It will be two days until the Day my brother died. Some people may not believe it but he visited me. I was sleeping and I could smell his cologne and I felt like somebody was there and I was comforted in my grief. Kind a like when your dog comes back after he dies and you can feel him curling up next to you in the bed and you smell their scent and you swear that they’re there but of course they’re not. This is this is the same thing that happened to me two nights ago. I told him I loved him and went to sleep. I guess this was doing the twilight before you fall asleep. I miss him. I’m going to keep on missing him and I guess I’m going to keep on crying, but my heart aches less and my mind is not all there right now. I’m very anxious and I know this is the reason why, I miss him.
Certain things are important to people for different reasons. We place value on things or events or people because we hold memories or feelings or hope towards these events etc.
I got to thinking why I really want to go to this conference. And my therapist reminded me what it was all about. That I write and it brings me joy. Very few things in this life bring me joy.
I’ve got a lot of problems. We all do. Some can be cured, some are temporary, some imaginary and some are brought about by our own actions. Whatever the cause, these are the conditions of our lives.
If you’ve been reading this blog for a long time you are aware that I am Bipolar, have a connective tissue syndrome and a growth on my pituitary gland. These are my main conditions. These are things which will NOT go away. So I live with them, but they are not who I am as a person. I just live with these conditions and do what is necessary to function within my life.
I could give up. I’ve thought about it and I’ve cried over it and come very close to just quitting. I’m talking about killing myself in case you’re wondering.
But instead, I move forwards. Everyday. I find something to do or something to make me feel good about myself or just enjoy someone’s company. I don’t obsess about my conditions. Why think about things no one on this planet has the power to change?
To me, writing is my way out. It is my respite from my conditions. And according to others, I’m pretty good at writing. Damn, I am good. I have to learn affirmations daily, so I’ll start here.
Low self-esteem has plagued me all my life and it’s a battle in the brain and the mirror. People tell me I’m pretty. My first thought is, ‘your just being nice.’ I don’t look at mirrors, even when I brush my teeth. I just realized that a few weeks ago. I use to physically duck the hall mirror every time I passed it, just in case I might see my reflection.
When I write, all is fine with me and the world around me. This writers conference is and event where I can learn and flex my ability and meet others whose passion for writing is the same. I might even make a friend.
I’ve been indoors for about a week. Because I freaked out at a social event. Anxiety, self-doubt, self-hatred a whole lot of things. Felt I didn’t belong there and all everyone was doing was playing board games.
How am I gonna handle a conference? I’ve thought of that too. The thought of going brings me as much joy as my writing. I will be learning about something that I have been doing since I first learned to string a sentence together. A donation to me is not just the money, it shows me that people believe in my ability. That they believe in ME. Something I have difficulty doing daily.
I’ve thought of pulling the gofundme, but my therapist reminded me that this conference is as important as my writing. I need things to look forwards to in my life. Events I can have happy memories of and feel like I belong.
Someone tried to break me down about my gofundme. Tried to tear down my dream of one day being published. I didn’t curse them out, just gave them some information and told them “I don’t need to justify myself to you.”
I also told them we all have our journies. Mine has taken me from healthy and working and moving towards a career. They were all smashed. I’m just trying to get a little piece of that dream back. And there is nothing wrong with that.
I want to publish a series of stories about mental illness and offer hope and understanding to those of us who suffer. That’s the ultimate dream, am I having grandiose thoughts? I know I can’t change the world, but I already have a few stories under my belt, so I want to go to the conference to help make this a reality.
This is more than I wanted to say, but if you’ve gotten this far. You must have dreams too.
Click Link CONSIDER DONATING TO MY DREAM. THANK YOU Click Link
Lately, I’ve had a some trouble with people on FB. Who hasn’t. I’ve decided to stop posting gofundme posts on there because someone reacted negatively to the fact that I asked for a donation. And this was a college sorority sister. I’m just a lowly social sister so I don’t matter, although I thought I did. Anyways, if they give, they give. If they don’t, they don’t. I can’t take this personally, just gain strength from the experience.
They made statements like I work 7 days a week and tried to knock me for being ‘without’. It hurt, cause the whole reason I joined the sorority page was to reconnect with her and she came at me like that, uncool.
So I deleted her from my contacts and decided not to go off all personal on FB. And just type LIKE WATER OFF A DUCKS BACK.
Let it go and just move forwards. This whole experience hasn’t been easy for me. I wasn’t raised to beg. Would get a beating if my parents found out I asked money from an adult. So to keep posting for help with this conference has been hard. People have been generous and I thank them from my heart.
