There are a few things about me that do not go well with my dream of being a writer. They're very frustrating. But I'll tell you about them so that anyone else who feels this way will know they're not alone.
In order to survive in this life, I have to take prescription drugs every night. I don't dare go a day without them, or the adverse effects are immediate. One of them, in particular, affects my imagination. The first time I took it, I felt stupid because I only had one thought in my brain at a time. Oh, sure - come to find out that's supposedly "normal', but it had never happened to me before. I always had four or five trains of thought barreling through my mind all at the same time, sounding their loudest whistles as they went, which made it very easy to always have two or three stories brewing on different burners back there at all times. Can't do that so well any more.
My age seems to have snuck up on me while I wasn't looking, and suddenly all those wonderful ultra romantic daydreams that used to come so easily all seem improbable and full of catches. Maybe it's too much personal experience that tell me that handsome prince over in the corner giving me the "come hither" stare is most likely a really big, fat, immature jerk. And those impossible quests that made for so much excitement as a kid now seem such a useless waste of time, when there's so many other important things that really need to be done that I already don't have the time and energy to get done like I should.
I always thought my greatest goal in life was to be a mother. I may go to hell for saying this, but now I'm not so sure. Don't get me wrong - I love my boy, but forty isn't really the best time to start having kids, if we'd ended up with Short Pants ten or fifteen years ago it would have been great. But I'd already given up when he came along, and adjusted my life's goals to be a writer instead of a mom. Adjusting them back to somewhere in the middle is not easily done.
So, add that to all the financial strains, stresses of an unsure adoption, and life in an apartment that's two sizes too small, and that's my life in general viciously battling with my dream of being a writer.
Don't worry about me - I'm not as depressed as this post makes it sound. It just is what it is...
So if anyone else is struggling, you're not the only one. Hang in there with me, and we'll be okay.
Permission To Beleive
53 minutes ago
3 Comments:
I hear you.
I hope things smooth out soon.
Writing is great, motherhood is great, both at the same time is overwhelming. We all hit these moments, sometimes those moments are years. Good luck. You're certainly not alone but that only offers so much comfort.
Someone just said they cant be an amazing wife and mother and be an amazing writer. Some has to give on both sides.
I totally agree.
Hang in there sista, I know your tired. I know your having a hard time with both creativity and shortpants. I know how it is to live in a place that is just TOO small.
Well get there someday. I know it. Chin up and know that I love you, and totally apreciate your friendship.
Remember, we all have our hard times and a rejetion, even a good one, is a blow to what we think we are. Give yourself a day or two to mourn the idea of being a published in the next few months and then when your feeling better try again. :)
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