It isn’t always easy to drum up topic ideas and to materialize them into a compelling piece; one that reads like it was effortlessly put together rather than being forced like Nicole Kidman’s facial expressions.
(For the record, I find that she taints every movie that she’s in.)
Forced posts lack a certain animation and to me, those posts are akin to reading the nutrition facts on the side of a cereal box. As a writer, I get it. I get the frustration when ideas are stuck somewhere between your mind and your fingers and you just wish that someone welding a sledgehammer would whack you on the back of your head to shake those words out.
While I have written posts (sorry for the massive in yo face sponsored posts…but I love what it has bought for my kitchen), I have had to force myself to complete them. The ideas are there; beginning, middle, and end, but the enjoyment in tying it all together in the way I would like them to is just not there. For someone with a mental illness, there are red flags in which you know things are turning south. For me, one of them is being unable to feel the words I write.
I know that I’m being far too critical of myself and it’s not just in writing, but everything. That constant negative feedback keeps picking at me and my thoughts are now shifting in a direction that I don’t want them to go. They are settling in my head and making my body feel as though it is weighed heavily on the ground. It’s like gravity was all, “F*ck it. You’re now a cinderblock.”
I am no stranger to this dreaded expansive grey area; the bipolar state that is neither this nor that but is always just “this close”. It is a sketchy place full of self loathing and shamelessly eating 4 day old cake for breakfast that your five year old made at a friend’s birthday party.
Remember that song “Gotta shake, shake, shake my sillies out”? I’ve been trying that coping method for weeks. I haven’t been successful at it.
Truthfully, I am not moving through the day without effort and I know that if I don’t push myself, I might as well curl up into a corner with a tub of gummy bears and call it a few months. I am stuck. I have done all that I can do, reciting verbatim page 3 in the motivational manual called “You got this” and implementing it, at least I think so anyways. I am certain that drugs are going to have to take care of the rest.
There is no shame in that.