“writing” something


i have a friend named eddie. i talk about him randomly. he writes a blog, like a real blog, like a real writer who thinks about what hes going to say and presents things with emotion and makes you feel stuff intentionally. i should be more like eddie. but im not. and im probably never going to be. but for me the purpose of writing was never to be a writer, or to express things to other people or make them feel things. its always just been about getting something off my chest, which is why ive always called this a journal not a blog. i think sometimes my honesty resonates with people, mostly when im honestly crazy, and mostly with other crazy people, but i think i like that. i think thats ok with me.

so really, there are two types of good bloggers: ones who have something to say, and ones who say something often.

sometimes i have a lot to say. you can read all about those times here, even though most of what i had to say was just something that needed to be said but not necessarily read. but the thing is a lot of times i dont. im so used to living in a world of extremes, of bipolar messes, that when something isnt pushing the limits of my emotional capabilities i usually keep my mouth shut. because the quiet is nice. the calm is nice. the calm is something i never experienced much of for years… decades actually, but especially since my breakdown in 2013. so when it comes i back away and i live life like a person. and i forget about writing, and it falls out of my routine.

the thing is, these windows used to be so small. days or sometimes weeks. they were blips in an otherwise chaotic time. and look, if this were to be considered a blog, its a blog with a theme. its a blog about mental illness and its a blog about what its like when shit actually hits the fan. i kind of veered from that over the summer, because i was doing something weird and somewhat regrettable that i needed to work through and i do that here, but i think the driving force of my writing has always been incapacitating emotions.

the thing is, im not really having those right now. or for months now.

and thats weird.

and i dont really know how to make sense of things now, or really know what to talk about because things arent forcefully spewing their way out of me like they always have.

part of me doesnt want to write here now because i like that this is a mental illness blog. i like that this is my place to be unabashedly ill. but i also feel like this is as much of my journey as a mentally ill person as anything else has been. and i know i have a chronic illness and i know the bad parts are going to come back, sometime, so wouldnt it be good to also have something to look back on to prove it wasnt always like that? and if people are going to read this, which they do since i made it public (though admittedly, fewer than read it when i was full blown crazy and writing regularly), dont i kind of also have the responsibility of representing mental illness not just as the harrowing struggles, but also as a full person with other characteristics besides the fact im sometimes suicidal and occasionally very energetically make poor life choices?

thats all little pretentious and over thought, which frankly, i sort of am as a person. to be honest.

but the point is, i could still be someone who says something often.

im going to try to write here even though im relatively healthy and good. i cant promise it will be anything interesting or even really worth reading, and i cant promise it wont still be emotional rehashing about nothing since well, its christmas and my grandmothers dead and really thats going to come out eventually isnt it? lets just accept that now.

i wrote this in two sittings because my niece and nephew came down to play and color, and then my brother came down for a minute, and then i decided to do ALL THE THINGS! (shower! wash hair! do dishes! do laundry! hang up laundry! bake cookies! take out trash! scrub kitchen floors! clean up markers kids left all over floor! fold laundry! so much laundry!) which basically means this has been a relatively productive day for me, by recent standards. recent standards being watching tv in bed all day and drinking too much diet pop as a norm. i mean, i didnt say the bar was high here, folks.

jon gets home tomorrow and is here till after new years, which is exciting. and also my family really has nothing going on over the holidays so hopefully ill actually get to see him a fair bit… though i suppose he has one of those “social life” things ive been hearing about so perhaps we shall see. going christmas shopping with my mother tomorrow for the kids, mostly to help not to actually purchase things because i am poor. so poor. brandons coming over tomorrow night before he heads to cape breton on thursday, because we are still basically family and therefore he must see me before he abandons me for his admittedly delightful mother.

anyway, now that ive been productive all day i clearly need to go watch copious amounts of television to balance it out.

remember when productive meant i like wrote a thesis and worked full time?


life is still a bit of a work in progress.


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