The Monster Inside

I don't talk much about the novel I'm working on here. It's basically YA Fantasy and my main character is a girl named Laya that literally takes on other people's demons. Surprisingly, I didn't realize at the time how my main character's struggle mirrors my own. Her superpower is a fantastical but literal interpretation of what I do. I'm very affected by my environment and the people around me. I'm overly sensitive to moods, and tones and innuendo, and very often I take on other's people's negativity and make their problems my own. The problem with this of course, is that I have enough of my own craziness to deal with. I've come to relate to my character's story on such a deep level that it's kind of scary.

I've been advised to shelve this work-in-progress because I've been "working on it" for about five years. (I can't believe it's been that long! Damn you time vortex!) What I don't think this very respected successful writer considered (and couldn't have as I've never actually met her) is that this is nothing new for me. This is not a problem with my WIP, this is an ongoing problem with me. It's not the fault of my story that I have no drive. It's not the fault of my story that I lack the will to change; that I waste my free time tumbling in a mind-numbing disorientating pitch black void. It's not my story's fault that I have an aversion to accomplishing anything. And it's not my story's fault that all good deeds to myself must be punished.

I've come to notice that every "good" day I have is followed by a horrible one. I'm too depressed to be considered anything close to bipolar--I never reach that other extreme of happiness and mania--but some semblance of happiness or contentment or just plain being okay, is almost always followed by an extreme depressive episode, like payback with interest rather than some bizarre balancing act. This makes the mental image of My Monster D terrifyingly real; an actual manifestation of the monster inside that wants to thrive, that wants to survive, and that takes any hint of happiness as a threat to that survival. It wages a war in me and it doesn't hold back. It fights dirty and I'm sick of it.

I've been trying to write the morning pages again. For anyone who doesn't know, the morning pages is stream-of-consciousness journaling first thing upon waking. It's supposed to help with creativity and a connection to divinity. It also serves as a way of purging the garbage from your mind before you start your day. I took a very long hiatus and I'm hoping to change that. Yesterday, while I was writing, after endless mundane stream-of-consciousness bullshit, words came out that actually meant something. I was writing about how every good day that I have results in a depressive episode, and how My Monster D tries to gain back control. Here's an excerpt:

"I always stop doing the things that have a positive impact on me. Is it because I don't have the patience for the slow progress...? I start to feel a little better and then I just say "fuck it" it's taking too long? Is it My Monster D fighting back because it wants to live? It wants to thrive...? Because I'm its vessel; I'm the only thing keeping it alive. Without me, it would dissipate into nothing; a figment of my warped imagination. And it won't allow that. It can't allow that. Because IT WANTS TO LIVE. Why is its will to live greater than mine? What have I done to feed it and starve me??"

After writing this I burst into tears. Not entirely sure why. It's not news to me that there are some parallels between Laya's world and my own. But it was like I suddenly really connected to that--to her. The idea was scratching at the surface of my mind for a good long while though.

Will there be a happy ending for me? A psychic once told me yes, and we all know how reliable psychics are....

I guess I will have to wait and see what's in store for my main character to know what's in store for me.

Image found: http://createdisney.deviantart.com/art/Terra-Monster-inside-of-me-339308190

My Life As A Tardis

Someone recently reminded me that it’s been almost a year since I've posted anything. I knew it had been a while, but a whole YEAR?? This only serves to demonstrate how lost in the vortex of time I can become.

I know everybody feels like time flies sometimes but this is crazy. I wish it was an example of how “time flies when you’re having fun”, but this expression does not tell the whole story does it? Because not only does time fly when you’re having fun, it also flies when you are supremely unhappy – when nothing happens in your life. Because how do you differentiate one day from the next, when nothing ever happens to break up the monotony? Time flies when you’re bored to death, but for some reason this rule never seems to apply when you are at work; hence, why I’m writing this entry from The Hellmouth.

I can’t say that this past year has been completely uneventful. Maybe that feeling is just an illusion, because while things change around me, I always seem to be stuck, standing still while the world rushes by. Circumstances change but I’m still the same fucked up depressed loner I've always been.

Since I last posted a year ago, there have been some big changes. The inevitable happened with married-but-separated-cute-musician-guy who moved in last April.

