Friday, December 12, 2014

Peel back the curtain

For the last 24 hours I have heard my most favorite sound off and on. There is nothing quite like the sound of pounding rain. I don't really know why it is so cathartic for me, only that it is. Honestly, I've needed the rain. Even without standing out in the middle of it, it washed away so much that's been dragging me down.

I feel like I'm starting to be able to peel back the curtain of depression. Yes. I still feel pretty shitastic everyday but, that's not changing and its not benefitting me to let it get to me. I've tumbled off the wagon of "eating clean." I've gained 25 lbs. I've been lazy (not restful) and just a miserable excuse for a human being.  This is not the person I am nor is it someone I want to be.

There's so much good in my life when you look past the bad. So I'm fat. What of it? I'm a good person. I have a big heart. So I have an incurable bastard of a disease. That's my problem. I'm fighting to stay a cancer survivor. I own a home. I am a hard ass worker who despite hours and hours of angry callers, difficult people and drama is still smiling. Even on 16 hr days, 80 hours a week.  I'm so much more than what people see.

I need to get back on the horse and turn that stallion back in the direction of my dreams.

I have a finished book that's had one rewrite. I need to do another. I'm not convinced its ready to go to the editor. I also don't have $500 to pay her yet. I have two other manuscripts started. Two very different ideas. I miss writing. Creating characters and watching them grow and change and falling in love with their story is my heaven. I need to get back to that.

I want to be an author more than anything in the world. Call me crazy but I just feel like my name should be out there. I should be more than this. I need more than this life. Not a different life ... I just need more in it. I need to push back that voice of insecurity that wonders if my writing will ever be good enough. When I read author bios on books I've read I notice they all have something I don't: a college degree.  Well that's a bit of a drawback. I'm a 34 year old woman who works 80 hours a week. Where would I squeeze college in?
I've started writing and rewriting my query letter because I want to get an agent. I want to be a REAL, honest-to-goodness author. I want THAT to be my job.  I'd never give up my full time job. I might be there less but, I love that job too and couldn't turn my back on the people I watch over.

The rain pounded Sonoma County and washed away the evidence of a drought. Listening to that sound and seeing the streaming drops, the splashing puddles, and the whippng winds cleansed me too. It washed away the top layer of sadness. It rejuvenatdd me and reminded me that I was making a go of going after what I want.

Yes I feel like my life will be very short and that's not gonna change. It just means I need to get a move on. I need to leave more of a legacy behind. I need to make more of a mark on the world.

I think I can get back on track. Baby steps, you know?

Step One: follow the doc's orders of clean eating, 0.8mg injections of Methotrexate once a week,  lots of water, and sleep.

Step two: write. Write. Write. Write and then ... Write more.

Step Three: eliminate negative influences "sayonara drama!"

Step Four and the motto I keep repeating like my own mantra "just keep smiling."

I hope you have a fantastic day.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

Hey, it's my life.

Do you want to know the worst part of being ill?  Everyone acting like you don't know what is good for you.  I feel like everyone is telling me something different about how I should be eating, how I should be sleeping, how I should be sitting, how I should be taking care of myself.  Sometimes, I think people have written me off as being completely ignorant in taking care of myself. 

Well, I am not.

I may work a lot.  But, I work a lot out of necessity.  Those of you who do not have a spouse or significant other in the trades don't understand them.  My husband isn't lazy.  He's not a freeloader or a hack.  He is a commercial electrician.  If there are no jobs currently in progress with his company, he is not working.  He busts his ASS around the house, on side jobs, on whatever he can find to fill his time. Yes, he also likes to spend money but ... so do I.  Just in smaller amounts.  Anyway, if he isn't working, I work harder to make up for it because I will be damned if I lose my house to give everyone something else to tell me how I should handle it. 

Oh, if you hadn't guessed, I am bitter.

I feel like my life is a series of minutes, hours, and days of people telling me what to do or making decisions for me.  A new change at work means people are even dictating how my days go.   So much so that I don't even really give a shit what I work.  People are just going to tell me what I am working anyway.   I've already struggled a lot recently with personality conflicts and this is only making it one hundred times worse. 

Yes, before you tell me how I SHOULD feel, I know they have no control over how I feel.  I am in charge of my feelings blah blah blah.  I know this.  But, what you don't know is that I am spending most of my time just trying to feel normal.  Normal.  You have no idea what that is don't you?  It's that feeling you take for granted when you are healthy.  I haven't felt healthy in months.  I don't really remember what it feels like.  I know there is a partial feeling of healthy and normal.  I remember that kind of.  I don't remember the person I used to be.  Even though I am here a shit ton of hours, I feel miserable.  AB-SO-FUCKING-LUTELY MISERABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  Do I tell you that?   Nope.

Why?

Let me break down the reasons:  The non-stop eye rolling from someone who I already can't stand.   The fact that I don't like it when someone has to bring up their injuries, their limitations, their whatever over and over and over and over and over.  Yes, I get annoyed at things too so I don't do the things that I find annoying.   What good would it do to whine all the time?  It's not like I am suddenly going to feel miraculously better because I didn't do anything but snivel and moan and groan about the aches/pains/dizziness/nausea/weakness/itchiness/etc of my new life.  It won't happen.  I can't even whine to my doctors.  Even as awesome as they are, sometimes they get annoyed.  Or, at least I think they do. 

I sign up for oodles of overtime.  So I am not going to whine about it. 

I sign up to work knowing that I don't feel good.  So I really try not to whine about it.

I don't expect to be treated any differently, and yet somehow I am.  I feel like everyone is trying to make decisions on how I should be doing things without ever stopping to check and see what I WANT TO DO. 

Sometimes, I feel like people in my life are benefitting from my illness.  They get to talk about it with people and get sympathy and perks from it ... but then treat me like I am 100% healthy and able to leap through hoops and do backflips.  I'm the one that is sick.  I am the one that has to feel this way.  Me.  Not you. Me.  I am the one who has to face everything that I have in my life.  Me.  Not you. 

Ugh.  I just don't know how much more I can take of a lot of things.  I need an escape.  I need a break.  I need ... I need something different.    I need to not feel like I am that sick girl, shackled to a dispatch terminal and forced to work day in and day out until I am strapped to a hospital bed fighting for my life.  But ... that is my life right now and that is what I have to deal with. 

Not you.

I want a spa weekend, or hell, just a hotel somewhere else where I can soak in a bathtub and read a book.  I don't want to hear construction noise, or loud stupid rap, or radios, or typing, or phones ringing.  I need a break. 

I need it.  Me.  The sick one.  The sick one who isn't allowed to act like a sick person. 

Anyway, I just wanted to vent that this is my life.  I am sick, not dead.  I am not a child.  I am capable of making my own decisions.  I should be allowed that much. 

I don't know.  Maybe I needed to vent more than I realized.