Category: Current Events (page 12 of 91)

I AM NOT DEAD

Art by Vance Kovacs, courtesy Wizards of the Coast

Well, I suppose if you follow me on any social media outlets, you’re aware of the fact that I’m not dead. So this is non-news.

BUT MY BLOG IS NOT DEAD EITHER.

I am recovering from some truly reeling blows in my personal life, and slowly but surely establishing a baseline. Building a foundation for the future. Getting my shit together.

The blog is coming back. Slowly, but surely.

Hopefully, this week, I’ll return to writing flash fiction, give some thoughts on games, perhaps indulge in a little fanfiction, and bring back the Friday 500.

Stay tuned, true believers. I’ve been down, but I’m nowhere near out.

Today’s art: Rise from the Grave by Vance Kovacs

Self-Care For Artistic Types

This is for those of you out there trying to create something new. Bucking trends. Swimming upstream. Letting your dreams come to life through one medium or another. You’re making art.

Good.

Please take care of yourself.

I know, I know. Pot, kettle. I’ve been struggling with self-care, myself. Seeing therapists, taking medication, working through issues through journaling and my Innercom Chatter project (more on that as it develops), allowing myself breaks and celebrating minor victories. Unfortunately, I have not done things like eat regular meals, get more exercise, stick to my vegan path as much as I’d like, or remain in strong communication with friends. I mean, I’m not shutting myself off, but I’m not exactly being outgoing and gregarious either. It’s usually an invitation from a friend that gets me out, not me seeking to be around friends. It’s a narrow distinction.

Anyway. Self-care is a thing you should be doing.

Whether you’re caught up in creating, berating yourself for not creating enough, or hating whatever it is you’ve created, remind yourself that it’s okay. You’re only human. You’re allowed to give yourself some breathing room, take breaks, and breathe, for crying out loud. It’s something I need to remind myself of every day, and yes, some days are better than others. That’ll be the way for you, too.

Just remember that you’re worth taking care of. And, at the end of the day, the best and most reliable person you have to take care of you is you.

Two cents from the edge.

I Am Not Okay

“Everything is terrible and nothing is not on fire.”

I’m sure most of the people who read this know, but for those of you don’t, I’ve been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. This consists of cycling between two modes of thought and mood: depression and mania. In my case, as my disorder is less severe than others, the opposite of depression for me is “hypomania”. While other factors may cause me to cycle rapidly between different moods – my case worker calls this “emotional reactivity” and suggests it’s different from bipolar – the depressive state and the hypomanic state are different baselines.

I am very aware of when I’m depressed.

Hypomanic, less so.

Over the past week or so, I have had a hypomanic episode.

Maniacs do highly obvious and out-of-character things when they are in the throes of an episode. Hypomania is more subtle, and in that way, more destructive. Hypomania is unrestrained energy and attachment to joyous, uplifting, or simply distracting things. It’s a tendency to spend more money than one really should, losing track of budgets, and accruing debt. It’s ignoring self-care in favor of being out, having fun, and indulging in pleasures, vices, and ultimately self-destructive behaviors which are also damaging to others.

The problem is, these things are fun, and in the midst of an episode, I feel happy.

Please understand that, as I write this, I do not consider it an excuse for my behavior, or for decisions I’ve made. This is an explanation. Like the discovery of motive during a criminal trial, my realization of the episode explains some of the poor decisions I’ve made. Those decisions were still made by me, and I must accept responsibility for them and deal with their consequences. It’s more than making apologies and admitting I’ve fucked up. It is making an active effort to do better, act better, be better.

It begins with admitting that I am not okay.

My instinct is to run away from things. To cut ties with the people I’ve hurt and go into radio silence. To push away those who care about me. To crawl into a hole and pull it closed after me. But what would that change? How would that help me and, more importantly, people I’ve hurt? The answer is that it wouldn’t. These things are knee-jerk reactions caused by swinging back downwards into depression.

I need help. I must discuss with professionals ways to be more aware of swings into hypomania, if there is medication to give my mental state a “ceiling”, and what else I can do to establish a balanced mental baseline. I am already on medication, mood stabilizers, to mitigate some of the swings. However, since my baseline is typically low (I stay depressed for months and this hypomanic episode was a mere few days) I need to find ways to raise it. In the meantime, I need to return to more focused, more active self-care. Cleaning up my messes. Sleeping more. Eating. Looking myself in the mirror and knowing that I won’t like what I see.

I neither expect nor demand help from my friends. Professionals, yes. Friends, no. I have some great people in my life who will want to help and give advice. I’ll accept what I’m given but I won’t make a habit of asking. The last thing I want is to cause further discomfort or give the impression I’m using any of the above to manipulate the situation in my favor. I’m not a con man. This is not a game. This is damage control.

I am not okay.

And I won’t be okay until I deal with this aspect of my issues, first and foremost, before anybody else gets hurt.

So I’m going to do that.

We’ll Never Be Royals

“You should write about all of this,” my father suggested. “And then write a book about it.”

He’s referring to some of the recent events in my life. Things that have changed it forever. Events have occurred that are forcing me to put the brakes on a lot of the interests and intentions that have kind of existed on autopilot for years, and peel them apart so I can hold on to what makes sense for me as an individual, and discard what gets in my way and does harm to others.

