Ugly

I put myself back into therapy last month because I am trying desperately to work out the last kinks in my head.  I've decided that after six years on the bench I'm ready to seek out a relationship, but before I do that I know I've got a few more things to work out.

I don't want to write about this.  But I need to write this out. 

This is the constant chatter in my brain:

• You really don't have friends.  These people tolerate you out of pity.
• No one approves of your decisions and all are waiting for you to admit defeat.
• Your child is going to grow up broken because you are broken.
• You don't have any talent.  
• You're not bi-polar.  You are making it up.  You just need to work harder and stop being lazy.
• Why do you think that person would ever want to have a cup of coffee with you?  They're accomplished/written a book/not two paychecks away from homelessness/done something important.  Do you know just how dumb your daydreams are?
• No one really loves you because you disappoint them and don't do what they tell you to do.

Frustration: Level Six

Up until a week ago, I was fine.
I could write on my novel and write up articles for my social media job.
But two weeks ago I ran out of one of my drugs.
And now I'm off balance.

I can't focus on writing.  I'll sit down and nothing comes.
The waters are muddy.
If I were to peer into my brain, I think I'd find a hollow gray room.

I can't get to the doctor to get a prescription and I can't fill the prescription until I can find the time to drive 1.5 hrs away b/c the closest pharmacy to fill this drug is in Front Royal!

No, I don't have health insurance.  And Obamacare or the Affordable Care Act is just not going to fix my problem.  Seeing as it would cost me $235/mo to be insured.  Fail to see how that is "affordable."

Luckily, I live in a state that won't penalize me for not having health insurance.

I'm so angry.  I want to write and it's just not happening.

Once Upon A Southern Fairy Tale

I could have sworn that I printed up a passage from my novel.  But it appears that I haven't.  Maybe I put up a spoiler back on Facebook some time ago.

I finally got through my writer's block two weeks ago (it's only taken 2 years!) and have been able to make sufficient progress on this novel to announce that I aim to have it completed by the end of April and will launch it on the first day of summer.  This year!!!

I thought a good way to whet the appetite of potential readers (I hope) was to put up an excerpt from the first chapter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

 Morons in the Magnolia at Midnight

 

. . . .“How the hell did you manage to loop your jeans though this damn branch?”

“I knew this was a mistake.”

I snorted derisively and contemplated how to extricate my best friend from her leafy prison.  Seeing as she had backed herself onto a thin branch and couldn’t get a good footing to climb back up and off it, I set about trying to cut the limb with my pocket knife. 

Neither of us were aware that the mattress Olympics had come to an end and that we had become the noisier duo.  It seemed that Char had managed to snag the one green limb on the entire tree, which my knife was unable to sever.

I tried another approach.  “Char, I’m gonna cut up the belt loop.”

“The hell you are!  Do you know how long it took me to find a pair of jeans that didn’t make my ass look like I’ve birthed 10 kids?”

“Look, I’ll buy you a new pair,” I pleaded.  I wanted to get out of this tree and the hell away from his house.  The tears that I’d been fighting back were now rolling down my face.  “I’ll by you two pairs.”

As I continued to struggle, the widow flew open .  “I‘m not imagining things.  I hear something out there,“ said the man.  I went stock still, hoping that it was too dark for Eddie to make out our shapes in the branches of the Magnolia. 

“You’re being too paranoid,” drawled the female, her voice like molasses sliding across Saran Wrap.  “Now come back here.”

“I dunno, Missy.  This doesn’t seem right.”

“Where did these morals come from all of a sudden?  You didn’t say that last month.  I believe your words were, “Norma Jeane could use some lessons from you.”

That was so much to handle.  “BASTARD!” I bellowed.  Forgetting the possibility of deadwood, I propelled myself to my feet and heard an sharp crack.  Before I could react, the branch snapped and I shot down feet first.
My arms pin-wheeled, seeking purchase of tree limbs but finding none.   

Some say time slows to a crawl when bad things are happening, but a million thoughts raced through my head:
This is gonna hurt.
Dummy, you knew the answer before you climbed the tree.
I hope Char figures out how to get down.
Why didn’t he just dump me?
I will murder both of them if I’ve gotten an STD.  And no one in town will blame me.
Prison orange is really ugly.
Fuck.
Fuck.

And then my left knee took the full impact of my fall.  I can’t even begin to explain the pain.  Imagine a bowling ball made of concrete smashing into your nose.  Or an elephant flying a spaceship and landing it on your foot. 

The front door exploded open and the screen door shuddered violently as Eddie kicked at it.  Clad in ratty jeans, he stomped across the porch. I groaned as I tried to rise.  Eddie reached out an assisting hand, but I knocked it away.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy yard dog,” I growled, still dazed from the fall.  “I don’t want your whore hands on me.”

“Norma Jeane, I’m so sorry.  It was an accident.”

“Oh, really?!  What happened?  Did you trip and Missy just happened to break your fall with her hallway-sized vagina?”

“That’s uncalled for.”

“No, I’ll tell you what’s uncalled for,” I yelled.  The front porch light flickered on next door and Mrs. Ginny Crawford peered out the crack of the door.  I glared at her and she quickly shut the door.  To hell with the neighbors and their opinion of me.  They’d never see me on this side of town every again.

“Norma Jeane, you are causing a scene.  What are the neighbors going to think?  Come inside.”  Eddie grabbed my arm.

And then I did a horrible thing. . . . 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

PS-The juicing and weight loss (with only a few set backs) have been going great.  I've lost about 8lbs so far.  And that's a good thing because I have to be in a wedding in the fall.

Day 31 Was Much More Fun

It's 20 til 10 and I'm ready to nod off.  And that's a good thing.
Yesterday was crap, but today ran a much better course.  I think getting some decent sleep, aided by a bit of Xanax and a beach towel over the window, was a huge help.

I spent all day on the couch, glued to the computer, but for a good cause.  I've been putting together some flyers, business cards, and a website to promote my business.  More on that later. 


I think there is a light at the end of this tunnel.  Depression might be a lying bastard, but I'll kick him in the teeth just yet.

30 Days: Worse For the Wear

30 days in.  No weight loss.  More weight gain.  Why?

Here's the answer

• cookies (gluten free doesn't make them calorie free)
• eggnog (can't handle diary well, but doesn't stop me from imbibing.  Mmmmmhhhhh, noggy goodness)
• depression 
• butternut squash mac and cheese (Swiss instead of cheddar makes its betta)
• anxieties 
• scones (they're not really that good, but does it stop me.  No!)
• little sleep (Because nothing says Christmas like 3 5' snowmen on a 2 ft lawn, just outside my bedroom window)
• rock through the car windshield which cancelled Christmas plans

I'm not the person I want to be.  I want to be so much more.  And right now my head is spinning with all the things I want to do, like map out my novel, clean my room, do some yoga, visit the library, and yet I want to curl up in bed and sleep for three days.

Maybe a good night's sleep and a cry would help.  Maybe I should sleep on the couch tonight, which is dark and tomb-like.  Maybe I'll feel better in the morning.