Wednesday, September 12, 2012


-I wrote this last month. I posted it on my other blog. I think. I just found it here, unpublished. -

I haven’t written a worthy word in two weeks.  Maybe it’s been a little longer.  I haven't felt well.  I’ve done nothing for my novel and the only thing I’ve done for my writing is that I’ve joined a writing group, and that took an enormous amount of tugging at the part of me that knows three months from now I’ll be happy I did it.  When I agreed to be a part of it, did I want to be part of it?  No.  But I know that I have to do things I don’t want to do or I get lost in a part of addiction behavior that becomes very dangerous for us addicts.  It’s called isolating.  Since as far back as I can remember I have enjoyed -and to be completely honest, preferred- my own company.  I’m delightful, really, but this is not healthy behavior and I know it.  I mean, I know it now that I’m sober, I didn’t know it before.  Before I thought it made me QUITE fascinating.

So, when asked if I wanted to participate in the writing group I smiled and blurted out a big and most probably overly emphatic ‘YES!’  Perhaps this all happened in my head and my yes wasn’t as sincere as I thought it should be, or actually wanted it to be and knew it wasn’t.  Thank heavens that these people I will be writing with are in the very, very small circle of people that I can honestly say I trust and can also honestly say I can be myself around.  That doesn’t mean I am myself around them. They have only caught glimpses of me so far.  I’m like Sasquatch, very hard to spot directly.  You will see more of me out of the corner of your eye because I won’t think that you are looking.  I’m certain they know what I'm talking about and that's why I adore them. 

But here I am right now, writing and enjoying every tap on every letter of this keyboard I‘m writing on. I’m looking at them, the letters, as I type these words and I know, and I feel and I remember how much I absolutely adore words and sentences and all this coming together to form ideas and a story.  How terrible to feel that I have nothing in me.  No inspiration to do anything but lay on the couch and see how high I can get my score to go on Bejeweled.  I’ve experienced The Block before in my life. It has lasted longer than a couple of weeks but this time, this time it was really complicated and it felt really scary.  It feels like suffocation.

Here, I am an addict and I am 47 years old and I have Hepatitis C.  That looks like this:
There’s a lot going on there.  AGAIN, let me be clear before I go on; I am not complaining because I am after all exceptionally healthy.  The only annoying thing that happens is that I start accumulating a lot of days of uncomfortable-ness.  Because of pain, because of hormones, because I'm me.  For the past few months I haven't had much of a break in any of those, so like I wrote the last time I actually blogged, I went to the doctor.  I received medication which in the addict world are called meds, and I bet in the regular world that’s what they are called too.  How would I know anything about regular?  I started taking an antidepressant pain killer called Cymbalta.  It’s one of those drugs that has a cute commercial in which 95% of the ad is taken up by the ubiquitous drug side effects that ultimately end in “may cause death”.  At a certain point of feeling uncomfortable for a long time, death seems like a valid option.

The pain, which isn't really pain it's just an annoying pressure, disappeared the next day.  I usually think this is all psychosomatic and that if they sent me a placebo the pain might have disappeared with that too.  Maybe that’s true, I don’t care one way or another.  The pain is gone and for that I’m truly grateful.  BUT, -Jennifer Lopez butt-  there are a couple of side effects that are worrisome, like anxiety and the nightmares I have when I actually fall into something that must be sleep otherwise how could I be dreaming?  They might be hallucinations because it doesn’t seem like I’ve slept in two weeks, except that strangely enough I’m not really all that tired.  But the horrifying, most terrible side effect of all, is the complete lack of interest in writing.  Up until yesterday I was even having a hard time answering emails.  

-later that day

how frigging complicated, huh?  Wah, wah, wah.  The pain is back on my side.  I was just saying how great it was that it was gone, and it's back.  Mother effer.  I knew it would happen.  I received a very minimal dose of the Cymbalta and so it will need to be 'upped', which is how addicts say increased and yeah, I know that's how everyone else says it too.  I hate that word for some reason.  So, I'm worried it will screw with my writing for another two weeks until I get used to it again, but then the pain will not come back and all will be fine and super dandy.  Might I dare to hope that when it is increased it will make me feel that sweet euphoria I felt that first day I was on it?  And by sweet euphoria I'm probably referring to feeling normal.  

Nah, don't worry, I don't know anything about regular but by now I've caught a glimpse or two of normal (which ain't, but wink wink, you know, normal) and I really do want that euphoria.  It was pleasant and really not normal or regular at all, but most definitely what normal should be.

Holy, Moly miss Molly.  I guess the meds are making me a blathering fool, too.  ha ha ha!!  It's OK, folks, because at least I'm writing again. 

Next day... Guess what?  Doctor told me no uppity-up on the medicine yet.  And the pain?  It's gone sugar puffs.  And I still feel like writing. 

Big Smile.

No comments:

Post a Comment