Heh. Life, am I right? … Am I right?

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Written on the 14th of October 2019.

 

I can’t really figure out where I am in life these days. I have a place to live, but it’s not my home. I have a job, but it’s an internship, unpaid, and part of the job center program to see how much I can work. I want to live a healthier life, but I don’t know how to get started. Every time I try, I fail. It’s so hard sticking with it. I want to write more and draw more, but my mind somehow manages to convince me that I shouldn’t. And I don’t understand why.

I feel like I’ve been living in this limbo for a long time now. I’ve had so many of these periods in my life, where it feels like I’m just waiting for something to start. Something to change. Something to trigger that spark, that self-discipline, that powerful sensation of suddenly knowing – yes, that’s it! That’s what I gotta do! That’s where I’m heading!

It seems like it always comes down to purpose. Purpose, purpose, purpose. But maybe it’s not just about that. Maybe I’m not just lacking purpose in life. What if it’s something else?

It’s like having a writer’s block, but for everything. A life block, I guess you could call it. I’ve been removed from my life, floating above, looking down, not knowing how to get back. Should I not be taking charge? Should I not be in control? Isn’t that what it comes down to, being in control of your own life, steering the reel, at least as far as possible?

I’m just sitting here on a chair in a small room in a shared apartment typing away on my laptop, with pain in my neck and lower back, having eaten a pack of biscuits instead of dinner, thinking about when the appropriate time would be to go to sleep. Usually I say 9pm at the earliest, unless I’m super exhausted and can barely stay awake. But on a regular night like this, no way. Earliest bedtime is 9 o’clock.

I’m constantly checking my calendar, to see if I have any exciting plans I can look forward to, as if something special needs to happen every day for me to bother with life. Or maybe it’s because it makes me feel better, knowing that even though I’m just sitting here by my laptop all evening, watching Netflix, waiting for bedtime, that I’ll be doing something tomorrow, or the day after that.

Nick is in the Netherlands visiting his family, so I’ve been home “alone” (one other flatmate has been home, and yet out most of the time). My nights have consisted mainly of checking Facebook, e-mails, YouTube, repeat. Sometimes I’ve torn myself away from that vicious circle and watched some Netflix (currently watching Jane the Virgin season 4). Once or twice I’ve allowed myself to play The Sims, but I try to keep it to a minimum. I get so damn addicted and I can’t tear myself away from it, so I end up not eating and going to bed too late. On other nights… well, I just go to bed really early. I’ve been extremely tired these last 4-5 days, and have been sleeping too much.

Why does life have to be such a big deal? Why can’t it just be whatever it is?

I feel bad for sitting in front of the screen all day, because I know it will only make my pains worse. At work, that’s all I do, as well – sit at my desk and work on my computer. When I’m home, I should be stretching on my yoga mat and do neck exercises, or go to the gym, or go for a walk – not watch three more episodes of Jane the Virgin. I could be reading a book, or drawing. I feel a little better knowing that at least right now, I’m writing – on my laptop, yes, but writing nonetheless.

Jane has a writer’s block. I can relate. Sure, I can write a blog post now and then, when I’m inspired or when I’m finally able ot get something out that’s been eating away at me. But I’m not writing as in writing fiction. My evil little inner critic is always stopping me, saying I might as well not start anything because I won’t be able to finish it anyway. Then I think of Jane, and I think: well, she seems to be able to pull through it. So surely, I can too?

Except, my life isn’t a telenovela. And I’m not Jane. I’m Maria, a girl with a bipolar disorder, who’s been tossed around and around and is feeling dizzy and disoriented. I receive social benefits while on sick leave, trying to figure out how many work hours I can handle without getting sick. I’m practically living in a shoe box with 99% of my belongings in storage.

Nick keeps telling me that I’m doing a lot, that I’m improving, that it will get better. Of course, a part of me knows that he’s right. It just feels so far away, like an unreachable future, too good to be true, too good to hope for.

