Hello my beautiful ones,
I guess I am not keeping my promise of keeping this up to date. I will try harder but the last couple of weeks have not been spent in idleness. I promise. The next issue of Lunch Ticket is wrapping up and will soon be published. There has been a lot more to do within the art department and it took up more of my energy than I expected.
I have also been going to a lot of readings. Readings are so much fun. I get to hear talented writers share their work and then if I’m lucky they graciously put up with my presence at the post-reading drinking.
I have been suffering from a nasty bout of insomnia lately. Insomnia is like any other sickness for me in that it definitely comes and goes and I usually do not have to suffer through it for long periods at a time. This bout has lasted over a week and I am going downhill fast. This post may be more rambling than usual due to this.
If you’ve ever had a conversation with me that has last longer than twenty minutes, you can pretty much tell I am an anxious sort of person. My anxiety rules my emotions and my body. I word vomit all over people, twitch, grab my hands and generally feel like I may bolt at any second. My anxiety, unlike my insomnia, is with me every day. It crushes me in the morning and suffocates me at night. During the day, it’s not so bad, usually a minor irritant. The point of me telling you this is that it has been taking an interesting if not annoying turn. I have been feeling intense amounts of invisibility and insignificance. I can’t stand that feeling. They are unreasonable and illogical. There is no rhyme or reason to what sets it off and there is very little to do but curl up into fetal and let it ride out.
Let’s be honest, validation helps ride out those gnarly feelings. Validation was a recent topic of debate at my workplace recently and it has been stuck in my head.
Why do we crave validation?
It’s addicting that’s why. If I get a compliment on my writing, it sends me into a euphoric high. But like other drugs, it runs out quick and you eventually need more and more to sustain that high and to keep the bad feelings at bay. I’m gonna steal a lyric from the new Rob Roberge book, “The Cost of Living,” because I read it recently in an interview and it has been stuck in my head since. It seems apt here:
I tried your steps
And stumbled down your stairs
My only problem with drugs
Is that they always run out
Goose bumps baby, pure goose bumps. I have been thinking a lot about drugs lately. I recently popped an Ambien the other day to try to get some sleep and hallucinated some trippy shit before vomiting and falling asleep. It got me thinking about some of my teenage years when I did drugs, drank a lot and participated in other destructive behavior. They were some bad years but also some of the best. I had a sense of freedom that I feel I’ve lost along the way. I don’t like who I was back then but I don’t like who I am now. I only bring up drugs because to this day when I am feeling this down in the dumps and anxiety ridden, some parts of my mind always turn to the numbness that drugs used to bring. It’s a muscle memory urge if that makes any sense.
This leads me to this quest of identity I have been on the last couple of months. I am tired of feeling insecure and anxious. Does that ever go away? I would imagine as a writer I will always feel insecure and vulnerable about my work but as a human being, am I ever going to just feel alright and evened out without the use of some outside influence? Trying to figure out who I am, sounds silly really. A lot of this sounds stupid to me when written down or said aloud than it does in my head. That leads to more feelings of stupidity and insignificance.
I recently ended an eight year relationship. Eight long years of defining myself as part of a couple. Now I am just trying to be me, whatever “me” is. I am gradually allowing myself to not feel so silly when I tell people I am a writer but the rest of whoever I am is still a mess.
I feel trapped when I’m at home. I feel claustrophobic and lonely. Lonely and anxious. Like right now, I feel trapped and alone.
I feel lonely a lot lately.
All I want is a hug sometimes. Sounds pathetic, I know. It’s the truth though. Why am I writing all this for someone to read? I really don’t think the twenty or so people who actually read this really give a shit about my personal life but as always, this is where I try to figure shit out in my own ass backwards kind of way.
Ahh Jesus, let’s move on. Hey! Guess what? I got my first story published. Two stories, actually. One is over at The Weekenders Magazine here and the other will be coming out this summer. I am very proud of my first steps into the published world. I can’t wait for you all to read the interview I co-conducted with Mythpunk visual artist, MANDEM in the new issue of Lunch Ticket. Soon on the blog, I will be posting some book reviews and the next installment in the Andrew Ursler series by Mario Piumetti. I am hoping to post some essays soon.
**Please send essays, fiction, CNF, poetry, rants, etc over to me. I need stuff to post, M’Kay?*
This post is what first draft shit looks like and is really how the inside of my head functions. A little scary and mostly sad. Hehe.
Come back for some uber awesome book reviews and stuff!
Ashley