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ladyoflorien) wrote2005-06-21 01:24 am
ladyoflorien) wrote2005-06-21 01:24 am
An explanation of sorts...
Okay. I know I've been kinda loopy lately. Well, when I'm around that is. Well, this is gonna be a short one, but here's a small update for ya'll.
First of all, thanks to all of you who showed concern over my last journal post (I've since switched the security to private, because honestly that's what I should have done in the first place), but please don't bother yourselves. I sometimes forget that people read this thing and I just come here to rant and rave and be dramatic and hopeless, and then fail to realize what people will think when they read it. Because I forget you're here sometimes. But the bottom line is: I'm all right, don't worry, I'm just going through a weird spot right now and every once in a while I need to burst at the seams and yell about things. And, well, I'm not all that great at open communication so I stick to writing as my main forum, even for outbursts (yes I realize I'm odd), so instead of screaming out loud, I write it down. I give my scream a story and a voice. And sometimes it's despairing, and sometimes it's angry at the world, and sometimes it just doesn't give a f***, but that's what this is for. For saying and doing things I can't say or do out loud or in public. For being something other than myself... or, frightening as the thought may be, for being wholly and completely the me I can never be otherwise. So long story short...thanks for your sympathies, but it's all right. I can figure it out on my own. And I really don't want to scare or worry any of you. Just know that when it comes down to it I would never actually hurt myself or do anything dangerous, even if for the moment I feel like giving up completely. In this cyber world I can give up and still have the option of a reboot. Sometimes that's just what I happen to need.
And, as I posted earlier, I have a new novel. And, well, it's tearing into little pieces of my psyche and unraveling seams and rearranging furniture and demanding at all times my constant, undivided attention. But that's just the normal stuff. I think it's also killing me. And you writers out there read that and a collective "Aah," goes out, because that's just what we say to describe the feeling that our books so accurately give us. But... this is not like that. This is actually... taking apart the puzzle that is my brain piece by piece, and it's frightening and disorientating and feels a little like death is around the corner. I don't know if any of you have actually experienced that, but... it's cold and terrifying and desolate and your body shakes because something on the outside is trying to turn you inside out. So I've got this novel inside my head, creeping up on me when I'm not paying attention and shooting me wild, frightening, devouring images, talking to me, scaring the hell out of me and making demands of my time, and it's taking longer than usual to brace myself up to accept and assimilate it, because it's the most intense reaction to a story I've had to date. So that, too, is adding to this despairing wretch of a person you've had the displeasure of seeing as of late, rather than the girl who normally likes to be ready with a joke or a interesting quip, ready to listen and full of an array of weird, geeky, and interesting things to say. I'm sort of just realizing the truth of these words as I type them, because I have not had time for myself lately to sit and think about this on my own before now.
And that's just one thing in a mind that's always multi-tasking, taking on so much that anyone else would go crazy trying to distinguish between everything--even if those things were considered mundane or ordinary. Not even taking into account the psychotic, ravaging, esoteric demons in my head. But that story is something else entirely, and much too long to embark upon at 2:10 in the morning.
And as for my long absence from what used to be one of my most precious possessions... I don't know how to explain that one. I want to update more; there are things I want to say, memories I want to keep, stories I'd like to share. I'd like to write so much more than the bleary outbursts I've only been managing lately. But, I don't. I consciously don't. And I don't know why. I'm sitting here now, typing, updating, and it feels good. But when I think of an update I want to make, somehow I always tell myself not to do it right then. So I don't. I've got to stop doing that. It's part of the reason why I'm so screwed up in the head right now. When I'm not writing here, it's hard to write period. And when I'm not writing, everything builds up higher and higher in my head, like consistently adding a piece of trash to a garbage can every hour and never emptying it. Ever. Except my head has no overflow. It just keeps cramming it all in somehow. So the less I write, the sicker I get. I really, really have GOT to do something about that.
But, to any and all reading this right now, don't worry none about me. It's just what I do. And those little two paragraph outbursts I make every now and again are just my way of hitting the pressure release valve in my head, and for a brief moment I can write something before it all starts building back up again. So thank you all, I love you dearly, but never mind me. I'll make it through this somehow. I always do.