I wish I could glue everything back together. It’s all so scattered. I’m so scattered. Maria the Scatterbrain. Scatterscatterscatter.

It’s 8.17pm. Definitely not bedtime yet. So I’ll listen to a sad, sad song, because it’s stuck in my head. I’ll Never Love Again, from A Star Is Born. Maybe I’ll actually do some yoga exercises? At least a bit of stretching. (I say that every night.)

Don’t wanna give my heart away

To another stranger

Or let another day begin

Won’t even let the sunlight in

No I’ll never love – 

I don’t wanna know this feeling

Unless it’s you and me

I don’t wanna waste a moment

oooooh

And I don’t wanna give somebody else

The better part of me

I would rather wait for you

oooohhh….

Okay. Gonna schedule this post to be published on another day, turn off my computer, and listen to some Gaga. And definitely stretch.

Maybe.

Lower dosage = less energy…?

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Written on Tuesday the 15th of October.

Maybe it’s a combination of my increased working hours and the evenings growing darker and darker with every passing day. Yet, I feel like I should be experiencing more energy, since my new psychatrist and I decided a couple of weeks ago to once more lower my dosage of mood stabilizers with another 25mg. This hasn’t been the case. I’ve actually gotten more tired, sleeping 10-15 (!!) hours every night. The 15 hours were just one night, but still – where did that come from ?

I know it’s only been a few weeks. I know the weather has been grey and cold. And I know Nick has been gone for almost a week. All these factors have probably affected my sleep pattern. Still, I can’t help but feel a bit disappointed, as I was finally starting to feel more energized and sleeping less. Thoughts and worries are slowly seeping into my mind… what if this is a sign of a beginning depression? It probably isn’t. But “probably” doesn’t really silence my worries.

I think I might give my psychiatrist a call one of these days, just to let him know how I’ve been feeling. Always good to keep the doc updated, especially when we’ve been making changes in my medication.

It’s still early days, but better safe than sorry, right? I haven’t been stable for that long, considering my history of frequent episodes. I want to make sure I nip it in the bud, if anything is actually going on. Can’t be sure. I’d like to be sure. Get advice from my psychiatrist. Stay alert.

People sometimes ask me, “Are you sure it’s healthy to constantly be aware of your mental state? Wouldn’t it be better to just live your life and not obsess about your disorder?” They could be right. But I don’t think so. Maybe when I’ve been stable and on low dosage of meds for several years, I can allow myself to not contantly be on guard. That’s just not my reality right now. I’m still working towards stability, structure, fewer episodes, and making my way to be able to keep a steady job. It’s just not an option to loosen the reins yet.

So, I shall continue to be observant, and have those around me be observant, too. Especially Nick, since I’m with him every day. And then hope that it’s just a passing thing, and not the first signs of a new depression. Fingers crossed.

 

Too much to ask for?

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“A normal life.” Is that too much to ask for?

 

I would love to live a life without constant physical pain. It would be a dream come true for me. It just doesn’t seem right that from the age of 20, I have suffered from pains almost as bad as my 82-year-old grandma, and it’s not getting better. If anything, it’s getting worse. I can’t imagine feeling like this for the rest of my life. And yes, I know there are things I can do to try to make it better. Exercise is the main thing. But exercise has always been difficult for me, and I’m scared that I might overdo it and make it worse. The biggest hurdle for me, however, is changing my habits and overcoming my obsessive thought patterns.

