This week was, well, um, active? Camp NaNoWriMo kicked off on the first. I had writers block up until last night where I was able to get in over two thousand words in one sitting AND finished chapter one of the seven deadly sins project. I unknowingly deleted a page on my blog that I liked. I tried to retrieve it, but I don’t know the link address or how it was setup in the beginning. So, I comprised. Now, when you click home, it takes you to a summary of this week progress. Another idea came to mind as well. I’m going to post excerpts of the WIP I’m writing for that week. This week and the rest of the month will be snippets from NaNo’s project. I’ve already started 😁 Check it out at the bottom of the home page.
Oh! So, speaking of NaNo. My aunt’s basement is something out of a horror film. To add spook, its haunted, according to her. I haven’t seen any spirits, thank goodness, but I have felt an eerie presence. With each step down the stone stairs my heart thumped, pretty hard. When I touched solid ground, heavy pressure surrounded me. I left. I haven’t felt fear of that magnitude in a long time. I think it was back in my younger days when school was my employment. Creepy as it is, it’s one hell of a setting. I took pictures and have already thought of ways to add it into my NaNo project.
I’ve spoken about my depression. When I think about it doesn’t seem like a life threatening illness that deserves the attention that I’m giving it. But that’s the problem. I’m denying a part of me. The hopeless regret, weighing my eyelids is not a ploy. It’s serious and should be taking as such. I found out the hard way. The below segment, I wrote last week.
I’m writing this hours before I tell my beloved and best friend. They’re always by myside, supporting and scolding me. I wrote my thoughts down first in a journal. It provides me the security to be myself. A safety precaution for times like this. Its Independence Day. A day for togetherness and to honor our founding fathers. I’m sitting in bed, frazzled. I learned another painful lesson about major depression, though, I’m still not sure if I’m right.
There was a small incident at the store. I gave way to the somber withdrew in my head. Wrong place. Wrong time. My mind was a blank canvas and I’m standing at the checkout with amnesia. My little children bickering doesn’t make things much better. Eventually, I paid for my items. At home, I realized how I must’ve looked to everyone. Their reactions were obvious, but at the time, I couldn’t tell. I wondered if they thought I was an irresponsible parent on drugs? I don’t blame them. If I saw someone similar, I’d probably thought the same.
I have succumbed, willingly, to the embarrassment and it clung on me for days. Truth is, I hadn’t taken my medication. Or rather, I failed to get them refilled. I guess, it’s a priority, I can’t put at the bottom of the list. Two weeks without and my mind turns to mush. Go figure.
The transition to a somber cycle of unnecessary crying and worthlessness seeped in my skin. The feeling is uneasy. Like I’m pulled underwater into a glass box and the sudden coldness submerge me in seconds. My heart races, but my attempt to return to the surface is futile. I’m swallowed by the dark. Lost and blind. Crazy, though. Because during my solitude, I can feel warmth faintly. That is the medicine, helping, guiding. But it doesn’t take right away. A few days. During those days, I watched myself fall apart, but I can’t help myself. Not now, at least. So, I observe sullenly.
This go ‘round, I learned a little something about my strength; I’m strong minded, my weakness; I can be overabundant, my triggers; becoming overwhelmed. To slow this active mind of mine, I picked up an ol’ hobby from high school, sketching. It helps when my days seem darker than they are, which occurs spontaneously. This hobby allows me to channel on a specific object and brood without disturbing others and vice versa.