Saturday, May 26, 2012

Okay I'm having a moment. I just finished watching Neil Gaiman's speech at some graduation.

All I really know how to do is read, write, or try to in some other fashion to express my understanding of something. I can be terribly clever when I'm writing, and in reality I'm kind of dense. That's alright. In an actual conversation I'm difficult, usually at least a little insulting, and hard to empathize with. That's okay too. I never have enjoyed people, I'm too suspicious. When I'm writing, I'm a completely different person. Or in very rare cases, if people will just shut up and listen to me, then I can say what I need to say. I suppose that makes me an egotist or something. Who cares? Nobody ever really listens when people talk, they are after all, only waiting for their turn to talk. When you write on the other hand, and write well, people have to listen. When people hear others speak, they are really only hearing what they want to. The rest is discarded and forgotten.

When I'm writing I feel as if I can command a spectacular symphony and the audience is waiting breathless. It's really the only time I feel as though I am truly myself. And who really gives a damn what anyone else thinks when you are enthralled with creating something? Not I, sir, not I. Painting is agony. It's awful, but necessary. I paint when I need to purge. Writing is an adventure. I lost interest in writing for a long time, because every time anyone read anything I wrote they told me how wonderful I was. I got bored with positive feedback. Writing is wonderful though, even when I'm dredging the black hole and laying out all the horrible and painful experiences for the blood-thirsty mob. It gives me a clearer understanding of my subject. When I write, I have to dissect my subject, my opinions and feelings on my subject, and try to express my understanding of the truth of my subject. When I paint on the other hand, I deal with too many abstract concepts and whims to gain much understanding from my painting. When I write, I feel as though it is less necessary to purge, so I don't paint as much.

Since no one has ever read my first almost complete novel, I'll tell you and you will have to take my word for it. My main character is a wonderfully simple creature, who is full of anger and an itch to prove herself. She's seriously a bitch, who is used to having everything her own way, and is will to kick as many asses as necessary to ensure she continues to get her way. It is impossible for her to fail, because she has an enormous strength of will that often awes people. Sound familiar? She's the part of myself who had to survive under extremely unusual circumstances. I prettied her up a bit for the novel. She doesn't hold grudges the way I do, and lives very much in the now.

I've started my second novel, once I finished the first draft of the first. I have a new main character in the same world as the first. This character is a very tragic person. She's afraid or intimidated quite often, she's been through hell. She's uneducated, ignorant, and very rough around the edges. She is unflaggingly polite, and often a bit simple and strangely wise, but she carries on doing what needs to be done. She's a part of me also. The part who never fit in, that people hardly ever understand and always underestimate. She's a bit more mysterious than my first main character.

I adore my characters, and have a running biography on them in my head. I know everything there is to know about them, and I let them drive the plot. It's a way of letting all the various pieces of myself express themselves.

Friday, May 25, 2012

No rest for the wicked.

Okay. Time out. This isn't funny anymore.

I had hysterics last night. I'm sure a panic attack was part of it, but I had hysterics for several hours because I'm sick of being sick. PTSD and agoraphobia totally suck. I'm just tired of it all. Well and truly fed up. I haven't been writing very much, or doing much of anything at all really. I've been too busy being not well. Okay I've been too busy trying to ignore the fact that I'm not well.

I've had two of these episodes, that are really weird. I think they are anxiety related, but in each case I started feeling like I was drunk or something. All of the sudden the world just stopped making sense. Everything became very surreal. I totally lost the ability to speak coherently or think much at all. I felt like I was drunk, like, I opened my mouth to say one thing, and an entirely different thing came out. By the time I say something, I've lost my train of thought. In both cases I became hysterical. I just got overwhelmed by everything, all the shit I've been through, and the sense of futility of trying to deal with PTSD and all the rest.

I watched this documentary once, where these frogs had to climb up a waterfall. That's what I feel like. I've been climbing up this completely vertical surface with tons of water crashing on my head, making me lose my grip and fall, making it nearly impossible to climb hundreds of feet to the top. I don't think the frogs were really climbing, I think they were swimming, but the principal is the same.

I've even been having hysterical dreams of the same caliper. It's exhausting. No rest for the wicked.