Now that I’ve started cycling more, my obsessive thoughts about sweat and BO have gotten pretty bad. I’ve been trying to combat it by bringing an extra top and sweater or cardigan, so that I can change when I arrive at the office or whereever. But with the constant change in the Danish autumn weather, it’s really difficult for me to get dressed in the morning. What if it’s too warm for this? Will I sweat too much? Will I smell? What if I get too cold in the office, should I bring a thicker sweater? Will this be too warm or too cold for cycling? Will all of this fit in my backpack? What if it rains, should I bring my rain suit? My rubber boot has a hole in it, my feet will get wet, should I buy rain covers for my boots, I need to buy new boots, can I wear my sneakers, no they will get soaked and ruined, what about my winter boots, will they hold against heavy rain, they’re the only winter shoes I have that are relatively comfortable and still looks good with more formal clothes so I don’t want to ruin them
whatamIgonnadoshouldIjusttakethebusbutthatcostsmoneyandI’vealreadyspenttoomuchmoneyonpublictransportandwhataboutThursdaywhenIhavetogoseemyfriendwholivesfurtherawayIneedmoneyforthatonmycardIneedtoexerciseorI’llneverloseweightandmypainwillnevergoawayohnoit’sstartedtorainfuckwhatdoIdowhatshouldIdowhatshouldIdowhatshouldIdo…

These thoughts go through my mind almost every morning, and it’s driving me nuts. I sweat a lot, ever since I went into puberty, and it’s always been something I’ve been extremely aware of and uncomfortable with. It took me most of my teenage years and young adult life to find a antiperspirant that has an acceptable effect, yet it’s still not enough for me. How do I create a daily exercise routine with these obsessive thoughts? How do I find the self-discipline to reduce my suger intake and stop eating so much chocolate and cake? How do I say no when people offer? How can I live a healthy life? What does it feel like to get up in the morning and get dressed for the day like it’s no big deal?

What does it feel like not to always worry about every damn thing?

 

I would love to have a paid job 25 hours a week. To have a manageable job that I like, to have a steady income, without causing stress or triggering an episode… That’s my goal for 2020. I want to be able to pay half the rent, and buy new rubber boots without having to scour the internet for the absolute best deal, and end up waiting weeks, maybe months, before the old ones broke until buying new ones. I need a budget that won’t be completely ruined if I need to get a new pair of pants or if I need more sessions with my physiotherapist or need to take public transport more than I usually do.

 

I would love to live in the same place for more than two years. Since 2012, I’ve moved 9 times. Moving into our own place in January will be my 10th move. Moving is one of the most stressful things I can think of, and I’ve been uprooted so many times that I can’t even imagine living in the same place for more than two years. I desperately need the stability and security of real base to call home. Hopefully, Nick and I will live in our new apartment for many years to come. Or, you know, at least for three years.

 

Is that too much to ask for?

 

I joined a writing/art class!

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A few weeks back, I watched one of the Try Guys’ YouTube videos where they go to a professional art class. (You can watch the video here.) It inspired me to such a degree that I went out and bought a sketch book the next day. A couple of days after I bought it, I saw a post on Facebook about a free writing/art class for people who suffer from issues with mental health. They had a few cancellations, so there were a couple of open spots. I immediately sent them an e-mail and signed up. The class started less than a week from my sign-up, and I couldn’t really believe it – I was going to start writing and drawing again!

That evening, I drew my tea pot. It was the first drawing I’d done in more than a year, probably.

I can’t tell you how wonderful it felt to draw again. It felt so familiar.

So, we’re five people in the class, and the instructor is an established author. We’re also joined by a nice young woman who’s doing a big research project on how art can have a positive affect on people with mental illness. At the end of the course, which spans over 12 weeks, we’ll be doing four workshops – two writing workshops, and two art workshops. After that, all five of us will have finished some sort of writing/art-piece, that will then be published in an anthology and be exhibited somewhere (anonymously). Pretty cool, right? Anyway, it’s every Tuesday from 10.15-13.30, and it takes place at the National Gallery of Denmark here in Copenhagen. It’s a super cool art gallery, very popular, and it has a small, beautiful park behind it.

The class is divided into 3 “parts:” First, we go to our work room, sit down, have some tea or coffee, and do a quick round of “what thoughts have we had during the week about last week’s exercises.” Then, our instructor (Sofie) tells us a bit about the art piece we’ll be working with, and then we go to the exhibition where the piece is. We each take a little folding chair and place ourselves in a half-circle in front of the art piece, and then we just take it in quietly for about five minutes. Then we do some non-stop writing, talk about different aspects of the piece, more non-stop writing, and another discussion. After that, we go back to the work room and have lunch, and then we do some writing exercises.