But just because you have nothing in your life is no reason to stomp on my dreams. And that’s what it all comes down too.
So no more begging and pleading after this, if you give, you give. If you don’t, you don’t. But it won’t stop me from dreaming and I dream big. It won’t stop me from writing and I write well. Somewhere there’s a publisher waiting for my work and I will find them.
My brother died last year and although this hasn’t been on my mind all the time, it has been wrecking havoc with my subconscious mind. Depression, anxiety, anger and lots of crying.
At first, I didn’t know why I had slowed down, but it wasn’t hard to figure out why because his picture hangs in my living room. April 16, 2016. It marks the first whole year I’ve lived without his calling, the kidding around, the laughter and teasing. He was the best brother a person could have. He wasn’t perfect, but he took time with me. When I felt ignored growing up, I can remember him taking the time out of his play time, to teach me how to hold a bat and play baseball. I sucked, but that didn’t matter. He took time with me and showed me some attention when my other siblings were busy or teasing me for being the baby of the family. He never did that to me and that is one of the reasons I’ll miss him so much. He loved me and told me all the time.
I’m not back to where I was before March hit, but I’m getting there. My mother still can’t talk about him for long periods of time. He was her first born. I can’t imagine what she’s going through, although she did say she had her days earlier than mine. Without actually saying what ‘those’ days were about.
It’s still cold and it feels like the real spring will never get here. I wonder if I’ll go through this every year. I don’t like marking deaths of people, I feel it’s morbid. But my mind had other things planned for me. And I don’t appreciate it.
Someone told me and everyone is telling me to just ‘remember the good times’. That works for a while. But I guess I’ll always miss him, I don’t think that will ever leave.
This is the first family death where I was stable. My sister, my grandmother and my best friend passed when my meds weren’t together and every day was zombie day. The last time I was this stable, my favorite uncle died and it threw me off balance and landed me back in never-never land for years.
I can see that I’m much stronger than I use to be. I’m holding things down and looking forwards to things and although life isn’t perfect, what is?
Sometimes I wonder how long this ‘good’ feeling is gonna last. I feel stable. And I’m scared it will be gone one morning like it has so many times in the past.
But I can’t think that way, I have to just keep moving forwards. And make the most of what I have now.
So much of me want to just revert like a turtle and go back into my shell.
But the sun feels good. Although a storm is coming (literally). The snow will melt, the skies will clear and the sun will come back again. So why not enjoy it for now.
Taking a slight break from writing. Did some searching of where I am in my present writing abilities and where I want to be in the future.
Having some feelings of doubt and low self-esteem. Which are hard for a writer.
I know that going to the conference will improve my writing. I’m not jumping into that pool without the right tools.
You know how your mind creates ENORMOUS POSSIBILITIES. While you dread that first rejection. But I know I have to put myself out there if I’m gonna get the word out about STIGMA. And what it feels like to live with a mental illness.
I need to make my characters into everyday people in order to reduce the fear and stereotypes of mental illness. I can’t and am not doing this alone. There’s a huge social media movement out there, and I just want to be a part of it.
But I also want to be that turtle.
Conversations going through my mind about stories. I don’t wanna forget them, but today is the day I take my Cabergoline for the growth on my pituitary gland. I begin to feel the draw on my energy and confusion the day before I take my pill, which is Friday. Saturdays are usually a blur of sleep and Craig Charles Funk and Soul Show on the radio.
Sunday’s are better, I feel clear minded and my mood is improved. My endo says there must be something that my body needs in the pills besides what it’s intended. It took me five minutes to write that last sentence and I’m still not sure it’s right. Ugh.
I intended to write about something else, but I can’t get my mind wrapped around. I wanted to write about parents and how they never die. How their effects on your life never seem to leave.
I also wanted to write about self-esteem and how I’m working on mine. How it dips and how I self-talk my way out of the lows.
It’s gonna have to wait. I’ve done my light therapy, taken my morning meds and eaten. Gonna take it easy. My mind isn’t very clear today.
There are days I remember my laundry list of illnesses. I believe that once you have one illness, other ones just seem to follow. BiPolar, general depression, social anxiety, Sjögren’s Syndrome, prolactinoma. Kinda puts a damper on things. I need a nap.
I’m not depressed, just foggy minded.
I tend to worry. And now that I have registered for the conference, I’m still short on the hotel and transportation aspect. I know it’s early and I’ve got 3 months to save and hope for more donations.
