, and want to curl into a little ball under the massive piles of blankets and pillows strewn on my bed. Like the old Michelob TV ad from my youth, "Some days are better than others."
(Someone please explain to me how I can remember a commercial from my childhood, but I can't remember most of my history lessons from college)
"I laughingly and affectionately for the most part, tell people that I am crazy.  Not 'haha, I'm gonna kill you' crazy, but 'I have a decidedly different approach to life' type of crazy.  Like sometimes I will dance in the grocery store to the songs played over the speakers (much to the embarrassment of my siblings while we growing up)."  

"In my house you will find a wall that I call my happy wall.  It's covered with pictures pulled from magazine, newspapers, the internet, and letters/emails/cards that touch me in some way.  A picture of a beautiful flower might hang alongside a picture of crudely drawn comic which is hanging next to a garbage can overflowing with fall leaves.  Some days my heart aches so much and my head is so clouded with bad judgment that a kind word from a stock boy loading groceries into my car causes me to cry."

"Nothing in my house matches or follows any sort of design order.  In fact, my house is disordered.  I am perfectly capable of cleaning and maintaining a house, it's just sometimes my life gets in the way of keeping things in order.  Some days the kitchen is completely spot-free and the next day I awake to discover that the dirty dish fair has visited me in the night, there is a beach ball on the kitchen table, a bunch of handpicked wildflowers on the cutting block, and a laundry hamper sitting next to the microwave which is currently filled with books, a wineglass, mate-less socks, and Matchbox Cars, .  I don't know how these things happen.  If I were still living with my parents, my poor mother would have a nervous breakdown with the mess, but I don't so the chaos reigns until it bothers me.  I guess I'd rather write in the dust that settles on the shelves than live every day life dusting."

"So people may not understand me, may not like me, my get frightened by my intensity, may like me (but I don't believe they actually like me, because heaven forbid I have a positive thought about myself that people like me for me, not because I make 'em laugh like Jim Carrey, except for The Cable Guy).  Some may not want to stare into the mirror and admit that they might be struggling to maintain some level sanity as I am openly admitting.  Maybe others who are reading this are thinking thank God for making me feel like I'm not the only one in the universe."

So now that I've talked about the elephant in the room, it's going to be much easier for me to be honest and open with my writings.  Just as I'm not just a mommy-blogger, I'm not going to pretend like I am a well put together person.  I am willing to put my struggles out there for others to share in, and maybe learn something deeper about themselves. 

I would like to thank my spiritual director Fr. E, my mentor/therapist/shrinky-dink, Allie over at Hyperbole and a Half (Hi, Allie!  You don't know me, but your early posts about not wanting a job/writing/being depressed have really inspired me.  I wanna be cool like you!), my college professor John Janero (who has written a really awesome book about similar struggles I face) and EJ for giving me that extra push and the right amount of love.  

*(I was originally going to title this post "Screws Loose" or "I'm Loosely Screwed" but I didn't want people googleing fetish sites to land on this page.  I already had that happen when I made a remark in a previous post about "putting your foot in your mouth" and high heels.)