I have a problem with writing a book about it, though.

For one, I’m a novelist. I don’t do as well with non-fiction. I feel like I either come across too dry or make something too anecdotal or conversational. Which leads to the other, bigger problem.

I’m not noble.

My fear is that, in conveying the events of my life up to this point and the path I have ahead of me that I must travel, I’ll come across as some kind of hero or saint. That I will lionize myself while demonizing the people who have influenced my life. Honestly, there’s nothing heroic or even all that brave about what I’m doing. It’s necessary, hard, thankless work. And the people who have influenced me certainly don’t feel I’m doing anything extraordinary, as this is work that’s needed doing for a long time.

I’m not royalty, and I never will be.

A big part of the work I need to do is removing the romantic ideal from my perspective of my story. I am my own protagonist, sure, but I’m no hero. I’m not somehow morally or ethically sacrosanct. I’m human. I’m flawed. I’ve fucked up. I’ve hurt people.

There are very few people that haven’t.

It’s nice to imagine, to write about, to witness. Paragons of virtue doing battle with the forces of darkness. We thrill to those stories. We become a part of them. We act out those fantasies. We make them apart of our lives.

But that isn’t the truth. And trying to make it that way is folly.

That’s why I shy from writing a book about what I’m going through, what I’ve been through, and what’s ahead. My life is a broken, irregular trail of broken hearts, damaged souls, and shattered dreams. It isn’t anything to be celebrated or idolized. I am not your fucking inspiration porn.

I mean, if you draw some meaning or hope from everything I relate, that’s awesome. Use it. Learn from it.

But putting myself out there as some sort of guru smacks of hypocrisy. I will not do it. I will not be one of those falsely smiling faces you see in the Inspiration section of a bookstore.

There are other authors willing to do that. I ain’t one of them.

I write about witches, wizards, fallen heroes, magnificent bastards, heartache, monsters, darkness, and despair. And somewhere in there, maybe, I might convey some compassion. Inspiration. Determination. Hope.

Just don’t look for it in non-fiction.

We write about the royals that we will never be.

Return Of The Blue

Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr

I can’t even begin to fully articulate what the last few weeks have been like for me.

Hospital. Near-eviction. Rapid, rabid mood swings. Disastrous car trouble. More car trouble. Moving. PAX. Yelling. Broken phones. Tears.

And yet…

Here I am. Whole. Unbowed. Determined. Unbent. Successful. Unbroken.

If I can survive this, I can probably survive just about anything. And despite the best efforts of my badbrain (which can be broken down into “head weasels” as my friend Faust puts it), I survived.

I’m sitting in the new apartment with things boxed up and some furniture needing assembly and distribution to rooms, but for the most part, it’s starting to feel comfortably like home. I can walk down to the nearby transit center, getting some very welcome daily cardio, and catch a bus downtown. I work there, now, at a lovely Starbucks, slinging coffee and smiling at folks who just want to get through their meetings or finish filing TPS reports. I remember that life, and I don’t envy them a bit. Getting back into food service has been like falling off of a bike: easy, and while it might have scraped me up a bit, gravity is a good force for teaching you how to pace yourself.

After my shift, I can walk up the hill to the Seattle Central Library, and write in a secluded, quiet space. I have some new ideas for the novel, and while I cringe at the thought of going back to the beginning to adjust something, I know it’ll benefit all future revisions and edits, as well as the final product. So that’s another to-do list item to check off come Tuesday.

For now, though, I’m resting and recouperating.

PAX was fantastic, in and of itself. I’ve often said that working a show brings out the best version of myself. Being around people I love and haven’t seen in months can kick me into a bit of a manic state, and I use that energy for positive, productive ends. I ride the demon; I do not let it ride me. It’s a mindset I need to continue to maintain outside of shows, and I’m hopeful that working a well-defined job with a solid schedule can help me do that. At PAX, I’m now in a managerial position, and this last show saw me helping with a new department. From all accounts, it went quite well. I’ve now been tapped for similar work with GeekGirlCon, and I predict making it to most if not all of the PAX shows in 2016. It’s a huge part of my life and a major inspiration.

As for everything else, the darkest of my dark thoughts feel far more irrational and distant than even a week before this writing. I’ve gotten my medication adjusted, and I’m seeing therapists again on a regular basis. I’m doing my utmost to keep lines of communication open and maintain honesty, without being cruel or unfeeling. Thinking before I speak, that sort of thing. It feels like this has been sort of a ‘soft reset’, on many levels. And I plan on making the most of it.

It feels like I’ve been away. Almost as if I’ve been separated from myself. I haven’t lost sight of my goals, but after everything I’ve been through in the past few weeks, those goals no longer seem so distant, so unobtainable. I can’t pretend that I don’t have hard work ahead of me. But at the same time, it’s work for which I’m suited. Telling stories. Seeing people as people. Listening. Feeling. Thinking on a situation and giving advice that not only placates, but guides and reinforces.

I am a good writer. A good friend. A good worker. A good person.

Nobody can take those things away from me.

Not even me.

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