On May 5th I complained on here that I was becoming closer and closer to him and why can’t I just think of him as my new best friend?

It was about 2 weeks after that post that we became cautiously more than friends. Not wanting to fall into previously made mistakes, like co-dependency, we both steered clear of the L-word , and tried to carve out a space where we could exist as simply two people enjoying each other’s company. We were both terrified of losing ourselves in each other, of starting another long-ass voyage that ends in a fiery crash-and-burn-like scenario.

Despite our best attempts at keeping some emotional distance, things progressed into a whole relationship thing. But because his life was in upheaval, he had to move five hours away, and so not long after starting a new relationship, it turned into a long distance one.

This was both good and bad. The distance allowed me to continue to work on myself in ways that I find difficult when in relationships. (More on that in a future post). It also meant that I missed him. And it also left me at times feeling a little like this was a relationship of convenience; I became insecure about his feelings for me.

His visits became more frequent though, and he moved back to this city almost a month ago. I have mixed feelings about that too, but it will have to wait for another post.

My time here at the Hellmouth is coming to a close, for today. But, I will try and create some momentum and post again tomorrow. Until then, if the apocalypse comes, beep me.

The Only One

See her come down, through the clouds
I feel like a fool
I ain't got nothing left to give
Nothing to lose

So come on Love, draw your swords
Shoot me to the ground
You are mine, I am yours
Lets not fuck around

Cause you are, the only one
Cause you are, the only one

I see them snakes come through the ground
They choke me to the bone
They tie me to their wooden chair
Hear all my songs

So come on Love, draw your swords
Shoot me to the ground
You are mine, I am yours
Lets not fuck around

Cause you are, the only one
Cause you are, the only one

The only

Cause you are, the only one
Cause you are, the only one

The only one
The only one
The only one
The only one

So come on Love, draw your swords
Shoot me to the ground
You are mine, I am yours
Lets not fuck around

The only
---
"Draw Your Swords" as written by Angus Stone, Julia Stone
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powerd by LyricFind
Read more at http://www.songmeanings.net/songs/view/3530822107858775602/#YuZocwL1sfOXPvu6.99

Patterns

It's been two months since my last confession. Where does the time go?

When I made the decision to ease myself out of the V's life and into my own, I thought renting a room from my friend's mom would be a good way to move on without becoming too overwhelmed at the prospect. This was to be my safe place. A temporary safe place. But it's already been over 8 months since I moved in, and I still don't feel ready to leave. It's like this has become my new normal. This has become the new grave that I dug out myself, and willingly stepped into. Everyday, a little more earth is shovelled back where it belongs, and it's only a matter of time before I'm buried again.

I do this. I get "comfortable". I get stuck. I thought that by now I would be ready to move on, from this house, from this town, from this province. I thought I would have figured a few things out by now, and be well on my way to starting over. But I'm still here.

I went bankrupt. It's not something I'm proud of, but having finally addressed my financial situation did bring me some relief. It will still be hanging over my head for the next 8 months or more, as my creditors (the government and the banks) have that much time to object before I'm discharged.

I'm still working the same job at the printing establishment, as a proofreader. It's ridiculously mind-numbing and I don't know how much longer I can do this. My co-worker, who was there for over a year I think, quit about a month ago, and I couldn't help but take it personally. There was no warning (except the standard bitching about the job). But there was no actual heads up. She just didn't show up one day. And now she's moved on to another job (at a bankruptcy trustee's office no less) and left me behind. I am jealous at her ability to pick up and move on. When will it be my turn?

My living situation has changed somewhat in the last couple of weeks. When the woman I rent from let me know that a friend of her daughter's (a 34 year old man going through a divorce) will be renting another room from her, I felt dread. And fear. And when she asked how I felt about it, the closet thing to the truth I could say was "I'll adjust". Inside I was furious. And fearful. About my safe place being compromised. I could only think of the possibility of leaving, and that scared the shit out of me.