I hope I make it back here soon, though. I miss it.
First of all, thanks to all of you who showed concern over my last journal post (I've since switched the security to private, because honestly that's what I should have done in the first place), but please don't bother yourselves. I sometimes forget that people read this thing and I just come here to rant and rave and be dramatic and hopeless, and then fail to realize what people will think when they read it. Because I forget you're here sometimes. But the bottom line is: I'm all right, don't worry, I'm just going through a weird spot right now and every once in a while I need to burst at the seams and yell about things. And, well, I'm not all that great at open communication so I stick to writing as my main forum, even for outbursts (yes I realize I'm odd), so instead of screaming out loud, I write it down. I give my scream a story and a voice. And sometimes it's despairing, and sometimes it's angry at the world, and sometimes it just doesn't give a f***, but that's what this is for. For saying and doing things I can't say or do out loud or in public. For being something other than myself... or, frightening as the thought may be, for being wholly and completely the me I can never be otherwise. So long story short...thanks for your sympathies, but it's all right. I can figure it out on my own. And I really don't want to scare or worry any of you. Just know that when it comes down to it I would never actually hurt myself or do anything dangerous, even if for the moment I feel like giving up completely. In this cyber world I can give up and still have the option of a reboot. Sometimes that's just what I happen to need.
And, as I posted earlier, I have a new novel. And, well, it's tearing into little pieces of my psyche and unraveling seams and rearranging furniture and demanding at all times my constant, undivided attention. But that's just the normal stuff. I think it's also killing me. And you writers out there read that and a collective "Aah," goes out, because that's just what we say to describe the feeling that our books so accurately give us. But... this is not like that. This is actually... taking apart the puzzle that is my brain piece by piece, and it's frightening and disorientating and feels a little like death is around the corner. I don't know if any of you have actually experienced that, but... it's cold and terrifying and desolate and your body shakes because something on the outside is trying to turn you inside out. So I've got this novel inside my head, creeping up on me when I'm not paying attention and shooting me wild, frightening, devouring images, talking to me, scaring the hell out of me and making demands of my time, and it's taking longer than usual to brace myself up to accept and assimilate it, because it's the most intense reaction to a story I've had to date. So that, too, is adding to this despairing wretch of a person you've had the displeasure of seeing as of late, rather than the girl who normally likes to be ready with a joke or a interesting quip, ready to listen and full of an array of weird, geeky, and interesting things to say. I'm sort of just realizing the truth of these words as I type them, because I have not had time for myself lately to sit and think about this on my own before now.
And that's just one thing in a mind that's always multi-tasking, taking on so much that anyone else would go crazy trying to distinguish between everything--even if those things were considered mundane or ordinary. Not even taking into account the psychotic, ravaging, esoteric demons in my head. But that story is something else entirely, and much too long to embark upon at 2:10 in the morning.
And as for my long absence from what used to be one of my most precious possessions... I don't know how to explain that one. I want to update more; there are things I want to say, memories I want to keep, stories I'd like to share. I'd like to write so much more than the bleary outbursts I've only been managing lately. But, I don't. I consciously don't. And I don't know why. I'm sitting here now, typing, updating, and it feels good. But when I think of an update I want to make, somehow I always tell myself not to do it right then. So I don't. I've got to stop doing that. It's part of the reason why I'm so screwed up in the head right now. When I'm not writing here, it's hard to write period. And when I'm not writing, everything builds up higher and higher in my head, like consistently adding a piece of trash to a garbage can every hour and never emptying it. Ever. Except my head has no overflow. It just keeps cramming it all in somehow. So the less I write, the sicker I get. I really, really have GOT to do something about that.
But, to any and all reading this right now, don't worry none about me. It's just what I do. And those little two paragraph outbursts I make every now and again are just my way of hitting the pressure release valve in my head, and for a brief moment I can write something before it all starts building back up again. So thank you all, I love you dearly, but never mind me. I'll make it through this somehow. I always do.
I hope I make it back here soon, though. I miss it.
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*glomps teh sammers*
I miss our "quality" talks too. ;) Hehehe, good times, good times. And it's good to hear the boys miss me as well. *sigh* I'm working on it love, I'm working on it...