The ending is always the beginning...

I've still been ignoring this blog shamefully -- not that there are legions out there reading it but I like to write here because it forces me to create something other than fiction -- but, when I'm deep into writing a fictional story, everything else suffers and that has included this blog. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel -- though reaching that light is equal parts ecstasy and agony. It's always that way when I let go of characters -- and their story -- which have consumed me for months. Like children leaving the nest, I want to push them out and I want to reel them back in.

But there has to be an end to one story so that a new one can begin. I have the main female character's name for the next piece already -- it was whispered to me -- but without any other instructions -- so I don't know who, what, when or where. But, eventually, the characters will start speaking loudly and I'll be compelled to write down what they say. And the insanity will begin again.

So, as I wind down the editing of this last creation, I'm envisioning some weeks of peace and quiet. At least inside my head. Outside my head, there is a new ending and a new beginning on its way. My eldest is in the last weeks (days?!) of her pregnancy (the ending) and soon, the baby (the beginning) will arrive, just in time for Christmas.

My intention, when I first found out that I was going to become a grandmother at such a young age (cough) was to keep a record of it, on this blog, but, unfortunately, these past months coincided with writing a novel so...I failed....but don't think it's not something that I haven't thought about every single day. This has all dovetailed perfectly actually -- not only with the story itself but with the finishing of it. And, soon, I'll be letting one love go to embrace another greater love.

I'm still worried. I'm still not a "baby person". I still don't get all squishy every time I see one. I'm still heading toward this new phase on a wing and a prayer. And, truthfully, I'm selfish about having my writing time interrupted or having to put my wants and needs on the back-burner. When you are a mother and have raised three children and they've all flown, you think, ah, now, it's my time. But, so far, it hasn't worked out that way. But that's okay, as C-3PO said, "I was made to suffer..."

Okay, I'm kidding. I'm not really suffering. But I do have to work really hard to stay upbeat. That old depression-monster is always out to get me, though I fight it tooth and nail. And, when I'm not writing, that's when it tries the hardest to invade -- and is more likely to be successful. If too much time goes by between the end of one story and the beginning of another, it is a cause for alarm. I will only take the smallest dose of antidepressant that I can so that the voices aren't silenced completely because, if they go, I spiral downward with them. If you think hearing voices is crazy, ask my ever-patient husband and he will tell you that not hearing them, for me, is much, much worse.

But, as I near the end of this particular writing and editing frenzy, I will have something other than more writing to look forward to...

So, come on out and play, baby Jackson...

I may not be ready...but I'm willing...

Breaking through the block...

I've written four complete chapters of my new story -- I wrote one of those yesterday and will probably finish the fifth one sometime today. I'm elated. It's been awhile since the voices spoke to me. I've blamed it on a lot of things -- stress, burnout, writer's block, expectations -- and, of all things, antidepressants.

For whatever reason, when I'm on a higher dose of antidepressants, my creativity goes out the window -- and, after researching a little, I've found that this isn't all that unusual but, like many medication side effects, it greatly depends on the person. It's a vicious cycle because I need the meds to keep me from really going over the edge and, yet, I need to write, for sanity's sake. So, which one gets sacrificed? Well, I'm going for the best of both worlds -- lowering my dosage and seeing if that will let those two worlds collide peacefully.

The funny thing is that I'm still on the higher dose right now but the voices have broken through, chipping away at the wall between us. I have a sneaking suspicion that my decision to lower the dose somehow gave them permission to speak. I know I'm probably sounding completely off my rocker about now but ask anybody who writes (whether published or not) and they'll probably tell you something similar.

Yesterday I was telling a real person (with the same name as one of my characters) about the other one who isn't real (but who can speak). I told her that the characters name themselves and she repeated that back to me -- only with a question mark at the end. I guess I should watch what I say. But, she then told me that the name had come from her grandmother -- and, guess what, that's where my character got it, too.

Small world.

Anyway, I'm writing and that's what's important. I have a very small "fan base" even without being published -- I don't do it for praise -- and not for money -- I just do it because I love it and if people want to read it, that's just icing on the cake. Writing centers me. It's a part of me. And it's totally normal, for me, to have these stories floating around in my head, just waiting for one of them to proclaim, "it's my turn". I've got stories that have been in there for years, still waiting. Why the upstarts get a chance first, I just don't know.

This week has been an unusual week. The unexpected death in the family -- because I can't think of it in any other way, though those ties are somewhat broken -- has been more difficult than I would have thought. It's a weird situation because I feel the loss but I can't really find the words to express how it has affected me -- so I've just sort of curled up inside myself. Sometimes, sadly, it takes someone's death to make you realize, too late, that you've missed them. But, I think all of these emotions may have somehow meshed in my brain and maybe that has given the necessary boost to this new story. Ah, well, whatever...the neurons are firing and that's enough for me.

It's not only a small world but a strange one.

One day at a time...

I had a doctor's appointment today -- I'd been dreading it because I've fallen off the wagon. No, not the alcohol wagon -- never been on that one and don't ever intend to climb aboard -- no, my wagon is full of barbecue potato chips and macaroni and cheese.

Sigh. We all know that being too heavy is not good (for me) for a variety of reasons -- arthritis, asthma. And diabetes.

It was about a year ago that I was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. While most doctors probably wouldn't even have ordered the glucose test at that point, mine did. And I was grateful -- because it gave me a head's up to do something immediately instead of waiting until the situation was worse. I initially lost 10 pounds without doing much more than cutting out sweets (which I don't eat a lot of, anyway -- give me starch!) and watching my portions (this is where I fail miserably but, damn, food is good). Over time, I lost another five or so, though those last ones fluctuated from week to week. Even with that relatively small weight loss (which I've managed to keep off -- I just haven't lost any more), I felt better and my clothes (that I already had) fit better. I knew, though, that this wasn't going to be easy and that it was a lifestyle change I had to make. I had made a good start but then...