But he moved in anyway. And I felt an instant connection to him. We have a ridiculous amount of stuff in common, and his personality is compatible with mine. I was worried he would be like most people out there - the inconsiderate extroverts that bulldoze their way through life and through other people's lives. But he wasn't like that. He's a strange mixture of introvert and attention-seeker, who can talk endlessly but because he's so soft-spoken, I could never mind. He's so thoughtful, always taking into consideration how his actions might affect others.

As if the Universe wanted to be cruel, he's also terribly cute, and a musician. Who offered me guitar lessons. Which I've been wanting for how long now? And here he is, my own personal music teacher. Nicely put together. And sweet.

And still married.

With children.

I could feel myself becoming emotionally dependent on him right away. The logic part of my brain kept warning me about it. Don't get too close. Don't fall into another trap. One where you're dependent on another human being to feel safe. To feel anything. To feel...alive.

But it happened anyway. We've become inseparable. I find myself, night after night, hanging out with him in the common room, by the fireplace. Just talking. Or playing guitar. Or watching a movie. And I get stuck. Down here in the basement. I haven't been going to bed early enough, and it's showing. I've been so tired all week. On Thursday night, we didn't go to bed until about three in the morning. Only to have to work the next day.

But he's quickly turning into an addiction. And I'm worried. Worried that I'm the only one feeling this. Worried that I'm not the only one. Worried about how it will end.

And annoyed with myself that I can't just think of him as my new best friend.

Pockets Full of Stones

I feel like my body finally had enough, and it demanded that I do something. So I finally got some answers about my chronic pain. After one appointment with a chiropractor I knew exactly what was wrong with me, and that left me wondering what the hell is wrong with the conventional medical community?

So now I'm spending time and money I don't have to be painfully "adjusted". Feeling cautiously optimistic that things will get better from here, at least physically. It has to.


I'm broken and I'm broke.

Despite the temporary zest for life I used to end a relationship I feel like I'm back to where I started. Only I'm essentially homeless.

I have nothing to show for my 34 years. No assets. No savings. No husband. No boyfriend. No children. I really thought I'd have all those things by now. Well, maybe a husband or a boyfriend. Having both seems a bit much, am I right?

So, here I am, sitting on my bed, listening to The Smiths (you know it's bad when...). trying to call my mom. The phone line has been persistently busy. Having had enough of the mocking beeps that tell me even my mother doesn't want to hear from me, I decided to write a post.

It has been a while, and since I usually use other activities to avoid writing, I thought I'd switch it up a bit, and use my writing as a way to avoid something else. Something much more urgent. Something much more deserving of my attention to procrastination:

Money problems.

 The financial disaster that is my life is finally coming to a head, and I either have to buoy myself up or let myself sink to the muddy, infested waters of complete ruin.

Feeling alone and overwhelmed. Tomorrow I have my first ever meeting with people in suits about my financial situation, to see if my life can be painfully "adjusted" too. At this meeting we will discuss my future, and the possibility of going bankrupt. I'm not sure how it all works, given that I basically have no consumer debt. All my debt comes from my seven years of education. Seven years of education that I'm not even using. Seven years of loans. Some were direct loans from the Provincial Government, some through the Federal Government, and some were Risk Share loans through my bank, also divided into Provincial and Federal. My interest relief eligibility expired long ago, and when the payments became due I just...froze.

What is wrong with me, that I can't simply cope with the every day stresses of life like everyone else? Instead, I become paralyzed with fear and I use avoidance as a way to cope, knowing full well that it will come back to bite me with more ferocity than initially intended.

But, that's where I'm at right now. Terrified, and trying not to go to my ex for the emotional support he so desperately wants to give.

Bombay Bicycle Club

Heading out tonight to see Bombay Bicycle Club! Yay!

The Conflict Resolution of My Dreams

I wrote my second entry in the Dream Journal! It's called Holy Trinity of the Exes. I'm not sure if my dreams are interesting to anyone but myself, but I really wanted to start writing them down somewhere, and then I remembered - the Dream Journal blog! I'm hoping to continue with this little project as I'm already starting to see patterns in my dreams by writing them down. A recurring theme in my dreams so far revolve around feelings of worthlessness, feelings of shame, of guilt. The weird zombies and exes are only plot devices to reveal the actual conflict within myself. Stay tuned for further developments. You know, if you're so inclined.