I actually thought there’d be more drawing involved, but no drawing so far. On our first day, however, I stayed at the art gallery afterwards and drew two different statues:

I’m working hard on getting the proportions right. I’m proud of how I’ve been doing so far!
I’ve also done a few other drawings since then:

I drew this from an old picture of myself. I focused on getting the proportions right, between the eye and the nose.
Then I did another drawing of a statue at the museum:

I spent a little over an hour on it. I also took a picture of the statue so that I can draw shadows on it later.

It is mainly writing so far, which I’m also really enjoying.

I hope this post might inspire you to get creative, and just have fun with it! I’m not really focusing on the result as much as I’m focusing on the experience itself.

Have a great week! 🙂

 

Pain is stupid.

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This past week has been frustrating for me. I’ve been experiencing a lot of neck- and back pains, which has resulted in headaches, even migraines. Problem is, the migraine medication might take away the headache, but not the muscle pains. It’s been interfering with my sleep, and I’ve woken up almost every night because of the pain and stiffness in my body. I’ve had to get out of bed once or twice, go into the living room, and do some stretching and exercises. Even after that I’d still get just a few hours of restlest sleep. It’s been hurting during the day, but apparently the headaches only come out at night. I could make some sort of vampire joke, but I got nothin’.

I’ve been trying to not sit in front of my computer too much the past few days, and moving my body more, hoping it might help. So far, not really. My next massage appointment is on Tuesday – veeeery much looking forward to that.

Now, I’ve learned plenty of exercises over the years that I could do daily to ease the pain and keep it in check. I’ve just never managed to make it a part of my daily routine. However, I managed to finally roll out my yoga mat the other night, stretched, and did some exercises. And I was finally able to sleep through the night, which was a big triumph.

I’m fully aware that if I just spent ten minutes every day, or just before bed, lying or standing on that mat doing my exercises, it would have a very positive effect on my body. There’s a high chance that it would reduce the number of migraines as well as days and days of muscle pains and restless sleep. Be that as it may, actually doing it is a lot harder than it sounds. I’m sure most people can relate.

I also have some specific conditions that need to be in place before I can pull out my yoga mat and get down to business. For instance, the floor has to be clean – or at least vacuumed – for me to put the mat on the floor and lie down. Seeing dust all around me at eye level makes me extremely uncomfortable, and I get totally grossed out. So if the floor is not clean enough, I just can’t do it. I’d have to first vacuum, and that would make the process longer and more bothersome, and so I just can’t get myself to do it.

We all know that creating a new habit is very difficult, especially if it has to do with exercise, in my experience. I’ve never been good at or even particularly liked sports, never been super physically active, never joined any sports club or anything like that. I’d sit and draw, or write, or read, or play video games, stuff like that. Indoor sitting-activities. PE was always my least favorite subject. When I was around 15 (I think), however, my parents got my sister and me gym memberships, and I had periods of time when I went regularly, like 3-4 times a week. I really liked it. But after I moved out, I couldn’t afford paying for a membership, so I had to quit. I’ve tried joining again several times over the years, but my finances always seemed to change so that I had to cancel my membership because I just couldn’t pay for it.

I would love to start going to the gym again. Hopefully I’ll be able to afford it again in the nearest future – doesn’t look like it, though. Hm.

Do any of you have some good advice on how to start a new yoga/stretching/exercising routine for someone with back- and neck pains? I need all the help I can get.

Hope you’ve had a good week and are enjoying your weekend.

Why telling someone with depression to “be positive” can have the opposite effect

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Just smile more. 

Just be positive. 

You have so much to be happy about. Just be happy!

Just look on the bright side. 

You should be grateful for what you have.

At least you don’t have cancer.

