Bottom of the Tank
Posted on March 20, 2008
Filed Under Anxiety, bat-ass crazy, praise | 15 Comments
It dawns another ugly gray March day, depressing in its raw hopelessness. It’s supposed to be the advent of Spring. I feel betrayed. Where is my sunshine, my crisp breeze, where are the damn daffodils?
Admittedly, even without Mother Nature’s cruel withholding, I’d still be feeling pretty bleak today. Probably a culmination of two whole weeks of miserable insomnia. I can feel the fatigue wrecking havoc on my general outlook, my patience, my ability to write anything good or meaningful. My brain feels like hash. And when I find myself at the bottom of the tank like this, I begin to weep along to pop ballads. I start feeling hyperbolic, exceptionally self-centered. My skewed perspective contributes to the under-pinings of anxiety that prevent my sleep. A predictable cycle. Round and round, chasing my own mangy tail.
I contemplate phoning a therapist because clearly that which plagues my night-time self may need professional attendance. But then I worry that it’s just my exhaustion talking and one good night’s sleep later, a trip to a therapist will seem ludicrous, indulgent even. I can’t even plan the next minute forget about the next week. Who knows where five days will find me if this insomnia thing keeps up.
As is typical of someone stuck in the spin cycle of a depression, I feel like I’m just barely keeping it all together. That one mild set back will set it all to tumble.
In spells like these, I suffer intensely about my writing. Because I’ve been almost ill with sleeplessness, I’ve been remarkably unproductive in the past two weeks which should just be fine, really okay. There’s no deadline, no pressing need to finish anything. But there is the persistent idea that to call oneself a writer, a person has to have actually produced a complete written work. Something worthy of shopping around. I have a few short stories finished and don’t know what the hell to do with them. My novel languishes just at the point where I abandoned it in February. No more no less. What am I waiting for? Maybe I’m not a writer at all. Maybe I’m just what My Better Half suspects I am – a housewife with a hobby fooling herself in the pursuit of some far off dream. And there’s a sort of pressure in all that, the need to prove him wrong which makes me less lenient with myself, less able to accept that there will be times when life and obligations and just plain mental health will affect the quality of my writing.
So this brings me to the point of today’s post which is to say thank you to all of you who read Gardenias and left supportive comments. I really, really needed to hear the praise this week. A piece of me wants to believe you all, wants to lap up the accolades and go forward, bolstered by your audience. But then there is the doubting writer in me that is slowly working against you all, wanting honest support and encouragement and then not believing a word of it upon receipt.
I’m reminded of a passage in Writing Down the Bones…”As writers we are always seeking support…But when we receive it, we don’t believe it, but we are quick to accept criticism, reinforce our deepest beliefs that, in truth, we are no good and not really writers…Really stop when someone is complimenting you . Even if it’s painful and you are not used to it, just keep breathing, listen, let yourself take it in. Feel how good it is. Build up a tolerance for positive, honest support.”
So this is me today trying to inhale your kind words and absorb the praise. Thank you guys for being the light and the drive and the confirmation that what I’m working at it is meaningful and good. Forgive my reluctance to hear you. I’m trying to tune in to my own worthiness. Really I am. Just this week, it feels hard.
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