All aboard the struggle bus! Or boat. Or train. It’s your choice.

It’s been brought to my attention that it’s November 12, and I’ve only posted twice in this entire month. Not that I necessarily needed the reminder because, as any writer/blogger/creative type knows, when we aren’t creating, we’re thinking about creating. Stressing about it. Allowing it to hang over our heads like big grey storm clouds.

Another thing we creative types seem to have in common is mental illness. Have you ever noticed that? Writers, artists, actors, comedians, we all seem to be too sensitive, prone to depression, self-loathing, and procrastination. Some kind of substance abuse is like Creative – Level: Expert. Not that alcoholism and drug abuse make for better writers, but Hemingway and Fitzgerald were wasted all the time, so what do I know.

It’s because of the aforementioned depression, self-loathing and procrastination that I’ve been so absent this month.

I know that sounds melodramatic, and it is, but at the same time it’s kind of not. For the last couple of months, I’ve felt like I’ve been running face first into a metaphorical brick wall. It’s not that there’s anything wrong per se; it’s more like everything is wrong. I’m still living in chaos because I can’t bring myself to unpack. Work is getting on my last nerve. Dan’s been gone a lot. I miss home.

Oh, and I haven’t seen the sun in approximately 492 days. I’m being hyperbolic, but it does get really gloomy in New York in the fall. The leaves and things are really pretty, but the joy they bring lasts for about a minute before it’s replaced by rain, wind, rapidly dropping temperatures and an irresistible urge to hibernate. It seems like fall hasn’t even begun before the leaves are gone and the snow is starting. Fucking nature.

I went home to Rochester this weekend to spend some time with my family and chill out to see if it helped with my funk, and it did a bit. There’s something about being in my hometown, in the house I grew up in, giggling about weird shit with my mom, snuggling with my doggy brother, and watching medical dramas with my stepdad that makes me feel a lot more grounded. I don’t know how often I’ll have the opportunity to do it with the impending winter, so I’m glad I didn’t opt to spend the weekend holed up in my office working.

I’m going on another trip this weekend, to Florida, to visit my wife for life and future wife in law. I’m looking forward to some time in the sunshine with the lovely ladies and my furniece. We’ll talk wedding, eat a bunch of breakfast foods, and I’ll come home with a brand new lease on life and all manner of fantastic blog ideas.

Or something.

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2 Comments

  1. Exploding Nova
    Permalink

    If this isn’t the damn truth. I just got back from a month long hiatus, but have accomplished nothing blog-wise. I made a quasi whole hearted (?) attempt at Instagram for my first 2 days back and managed to gain around 130 followers in that time and then started slacking again. Not dramatically, but the real effort I put in for 48 hours definitely dimmed. I worked hard at Twitter… which is totally random considering that it’s prob my least used social media, and I have managed to get up to almost 1k followers from 296. The quick follows there began to slow, and I’ve now lost my mental momentum with that too. Blog wise, I’ve done nothing since that haunting post in early October.
    I expect so much out of myself that when I’m not seeing virtually instant results, I give. It overwhelms me and brings me down much more than it should. I feel like I put in so much “work or effort” that I easily get depressed if there’s no immediate & above average results from it. We start telling ourselves it’s not good enough, everyone else is doing so much better…. blah, blah, blah. We start getting totally overwhelmed. We start thinking, “Maybe I just need to take a break for a day or two. Yes, that will help.” Proceed to total shutdown. And then during said shutdown, you’re STILL mentally beating yourself up, probably even more because you’re feeling guilty, and even more worthless and useless than ever. Because of this, it then becomes hard to come back. It feels like you have to put in 10 times the effort and you start getting overwhelmed all over again before you’ve even began. I’m getting stressed even thinking about this part of the ‘creative process’.
    🤯🤯🤯

    Liked by 2 people

    Reply
    • Teresa
      Permalink

      Girl. Yes. I knew you’d get it. Fucking creative process.

      This is why I’m 36 years old and haven’t written my award winning hugely popular novel yet.

      Like

      Reply

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