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

The girl

There is a girl. The girl loves to paint and read and write stories. The girl believes that the world is basically a good place. The girl believes people are basically good. The girl met a boy and falls in love. The girl is frustrated. The boy she loves goes to war. The girl waits, and listens, and is fearful of the death of the boy. The girl goes to college and works two jobs while the boy is away. The girl needs to stay busy. The girl marries the boy when he returns home. The girl is afraid of the boy and his anger. The girl feels trapped and afraid. The girl enlists in the army. The girl believes she has no choice. The girl knows something is wrong. The girl is not sure exactly what is wrong. The girl learns many things. The girl becomes good at things the army wants the girl to do. The girl feels stronger. The girl is moves to a post far away from home. The girl believes this is good. The boy goes with her. The girl knows the boy is not well. The girl asks her boss what to do. The boss ignores the girl. The girl is afraid. The girl is raped by the boy. The girl is frightened. The girl tries to pretend that the rape never happened. The girl hides her fears. The girl knows that fear attracts predators. The girl does not want to be prey. The girl escapes from the boy. The girl hides. The girl is ashamed. The girl feels unclean. The girl is afraid. The girl can't sleep. The girl can't eat. The girl is alone. The boss of the girl discovers her hiding. The girl is ordered to tell her boss why she is hiding. The girl tells the truth. The boss of the girl makes her tell the police. The boss of the girl makes her tell a doctor. The boss of the girl makes the boss tell the commander. The girl spends days telling people about the rape. The girl is afraid. The girl gets into trouble. The girl is frequently late. The girl is forgetful. The girl does not pay attention. The girl spends time with a friend. The girl hides. The girl is sad. The girl is confused. The girl no longer believes people are good. The girl does not feel safe. The girl does not care about anything. The girl wishes she were dead. The girl does not get along with the other soldiers. The girl cannot trust. The girl goes to war. The girl feels strong again. The girl has a purpose now. The girl is very good at her job. The girl is harassed by soldiers. The girl tries to ignore it. The girl works hard. The girl wants to be the best. The girl is touched and grabbed by soldiers. The girl tries to ignore it. The girl is raped by a soldier. The girl tries to ignore it. The army tells the girl not to cause trouble. The army believes it is the girl's fault. The girl works hard. The girl does not believe the army will protect her. The girl is alone. The girl is thousands of miles away from home. The girl is afraid. The girl fights in battles with the soldiers who hurt her. The girl is treated like an outcast. The girl works hard. The girl wants to save the soldiers from the enemy. The girl is touched and grabbed by a man. The girl asks for help. The army tells the girl to shut up and do her job. The girl does her job. The girl cannot sleep. The girl cannot eat. The girl cannot trust. The girl is raped again. The girl is coerced into sex by a soldier. The girl is afraid to say no. The girl believes she will never be safe again. The girl tries to ignore it. The girl is humiliated and harassed by soldiers. The girl reports a soldier for harassment. The girl is told she cannot work anymore. The girl is kept away from the other soldiers. The girl believes she is being punished. The girl is afraid. The girl returns home with the soldiers. The girl is angry. The girl wants to survive. The girl sees the soldiers as the enemy. The girl makes the soldiers angry so they will leave her alone. The girl tries to work. The girl tries to teach new soldiers how to work. The girl insults and ridicules the soldiers who are not new. The soldiers know the girl is good at her job. The soldiers need the girl. The girl does not need the soldiers. The girl uses their need to punish them for abandoning her. The girl leaves the army. The girl does not go back to the place she used to call home. The girl tries to build a new life. The girl is paranoid. The girl is afraid. The girl feels trapped. The girl cannot sleep. The girl cannot eat. The girl goes to the doctor. The doctor fills out paperwork. The doctor tells the girl she is disabled. The doctor makes the girl take pills to make her well. The girl does not like the pills. The pills do not work. The girl has nightmares. The girl has panic attacks. The girl has flashbacks. The girl is afraid to leave her home. The girl is afraid to be around people. The girl hides.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

Round 50 ding ding ding

So once again I feel like a failure. My boyfriend is stressed out due to work, and being responsible for most of the household chores, and running all the errands. I can't drive, I have trouble remembering to eat, or bathe, or brush my teeth regularly. If I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I find myself calling myself all sorts of horrible names. It's awful. My medication is apparently suppressing my appetite so I never feel hungry, which is the body's way of reminding you that you need food to survive. I don't notice I need to eat until my blood sugar bottoms out, and by then I'm seriously agitated, shaky, irrational, and pissed that I have to eat food.

I haven't been writing much lately, I feel too awful most of the time. I feel like I need a baby-sitter. Someone to remind me to eat, remind me of all the things I always forget, and nag me to do chores (or better yet, do them for me! A girl can wish.). I'm not going to go into the minutiae of  all the crap I'm supposed to remember, but there is an awful lot of  it. To top it all off, the sheer quantity of shit I have to do triggers major anxiety followed by depression, followed by anxiety.

Clearly, I'm a candidate for permanent inpatient psychiatry. I don't know how people put up with me. I don't know how I put up with myself. I just want to go back to bed and hide, or at least wait until this latest batch of anxiety wears off so I can think.