 

I have been told all of the above while deeply depressed. And let me tell you – it did not cure my depression. Strange, right?

(In case you didn’t catch it, that last question was soaked in sarcasm.)

Although these comments probably come from good intentions, it can have the exact opposite effect on someone with depression. First of all, it creates a massive amount of guilt, feelings of failure, and pressure to just get better. Symptoms they already have that will now get worse. Thus, comments with good intentions (such as those mentioned above) based on ignorance and cluelessness can be very dangerous to someone suffering from depression. They just might push them over the edge.

It took me a long time to realize that what these people were telling me said more about them than about me and my mental health. The guilt and shame that came with feeling weak and useless because I couldn’t “just” fix it, because I couldn’t cure my depression simply by smiling and “looking on the bright side,” had a very negative impact on my way to recovery. I felt like I wasn’t trying hard enough, that I wasn’t strong enough, and made me feel like I should just give up. After being diagnosed with bipolar, being taken seriously by medical professionals – nurses, doctors, psychiatrists, specialists – and going into treatment, I discovered that I had something that couldn’t be cured by the magic power of “being positive.” I learned that the people who had given me all this advice had no idea what they were talking about. At first I was angry, until I realized that they didn’t do it on purpose. They just didn’t know. 

Most people don’t really know anything about mental illness. This ignorance is clearly portrayed in the media and the film industry. It’s been improving these past few years, but the stigma and stereotypes are still wide-spread and thriving, even in countries like Denmark. We are not taught about mental illness in schools – at least not as far as I know – unless we’re discussing geniuses in art or science. We might learn about the mental illnesses of Einstein and Van Gogh, but that’s about it. These people are considered far from normal; they were exceptional beings unlike “regular people.”

I had a substitute teacher that was supposed to be our Danish and history teacher for a year while our own teacher was on maternity leave. I think she lasted about a month, max. My classmates mainly consisted of bullies (and some were children of alcoholics), not really caring about learning. No teacher in our school wanted to be a substitute teacher in our class for even one hour; I once overheard someone say, “Oh no, I have to be a sub in 4.A today. (In grade four you’re about 10 years old.)

This poor, young, newly graduated teacher had been chosen to spent a year in hell. How had she been chosen for us? How could the school board be so cruel?

Long story short, she ended up quitting after about a month, and we were told she was just lying at home on her couch, crying. That’s literally what we were told. Then they made everyone sign a “get well” card for her. We never saw her again.

Nobody explained to us the psychological terror she had been exposed to from our class. No one explained the consequences this behavior can have on another human being. And no one explained the concepts of “depression” or “mental health.” This might have been the perfect opportunity for that. The boys in our class mainly acted as if they were proud of having broken her so quickly.

This is all to say that ignorance isn’t bliss for those who are negatively affected by it. Mental health should be part of the school curriculum. It would be a great way to fight the stigma against mental illness, and might even get people to seek help sooner than they do now.

My main point with this post is this: don’t tell someone to “just smile” or “just be positive” or “just stop thinking that way!” Instead, try to listen. Try to learn. This way, your good intentions could actually be transformed into something helpful – into something positive.

I misread my favorite poem

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As has anyone I’ve ever talked to about it.

I’m talking about “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. When searching for the poem to introduce a blog post I wanted to write, I came across many articles about how this poem has been commonly and terribly misread. After reading a few of them, I realized that I had been fooled; perhaps because I wanted to read it the way I did. But certainly also because that was how it was analyzed when we talked about it in school.

One of the first points that struck me particularly hard is the fact that I googled “The Road Less Travelled by,” not “The Road Not Taken.” I legitimately thought that was the title. Turns out, so do thousands of others. It’s a common mistake – a mistake that stems from the wrong conclusions about the poem.