Dogs starting dying left and right and, over the past year, I've found myself sinking more and more into depression. I've been functional -- it's nothing like the postpartum depression I suffered years ago -- but life has just not been, well, as good as I wish it would be. Let me correct that -- life is good -- I'm not. At any rate, I've bumped up my anti-depressant, so, hopefully, things will get better in a few weeks' time (if not, then, hello, new anti-depressant).

Except that here comes Christmas.

I have actually been looking forward -- a little -- to Christmas this year -- not my favorite holiday -- it's just too stressful for me. I long for an 0ld-fashioned Christmas -- with very little shopping and no cooking. Well, I guess no cooking isn't very old-fashioned -- so, how about everything cooked by somebody else? Hey, I will do dishes...

Anyway, I'm still not at the point where I need medication for the diabetes and, I hope, if I'm successful in trimming off some of this fat (let's be honest, here), I might be able to avoid a pill for the foreseeable future. So, wish me luck -- and, better yet, say a prayer. I've just got to get back to exercising and eating better -- on the bright side, all my other blood work was good, including cholesterol.

Maybe I should tape a photo of a Komodo Dragon -- chowing down -- on my refrigerator door. Yuck. By the way, that's one island where I'm never going.

So, here's to shedding a few pounds and to my spirits lifting.

One day at time.

Depression Revisited

I have to talk about depression every once in a while because if, in some small way, it helps someone who is in the throes of it themselves or someone who is dealing with a family member or friend who is trying to cope, then it needs to be said. Although depression is talked about more these days than it used to be, there are still a lot of people out there who just don't get it. The reasons for this are myriad -- plain stupidity, refusal to deal with the facts, an underlying belief that if a person's outward life is good, then they have no reason to be depressed. Or, the worst one of all -- and the one which will get me riled up quicker than a swatted hornet -- is that their faith isn't strong enough to overcome it. Who would ever say that to someone who has cancer? Or who has had a heart attack or stroke? Nobody who has any compassion, that's for sure. The problem with depression is simply that there's not a physical test to prove it. And, for some folks, if there isn't, then it must be "all in the head".

I have been dealing with depression, on and off, for nearly seventeen years. Actually, probably more than that but I didn't recognize it as such until my last child was born and I was thrown into the pit of postpartum depression. I tell you the truth, if you really want to make somebody's life miserable, find a good Voodoo priestess and have them curse someone with depression. Not only will the person in question be cursed but so will everyone who loves them. It's that bad. For the record, no, I don't believe in Voodoo -- I'm just trying to make a point.

After I got over the bout of depression after my daughter was born, I came off the antidepressants and had a good run of it until the last couple of years. Whether it was life stresses or what, I found myself sinking down into that black hole again but, until last spring, I was able to claw my way out of it and, so, I refused to get back on medication. Finally, though, I reached a point where I needed help. I fully expected, once I started the medication, that I'd be on it the rest of my life.

I started with the lowest dose of Cymbalta (please, if anyone needs to take an antidepressant, DO NOT reject this drug because of what I'm writing here -- each person will have their own experience and it may be totally different than mine!). Within a couple of weeks, I felt better but I was still dealing with issues of anxiety which, up until this bout of depression, I'd never had before. Because of this, I began taking a larger dose. Unfortunately, this had two side effects which I had worried about: sexual problems and, even worse, the cessation of the voices in my head.

As far as sexual problems, this particular drug has a low incidence of them and, yet, there I was experiencing them (as I had with Paxil, years ago). I don't know -- maybe I'm just susceptible to that particular side effect-- as I said above, each person will have their own reaction, which may or may not mirror mine. I figured, at this point, I might need to switch to a different medication -- however, I was in the last month leading up to my daughter's wedding and I felt it wasn't the time to be dickering with medication. If the Cymbalta was keeping me on a somewhat even keel, then I needed to wait until after the wedding to try something new (especially since the first couple of weeks on Cymbalta, I stayed nauseated -- that did get better.

The voices problem was more urgent. Because, quite frankly, without the voices in my head, I'm just not, well, me. I've come to realize that I've been hearing voices all of my life -- though until the last few years, I didn't recognize or acknowledge just what they were -- and that not hearing them is almost equal to the black hole of depression. So, I stopped the medication entirely. Cold turkey. Not a smart move -- especially since I didn't even tell my physician hubby -- but, quite frankly, if I have to choose between no depression/no voices or some depression/voices -- guess which one I'm going to pick? Now, don't worry, if the depression was so bad I couldn't function in my day-to-day life or if I started having suicidal thoughts, taking medication would be a no-brainer (I hope).

As it is, I've made the choice to muddle along with the specter of depression hanging over my head. As for me, I can deal with it -- the person who really ends up getting the brunt of it is Mark. But he understands (as best he can) what I need -- or don't need -- in order to be creative.

I'm feeling pretty good right now, although we have some major issues coming up in our lives which might, at some point, cause me to backslide (just the nature of my personality). But the voices are coming back pretty strongly now -- it took a long time, even after stopping the antidepressant, for me to hear them clearly again. Almost as if they were afraid to disturb me. Silly creatures.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear -- I'm not trying to set myself up as an example for not taking medication. I'm all for it, if necessary. But, for me, this was the right course of action.

For now.

Tomorrow, though, might be a whole different story. And, trust me, I will tell it to you, in full detail.