Writer, Interrupted.

If this is truly going to be a blog about living with mental illness and being a writer, I have to find some way to connect the two.   I've really been conflicted over the past week, wondering if I want to continue the blog at all.   Sometimes it goes days without a hit, except some random pervert looking up '50 Shades of Grey'--I wrote a post about that MONTHS ago--and that's discouraging.
  And, I hate to whine, although it could be argued that what I write is not whining. Maybe I'm not sure.   Anyway, if anyone out there in cyberspace could comment on what I'm writing, that would be helpful.  It would make me feel like I'm not screaming into the wind all the time.
Anyway, seems I'm back in limbo again.  I have a bunch of submissions I recently sent out, so I'm waiting to hear back.   I'm in love, with a few things; which is normal  for me, and as always, I'm trying to find a place in this world, and a feeling of belonging and just general peace.
  Last week, I spent the night in the psyche ER, and it was in one way a wake up call, and in another, a slap in the face.  It's been nine years since I was hospitalized.   I never intend to be on a locked ward again, but I was feeling so desperately sad and hopeless that I forgot to watch my words, and said something, apparently, that made the woman on the other end of the Helpline think she needed to call the cops to haul me to the ER, where I sat for five hours, talking to NO ONE but a nurse practitioner.  I was forced to change into scrubs and then couldn't even reason with the people who wanted to keep me there overnight.
  I barely slept but thought of some great story ideas, and kind of different perspective of my life, which, I have to be frank, is challenging right now.  Starting 10/7- I"m going back for two more weeks of rehab.  It's kind of a refresher course.  The setbacks have left me sort of shaky.  It's not a bad thing, that's what I keep telling myself.  Wish me luck, send goo
  Most of my friends have heard me say in the past weeks that I want to die.  It's not true.  I want things to be better, so I can live better, be a better person, and a better friend.  
I have so much I want to say, and I'm blessed enough to have the stories in my head to tell, and the characters to tell them with.
  I'm scared and excited, and worried all at once, and it gives me comfort to know that more than one famous writer did a stint or two(or six) in some sort of lockup.   I suppose I'm in good company.
And with that said, I'm going to get back to writing---
To quote a dear friend, "To Balance, Strength, Love, Faith, and Hope".  I've been trying to think of those things.
We'll see how it goes.  To everyone who's supported me lately--esp Lisa , Amanda, Brenda, Amy and Jules, thank you all, so much.
And to J-I still don't think I'm brave, and you thinking that blows my tiny little mind.  Thanks again.
As always, watch this space.