“Recall the poem’s conclu­sion: “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— / I took the one less traveled by, / And that has made all the difference.” These are not only the poem’s best­-known lines, but the ones that capture what most readers take to be its central image: a lonely path that we take at great risk, possibly for great reward. So vivid is that image that many readers simply assume that the poem is called “The Road Less Traveled.” Search­ engine data indicates that searches for “Frost” and “Road Less Traveled” (or “Travelled”) are extremely common, and even ac­complished critics routinely refer to the poem by its most famous line.”

Source

I, as many others, was convinced that the poem was about “taking the road less travelled by,” which “made all the difference.” Meaning that you shouldn’t necessarily choose the paved path in life that society seems to believe is “the right way;” you should feel free to choose your own path, even though it might be unconventional, different, frowned upon.

Turns out, I was wrong.

Here’s one reason why:

“The Road Not Taken” has confused audiences literally from the beginning. In the spring of 1915, Frost sent an envelope to Edward Thomas that contained only one item: a draft of “The Road Not Taken,” under the title “Two Roads.” According to Lawrance Thompson, Frost had been inspired to write the poem by Thomas’s habit of regretting whatever path the pair took during their long walks in the countryside—an impulse that Frost equated with the romantic predisposi­tion for “crying over what might have been.” Frost, Thompson writes, believed that his friend “would take the poem as a gen­tle joke and would protest, ‘Stop teasing me.’”

Source

He basically wrote the poem to tease his friend Edward Thomas.

If you read the whole article, or at least the first part before Orr starts to analyze and compare other poems to “The Road Not Taken,” it’ becomes clear that it’s much more ambiguous than even Frost apparantly claimed to have intended. Still, this particular point really brough it home for me:

“What is gained by “roads”? Primarily two things. First, a road, unlike a path, is necessarily man­made. Dante may have found his life similarly changed “in a dark wood,” but Frost takes things a step further by placing his speaker in a setting that combines the natural world with civilization—yes, the traveler is alone in a forest, but whichever way he goes, he follows a course built by other people, one that will be taken, in turn, by still other people long after he has passed.”

Source

As ambiguous as the poem may be, it’s quite clear that this common reading of the poem does not hold up. Since the first time I read it I’ve considered this my favorite poem, because of what I thought it represented. I was so sure of its meaning that I never once questioned it.

I just told my boyfriend about this, and he was very sceptical, and noted that this is just one way of looking at the poem. He said that it’s art and that making an analysis of poetry and fiction in general can never be objective and true. It’s all subjective. Still, for me, the meaning of this poem has definitely changed.

You are probably asking yourself: So what?

Well, I wanted to use the poem as an introduction to a blog post titled “How my view on life has changed.” And now I can no longer use it as an imagery for that.

Again, you might be asking: ….. So what?

I don’t know. It just feels weird. I’ve always felt a sort of connection to this poem, and now that connection is lost. However… is it possible for me to find a new meaning of it that might apply to me somehow? I think it is.

Let’s try and look at it this way: Frost teased his friend Edward Thomas because he equated Thomas’ “habit of regretting whatever path the pair took during their long walks in the countryside” as “an impulse […] with the romantic predisposi­tion for “crying over what might have been.” Maybe Frost just didn’t believe in regretting not going down a different road, that they’re all man-made anyway, that someone has already paved the way, and that no matter which way you choose, it won’t be that different, new, or original? If that is the case, then why be scared to take a different path than you or others expect of you?

It might seem silly to try to analyze a specific poem in a way that applies to me, my life, and my beliefs. And yes, maybe I am forcing it. Well, not maybe, I’m definitely forcing it. But isn’t that what we do when we analyze poetry and, heck, any piece of fictional literature? We all come from different backgrounds, have different experiences, different opinions etc. How can you expect everyone to read a poem in the exact same way?

Answer: you can’t. Yet, that’s what we’re mainly taught in schools, right? They say that there’s no right or wrong reading, yet then they correct you if your analysis doesn’t match with theirs. A bit contradictory, don’t you think?

