That said, as you might have guessed, things haven't been going well for me lately at all. Chalk it up to too little sleep, too much sadness, pining for things and people it seems at this time, I'll never have-well, one I'm sure I'll never have, but that's another blog entry-but it's been extremely rough. I've been crying at least three times every day, haven't been sleeping and eating anything that's even marginally good for me, doesn't interest me at all.
I'm in the process of losing my mind, I know I am. Things I say make perfect sense to me, but not to anyone else. I'm wondering if maybe I just saw things the way I wanted to, rather than how they truly were. I just don't know.
Anyway, I'm scared. Scared that the medicine I'm going to try next isn't going to work. Scared that then, the only thing that could help this nineteen ton weight of depression lift is ECT, yes, electroshock therapy. I have no one to hold my hand through this. My family won't talk to me, and my mother, even if I begged her to come, wouldn't. I'm on my own. I don't know how I'll make it.
*Sigh* Okay. Thus endeth the futility portion of this entry.
On faith, I don't know. My belief has changed so much in the past few months, and it's mostly due to the actions of other people. In some ways, I know that's wrong. God has nothing to do with how other people act, or how they decide to treat you. That all falls under that tricky thing called Free Will. Meaning, basically, people can chose to be hateful, insensitive assholes, if that's what turns them on. I'm going through a phase were I'm wavering between wondering why God allows that, and thinking maybe it happens because He wants me to be closer to Him. If I figure out which one I stick with, I'll let you know. Right now, again, I just don't know.
It's hard to have faith in a loving God when you can't achieve what you want. When you know that you are a writer and you're met with rejection at every turn; you can't afford writing conferences, classes, or critiques, you wonder why the hell you have the desire so strongly to be published and have your work known, because it's killing you. Overly dramatic, maybe, but I'm beginning to think that being a writer is, in a way, like a marriage, where sometimes your love of it just isn't enough. You need something more, some affirmation that the work is good.
Still, you stay though, cause you love it. Whether love is enough or not, you stay.
Wait. I said I was finished with the futility part of this entry, didn't I? So much for pathos. :P
One last thing about faith, I don't believe in blind faith. I question everything, and sometimes, despite myself and to my surprise, it makes my faith stronger. I take comfort from the fact that many saints wen through long periods of doubts, and hey, they're saints now. Maybe there's something to that. As always, we'll see.
Well, this didn't go the way I wanted it to do, as is often the way with writing. Maybe I'll look back on this in a few months and be able to laugh at it. Maybe.
In closing, and if I want to stay true to the subject of this entry, let me just say this. It's summer. Men without chest hair are boring. Unless you are an Olympic or professional swimmer, there is no need to shave or wax it. You're a man, aren't you? Chest hair is wonderful, sexy, manly and well, damned attractive, as evidenced by this photo.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/misenplace/5593526094/in/photostream
That is all.
I'm in the process of losing my mind, I know I am. Things I say make perfect sense to me, but not to anyone else. I'm wondering if maybe I just saw things the way I wanted to, rather than how they truly were. I just don't know.
Anyway, I'm scared. Scared that the medicine I'm going to try next isn't going to work. Scared that then, the only thing that could help this nineteen ton weight of depression lift is ECT, yes, electroshock therapy. I have no one to hold my hand through this. My family won't talk to me, and my mother, even if I begged her to come, wouldn't. I'm on my own. I don't know how I'll make it.
*Sigh* Okay. Thus endeth the futility portion of this entry.
On faith, I don't know. My belief has changed so much in the past few months, and it's mostly due to the actions of other people. In some ways, I know that's wrong. God has nothing to do with how other people act, or how they decide to treat you. That all falls under that tricky thing called Free Will. Meaning, basically, people can chose to be hateful, insensitive assholes, if that's what turns them on. I'm going through a phase were I'm wavering between wondering why God allows that, and thinking maybe it happens because He wants me to be closer to Him. If I figure out which one I stick with, I'll let you know. Right now, again, I just don't know.
It's hard to have faith in a loving God when you can't achieve what you want. When you know that you are a writer and you're met with rejection at every turn; you can't afford writing conferences, classes, or critiques, you wonder why the hell you have the desire so strongly to be published and have your work known, because it's killing you. Overly dramatic, maybe, but I'm beginning to think that being a writer is, in a way, like a marriage, where sometimes your love of it just isn't enough. You need something more, some affirmation that the work is good.
Still, you stay though, cause you love it. Whether love is enough or not, you stay.
Wait. I said I was finished with the futility part of this entry, didn't I? So much for pathos. :P
One last thing about faith, I don't believe in blind faith. I question everything, and sometimes, despite myself and to my surprise, it makes my faith stronger. I take comfort from the fact that many saints wen through long periods of doubts, and hey, they're saints now. Maybe there's something to that. As always, we'll see.
Well, this didn't go the way I wanted it to do, as is often the way with writing. Maybe I'll look back on this in a few months and be able to laugh at it. Maybe.
In closing, and if I want to stay true to the subject of this entry, let me just say this. It's summer. Men without chest hair are boring. Unless you are an Olympic or professional swimmer, there is no need to shave or wax it. You're a man, aren't you? Chest hair is wonderful, sexy, manly and well, damned attractive, as evidenced by this photo.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/misenplace/5593526094/in/photostream
That is all.
