Hello dear reader(s)!
I was going to write a story today. I have one in mind. I think it will be pretty good, but of course, it all depends on how I write it. The story will be fictional, but like most of my fiction, I am sure that people will read into it and figure it is about them. That used to bother the hell out of me. In fact, just up until a couple stories ago. Now, I just don’t care. If people want to project the feelings they wish I felt, or they hope I don’t feel onto the characters I write, so be it. If they think every love story I write is about them, or every harsh story is a reflection on them or me, or every event mirrors a real event in my life, that says more about them than it does about me. Let them have that.
I’m not in the mood to write a story today. I’m not feeling creative at all. Despite the fact that I am physically feeling better (minus the headaches), I woke up this morning with some crazy anxiety, and feeling rather down.
Now, with my Generalized Anxiety Disorder, I don’t really need a reason to be anxious. It can come from nothing, and usually does. This time around, I know exactly why I am anxious and down. There are a few reasons, really. So for all of you who are so desperate to know what is happening in my life, that you read too much into my fiction, here is what is really going on…
- It’s gloomy, cold, windy, and is supposed to be below zero tomorrow Add to that some freezing rain coming, and it isn’t exactly the weather where you want to go for a nice little walk among the nature you so desperately crave. I understand that it is basically winter (although not technically), but I feel like I am getting Seasonal Affective Disorder. It would be one thing if it was April and I was counting down the days until warmer temperatures and sun, but we haven’t even really started yet.
- These fucking headaches It is really hard to stay in a good mood when you are in constant pain, especially when that pain is in your head. It’s great that I can swallow again, that I can breathe, and that I no longer feel like I got hit by a truck, but if you could just go ahead and remove the vice from my head and quit stabbing me in the temple, that’d be great. Thanks.
- Isolation I fucking hate it here. Not because I think that the area may be the source of my headaches. Not because getting in to see a specialist is a major pain in the ass. Not because of all the Trump supporting, racist, Christian fundamentalist, ignorant assholes, but because it is obvious that my people are elsewhere. It is because of how fucking alone I feel. I’m not the most extroverted person in the world, but I do need some level of human interaction. Not being able to work, means that I have to rely on my friends and family for that. I probably bug the shit out of them with my texts and things. And even when they have a minute or two in their busy lives to talk and respond, it just isn’t the same as being face to face with someone who actually wants to share their time with you.
- Future plans My income is not enough to make it so that I can afford to live on my own in any place I want to be. I know that I can not and do not want to stay here for more than the term of my lease. I might want to buy out early, but that would take a large chunk of some of my money that I would rather spend on other things. Once I do leave, I will need a place to go. And as much as I love them, I really, really do not want to live with my parents again. Nor, I am sure, do they want me to live with them either. My best bet would be finding a roommate, who is okay with cats, and isn’t a psychopath. Easier said than done.
- Relationship issues I’d say about a month ago, I was talking to a friend of mine in what seemed like a really good conversation at the time. I was smiling and laughing throughout the conversation and it just genuinely felt good to be having that conversation with her. But something she said kind of caught in my mind. I didn’t really pay any attention to it until after I ended the call. Since then, it has been bothering me, but I haven’t really gotten the chance to bring it up. So it sits, gnawing at me. I have another friend, who I think is going through a hard time right now. I want to be there for her, and care for her, but she isn’t physically near, and is so independent that I get the feeling she wouldn’t want my help even if I could carry some of her burden for her. It hurts me to know those I care about are hurting, and there is really nothing I can do about it. I’m also having a very hard time letting her know I care and don’t plan to go away just because she isn’t feeling her best, and giving her the space she might need.
There you have it dear reader(s), a real nonfiction post you don’t have to read into. After reading this pity-party, I’m sure you can understand now why I occasionally write fiction.