I read the poem in the way I needed to read it. I took from it what I needed in order to feel better about myself and my life, to help me feel that it’s okay that my life hasn’t turned out the way I thought it would. Taking a different path is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, life consists of thousands of roads not taken, which means thousands of roads taken. Maybe that’s what Frost is trying to say: you chose one road over the other, without knowing where either of them would lead. So it doesn’t really matter which one you picked, right? The outcome would have been the same, in the sense that both destinations would be unpredictable.

I suppose when I write the actual post, “How my view on life has changed,” I’ll use another quote as an example. I already have one in mind, a simple one, one with a meaning that everyone definitely agrees on. Play it safe. Take the really basic, super used, super worn road. Because that’s okay too.

 

New dosage = more energy!

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My psychiatrist and I have been talking about lowering my dosage of lamotrigine with 25 mg for a long time now – maybe even for a year – but because I kept dipping my feet into the depression, we always decided to wait until I had a longer period of stability. Finally, that time has come around. At the end of June, about 7-8 weeks ago, I had a meeting with my psychiatrist, and we decided to lower my dosage from 400 mg to 375 mg! Which is quite a big deal, since I’ve been on 400 mg since the beginning of 2017.

So far, I haven’t had any negative side-effects. The only thing that’s changed is that I’ve been feeling less tired, not sleeping as many hours, and I have more energy! The tiredness has been my main – if not the only – negative side-effect from my medication, and it’s fantastic to feel a change. I don’t think I’ve had this amount of energy since… well, since I started taking meds back in 2016, I suppose.

The increase of energy has obviously had a positive effect on my mood as well. This also means that I have to be extra aware of early signs of hypomania, as even a small change in dosage can trigger a new episode. But so far, so good. I haven’t thrown myself into a lot of new projects or going out more, and I haven’t felt the need to drink or party or anything. My sleeping pattern has improved, and it’s easier for me to get up in the morning. Hours of sleep are pretty steady, around 8-9 hours every night, instead of 10-12.

I’m sure I’ll be staying on this dosage for a long time, unless something changes drastically. Still, it’s moving in the right direction, and I feel really good about that. It’ll be years before there’s a chance for me to be free of the meds, and maybe I never will be. But I’m definitely on my way to reduce my intake, and that’s good enough for me.

 

I’m a Sim!

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I’ve been watching some of Dan & Phil’s old videos on their gaming channel on YouTube, specifically their The Sims 4 videos. I used to be addicted to The Sims 2 groing up, and spent hours and hours playing. I especially loved creating and designing the Sims, the houses and gardens. After watching Dan & Phil play, I just had to get the game. Fortunately, it’s currently on sale, so I bought it!

And of course it’s basically taken over my life. But I love it so much!

I’ve created myself, the beautiful creature you see above, but named her Mary Salloway. I’ve always found it a bit weird naming my Sim after myself. I’ve also created another household and created my boyfriend – I named him Nigel Jensen. And so, we have now fallen in love. One day these two Sims will move into his house (I made that bigger and nicer), get married, and have babies. But for now, Mary is very focused on her career – as a bestselling author. Yep, you heard me.

I’m living vicariously through my Sim.

However, it’s sort of inspired me to start writing for real again. For real as in still just for me, but with the purpose of one day writing something that I can actually publish.

My grandma gave me an idea the other day. She asked me if I’d ever considered writing a children’s book for my nephew. I don’t think it’s ever occurred to me, but now that I think about it, it would be pretty cool! It would probably be about life, about the good and the bad parts, and how to take care of yourself and not give up through all of it. Something like that. But of course in a sweet, child-friendly way. That goes without saying.

So both my grandma and my new Sims-obsession has actually inspired me a bit. I guess inspiration really can come from anywhere. Having not felt inspired for a very long time, I’m really enjoying it. Hopefully something good will come from it.

Question: where do you get inspiration from?

 

Next post will be an update on my medication. 🙂

Have a nice week!

