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Writer’s Block

25 Wednesday Jul 2018

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catharsis, getting into the habit, mood diary, mood journal, writer's block, writing alarm

This is what happens when you ignore the urge to write, 2 or 3 days in a row… you come back to your blog and realise it’s been nearly a month since you last added an entry.

I wonder if this is standard, even for professional authors; is the main thing getting in their way, their own inability to stay focused and make time to write?

Whether this is a common problem or just mine, I need to once and for all nip it in the bud. I don’t think I necessarily need to write every day, or when I’ve nothing to say–but when I *do* feel the need for catharsis, I should woman-up and get my not-so-little butt online. I’ve been the North American, overweight, living version of a screaming banshee (bean sidhe, if you want the traditional spelling–my sister did a high school project on Celtic mythology, way back when) for about 3 weeks now… which coincides nicely with the first time I felt the urge to write, and pushed it aside.

It’s not about whether or not I have talent, or whether I’m boring people by writing this blog–that’s utterly irrelevant–the point is, getting this stuff off my chest makes a real (probably measurable) difference to my mood, and my effect on the people around me.

So, for them, I’m going to do it. After approximately 29 years of writing, I’m going to set a daily writing alarm.

Wish me luck!

Mood Diary–A Recent Entry!

12 Thursday Jun 2014

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antagonist, asd, aspergers, autism, clinical depression, depression, drama, drama llama, mood diary, projection, scapegoat

This started out as a mood diary entry from a couple of days ago, but once I got into the swing of it, I altered it a little for public consumption.

The fact that I even need to *do* a Mood Diary tells me a lot about how this individual affects me; I’ve been regulating my moods without the help of a diary for over a year, now. (By the by–I originally began using the diary not long after “meeting” this guy… again, this tells me a lot. Anyways, the entry:

Mood–a 4, maybe. Alternating between wanting to cry, and wanting to strangle someone with my bare hands.

Mostly the latter, to be fair.

I’ve just been advised (by someone who continually paints me as the villain of his entire life, up to the point of blaming me–someone he’s only ever “met” online–for his poor performance at university, his insomnia, his mood swings, etc etc) not to give in to Karpman Drama Triangles, in which he’s cast as the perpetrator, I as the victim, and my fella as the rescuer/hero.

It’s the hypocrisy that gets me with him, every time.

How can someone who’s blamed me for everything from their life-long insomnia to their recent academic performance actually have the gall to accuse me of casting them as a scapegoat?

In fairness, he has an ASD; and since he refuses to talk about it, get coping strategies for it, or even acknowledge it (even to his healthcare providers) I understand that his mind blindness and lack of self-awareness will be at crazy heights. Additionally, his skills at projection are unparalleled–there’s nothing he won’t accuse someone of, if he’s done it himself. And I get it, at least in theory; if you won’t even glance at yourself, there’s no way you can notice the details of what you look like or how you behave. In practice… I don’t get how anyone can be so blind.

Me, I look at him, and I see what I could have become, if I refused to take responsibility for my actions, refused to accept my own social awkwardness, refused to acknowledge that sometimes I get the wrong end of the stick (and if I were blisteringly, eternally angry about my situation, AND thought it was someone’s fault but never mine)… the one good thing about meeting this person is, and always has been, that he illustrates very clearly the potential flaws in my personality, and gives me excellent examples of how not to behave.

(And after this point, I’d realized I was going to post:)

That, and sometimes he’s so ridiculous, you can’t help but laugh at him. My sense of humour has saved me from despair more times than I can count.

Anyways, I think I’ll be posting about this guy a few more times. In the interests of protecting his privacy (he once threatened to sue someone because they’d told me he has an ASD) I’m going to give him a pseudonym. Henceforth, in my blog, he shall be known as “Peevin’ Larvae”.

That’s because he’s always peeved about something, and he’s emotionally stunted, ergo, a larva; but he has mood swings so often, the plural makes more sense. So. Peevin’ Larvae. More on him to come soon… I might do a comic strip, if I can figure out a way to condense one of his 2-page-long monologues into 4 or 5 sentences.

And if I learn how to draw. Lol.

PS In a Karpman Drama Triangle, I’d cast myself as the rescuer, just for the record. It’s something I’m working on.

http://coachingsupervisionacademy.com/thought-leadership/the-karpman-drama-triangle/

Medical Tests

01 Sunday Jun 2014

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barium enema, embarrassing, embarrassment, good mood, grace under fire, humiliation, medical tests, mood diary

Probably because my depression is so tied up in feelings of anxiety, paranoia, and overwhelming terror, one of the things that makes me feel good is having medical tests done. I wanted to post an entry today that was a little cheerier than the last few, and going through old mood diary entries, I found this:

10th February:
Amazingly for the situation, I am in an excellent mood. 6/7? I have an embarrassing medical examination today (imagine a cervical smear that lasts 20 minutes, and examines the front AND back, and you’ll kinda have the idea) and I haven’t eaten since about 9 last night, and then it was only tea and toast, and yet, I am all sunshine and happiness. Bizarre. Will probably fade once I’m actually at the hospital.

But no! I just had x-ray dye inserted (via catheter!) into my bladder, porridge-like Barium inserted into my colon, and x-rays taken while I relaxed and tightened my pelvic floor muscles… and I was smiling and chatting the whole time. I mean, there was an element of nervous chatter to it, but… you could tell, they’d never seen anyone so happy to be having that particular examination. But it didn’t hurt, and there’s nothing hideously wrong with me (over-active pelvic floor, that’s all, I just need to learn to relax my internal muscles–big surprise, for the Queen of Anxiety…) anyways, it was good news all round, and I’m not squeamish about medical stuff at all (I just love being examined, it makes me feel safe, like if there was something wrong they’d catch it… hypochondriac). But, however, scooting right along, mood an 8 or even a 9, and now, I get to have Taybarns (for being brave and not complaining about being STARVED–it was fine, but Douglas overflows with sympathy at the horror, haha) and, well, just yay.

Maybe all those people who think I’m a weirdo are right, lol.

Quick Intro to Depression

19 Monday May 2014

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anxiety, coping, depression, mood diary, stress

Depression is different for everyone. Mine actually manifests itself as extreme anxiety and numerous daily panic attacks, normally while thinking I’m about to die. Just as a quick example, some entries from my mood diary a couple of years back:

“31st January:

Had forgotten that D__ gave me penguin pyjamas for Christmas,
until he reminded me. Wondered if I have a brain tumor.

Told myself not to be ridiculous, and tried to think of something to
prove my brain was functioning normally–came up with ‘no severe
headaches recently, last eye test showed no behind-eye pressure,
can coordinate both sides of my body, it’s fine’.”

“20th March

Not only will he never fight for me–hard to stomach, but a thing I’ve mostly accepted, by now–he won’t even speak up for me. Thinking back, I honestly can’t recall a time ever has… and tonight, he’s admitted that he probably never will.

I want to go home. I want to be the one being looked after, sheltered, taken care of. I miss my Mom and my sister. I miss my own friends–the ones who were always my friends, no matter how many times I let my mouth get away from me.

I’m sad and tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

There would be more, but I was depressed. I stopped bothering with the mood diary not long after that (and instead, began sleeping 14 hours a day and still being exhausted–yay, happy pills). For the record, most of the entries contained things like me having an itchy armpit, and then losing all my breath and starting to hypverventilate, because WHAT IF IT’S BREAST CANCER.

Depression is no fun, folks. No fun at all.

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