As usual, I am being overlooked. I really want to advocate for mental illness and my way of doing this is through this book. By not being able to afford the hotel presently and by not being able to afford transportation. I’ve got myself in a tizzy.
My anxiety is rising and I just want to tell myself to calm down. But my head just goes someplace else and I feel like I’m biting off more than I can chew and as always it boils down to money. I hate the whole thing.
But I love writing. And I love where my book is heading. I can’t give up on that. It’s my purpose.
I always tell my therapist that I feel like I have no purpose in life. I have no children. No husband and can’t hold a job. So what is there to live for? I have no purpose in life.
Writing gives me this purpose. It makes me feel like I’m worth something. That’s just the reality of it.
Writing this helps me. It’s been going through my head all day and it’s only noon. I wake up at five a.m. each day, so it’s been a couple of hours. I need to take it moment by moment and hope that the donation drive picks up and I won’t have to cancel.
I don’t know what to think anymore. I just want to be relaxed about the idea. That would be nice for now.
I’ve just got to keep posting to FB and pushing this cause for myself. Keep believing in myself and try to avoid negative thinking.
So, I’m gonna post the donate link at the end of each blog post and hope for the best.
Today is my writing day, no television, no video games. Just writing and a few rests in between. I’ve already begun, but have to make a short pause to call my mother. I call her at least twice a day, once at eight a.m and then again before we both go to bed.
So far, so good. Pulling out old notebooks and polishing up my current story and Mozart in the background.
I’m hoping and taking things day by day. I get so anxious about things, even if they are months away. I need to stay in the moment and just hope for the best. It would be crushing not to be able to attend the conference in June. But just having tried and having failed, is better than not trying at all. Plus it forces me to write more and quit screwing around with distractions.
I plan to add more to the blog about my progress. I have one story done. Which needs some serious editing and maybe a bit more background or clarification of character. I’m leading my second story into a decline or rather extending the climax. I think I’ll extend the climax and add some more dialogue.
With a day to work on it, I should make more progress. Which makes me happy. Something which is hard to attain at times.
Yesterday was particularly hard. All I could do was phase out and just feel numb.
So it was a nap and television and app on the phone day. That’s all I could handle mentally and physically. I’ve got a busy week ahead and weekend. I think I needed that bum day.
I was thinking about my brother yesterday, in April it will be a year since his death and it’s beginning to feel like he was never here. I dreaded this stage. He’s in my soul and I will see him again at the resurrection. These are my beliefs, you have your own.
So much time has been spent being angry at him. Now I know it is time to start living and shake those feelings away. Work on this book and hope for the best.
I’ve been writing short stories about people with mental illness. Concentrating on characters who just happen to be ill and making them as identifiable as possible.
It’s important to me that these characters could be anybody. Not a stereotype or diagnoses, just a person going through a phase or situation.
My purpose is to help chip away at the stigma that is out there about those of us with BiPolar or Schizophrenia or depression and the list goes on…
I don’t want it to read like the PDA, but rather as a glimpse into someone’s life. There will be some triggering and tragic instances, but also some simple one. Which to a person without anxiety would be a simple task. But for those of us with anxiety, it’s a major undertaking.
There is a Writers’ Conference at Rutgers University I wish to attend. But money is an issue. When isn’t it when it comes to living on a very limited budget. I have to have the money for the conference and the money to get to and from the train. I’ll be taking a bus, to a train and then Lyft. Unless I can get enough to just take Lyft there and back, that would be heaven.
This is my mission and my dream. To get this book finished and attend this conference in June. Either way, I am writing this book.
The conference would put me in contact with publishers and fellow writers and give me a peek into what it takes to get your work out there. To find out if there is a market for my book or would I be creating one. I realize that I need to attend this conference in order to get a better understanding of what I intend to accomplish. In real terms and not just as a dream.
So, if you’re still reading. Please consider helping me attend this conference by clicking the link and hopefully contributing to my cause. Even if you don’t contribute a comment would be nice. We have to support each other and not be ashamed of who we are, and remember that our illness does not define us.
Thursdays are always strange days for me. Therapy and maybe something social. I think it’s the social part that sends the anxiety flying early in the morning. I did some writing on a second short story. I’m not worried about how good or how much editing I’m gonna have to do later. I’ve just got to get these stories out of my head.
Poetry is easier. I don’t rhyme all the time. I think there really shouldn’t be any rules to poetry. It’s a pure expression of the soul and how can anyone put rules on your soul.
I need to write more and I’m glad I did some writing today. But right now, the anxiety has got a huge hold on me and I have to go and do something about it before I scream.