When someone else is living your dream…

Don’t feel like reading? Listen to the audio version here:

My idea of my ultimate “dream life” has changed many times throughout the years. When I was a kid, my biggest dream was to become a succesful author. I was gonna write my first book by the age of 18, take a long education, get married to a wonderful man in my late twenties- early thirties, have two children – a girl and a boy – and live in a nice house with a backyard, with a view of the sea, and have a dog. Even though I was scared of dogs until I was around 17, I was that into this dream of mine. I don’t remember foreseeing any issues with this dream coming true. Except from finding the wonderful man part; I was never popular growing up, and boys didn’t really pay positive attention to me until high school.

That dream stuck with me for many, many years. It wasn’t challenged until the depressions started, and only challenged for real when I got together with Miki, my old boyfriend, whom I met at university. He was very against marriage and having children – that was definitely not on his vision board. Adding to that, when I was diagnosed with bipolar, and told that statistically there is a 10% chance you pass it on to your child, I decided that I was not going to have kids, ever. Except I go by the rule of “never say never,” meaning that I am not all knowing, and there is no way I could ever predict whether I’d meet someone one day that might change my mind.

When I was in high school, I slowly stopped writing creatively. There was so much school work, so many papers, and, just like it happened with painting and drawing, it kinda slipped away from me. It’s like anything else that needs practice; if you stop practicing, eventually you’re no longer good. And I was good, very good, if I may say so myself. This felt like a big defeat for me. This was my dream! I was supposed to have written my first book by the age of 18! Why couldn’t I just write that damn book??? Why was I not published yet?

I knew a girl who’d had a novel published (partially paid for publication herself), and it was so bad. It was as if no editor had even glanced at it. And she’d built it up for so long, done so much advertising, being a “16-year-old publishing her first book!” And I read it. And I had such a hard time getting through it. Mutual friends who hadn’t read it yet thought I was exaggerating, assuming I was just jealous. Then they read it. And apologized to me.

How… how did that crap get published for all to read? How? I could have written something ten times as good!

Only problem was, I didn’t. I didn’t write a book. And, to this day, at the age of 27, I still haven’t.

Bipolar changed me, as it would anyone. Not just mentally, but also physically. I’m spending time and energy just getting by a lot of the time, trying to make sense of life, trying my best to stay stable and optimistic. Concentration is hard. Motivation, not really there. I kind of know what I want to do – no, not kinda, I know. I want to be an editor. I want to read manuscripts and choose the good ones and edit them. And I want to be a private tutor. That’s what I want to do. Yet, I don’t feel ready to pursue these things.

Last week, I discovered something. An old friend of mine is basically living my dream. I haven’t had any contact with him for years, but we have a mutual friend who told me about how he’s been doing. So, he’s not yet 30, has a child with his girlfriend (!), has written and published 6 novels (!), has had a ton of short stories published in different anthologies, and he translates novels for a living. Oh, and he writes poetry and occasionally peforms spoken word.

I was shook.

I couldn’t believe it. Here I am, with no money to my name, no publications (except a few short stories from when I did a writers course in 2008 and another in 2009,) no marriage, no house, no children, no dog, no job, and have been on sick leave for more than a year now. And he’s out there, living the life I was supposed to have. I felt like a complete failure.

Then I had to check myself. Because he and I are not the same. Our stories are not the same. Our struggles and succeses in life cannot and should not be compared or measured against each other. My priorities are not the same as his. I’m so not ready for kids or marriage. I’ve probably had hundreds of amazing experiences that he hasn’t; I’ve been to places he has not, both mentally and physically. We live in the same world, but we are living very different lives and have taken very different paths. Our paths are not meant to be similar.

I might write a book one day, and I might not. I don’t know what the future holds for me. What I do know is this: I am where I am because this is where life, decisions – good and bad, events, and experiences have lead me. I am where I am, and all I can do is continue to move forwards, evolve, and try to find a path that brings meaning and a sense of purpose to my life. I’m creating new dreams now.

There’s no point in getting stuck and holding on to past aspirations that no longer apply to me. Things didn’t turn out the way I thought they would – and that’s absolutely fine.