i can't write. or, the only way i seem to be able to write is in a comment reply to something on the internet or, when i (very rarely) take the time, an email response. i'm stunted. one of my many negative thought pattern loops says, 'fraud failure fraud' when it comes to writing. or photography. or anything that i take an interest in. in the struggle to accomplish something and be authentic, i wonder if i'll ever be able to achieve either. & i'm getting old. and if you or anyone were to say, "no! but you're so young!" i think (or respond) "no, i'm not. i'm not as young as i was." & sometimes i realize this is a good thing because a number of my years lived was bullshit that i'd like to put behind me but they were still years that i had and now i have what i have and if i'm STILL not doing what i want, what the hell am i doing anyway? as depressing as this sounds, with age comes a bit of clarity and in my case, awareness, and i know that i have as much time as i need because whatever i'm going to do with my life, i'm already doing it and if i'm going to do more, i will, and that's how it goes. it's that whole 'be in the moment. there is only this moment.' truth that once in awhile comes into focus and then you accept things and you do something / make something / inspire someone and keep on going. right?
In answer to your question, I'm fine.
I've had over a month to adjust to leaving the big city of Toronto (the place where things happen!) and my quiet return to my city of birth where I have a room entirely for myself full of books and papers and twinkly lights. I'm a recluse so I guess it doesn't matter where I live but it hits hard sometimes that Toronto isn't outside my door anymore. At the same time, this move has made me think of all the other places there are that I could go to and so in a way, perhaps I'm less confined. I force myself to get more creative in situations like this. Maybe I feel less influence or pressure or I think of how I have to do something if I'm going to put myself close to the middle of nowhere.
My complaints are my own fault. Weight has been an issue for years and short of starving myself, my metabolism is a mythical creature. I'm not bitching about it without doing anything - I've been exercising consistently since late December and it'll eventually show results - when I lessen the cream in my coffee and find a better way of coping with depression / anxiety / life other than eating. I miss anorexia. I'm allowed to say that because I was hospitalized for it when I was a kid, though if you'd known me since my early teenage-hood, you'd never have guessed. I'm in my mid-thirties now. You'd think I'd have called some sort of truce with this body by now but no. Not yet.
Ear specialist appointment coming up. I'll find out if I'm going to ever hear properly again. I suspect I've permanent damage. Once in a while my ear will pop and I'll hear all around me - I stop whatever I am doing and listen - and wait for the inevitable. But for a brief moment, I can hear and it reminds me of what I'm losing. I've joked for years that I'll go deaf because I love music so much. No, I'm not someone who puts in ear buds and blasts a music player or gets to kill their eardrums at fun concerts - I just think it's because I truly do love music. Maybe I just have a head full of hardened infected pus-wax that a specialist will dig out and everything will be fine. I have my doubts though.
My iron is low. I had full blood tests done when I moved back here and while I am successfully disease free (seriously, I deserve an Achievement for that considering the dangerous games I played to survive in Toronto) I am still dealing with red blood cells that don't replenish as they should. I'll get my blood work done this week and then the doctor will decide what to do. It was bad enough before that I had to get a blood transfusion and I suspect it may have to be done again if the doctor doesn't figure this out. Have I griped about my health enough yet? This is how old people talk, right?
It's good that you survived the flu. I'm not being dramatic either. A former co-worker of mine died recently with complications related to / brought about / caused by the flu. Just a few years older than yourself. Scary shit.
Happy Birthday, by the way. I didn't realize how young you still were. Plenty of time for you to get those books published, yes?
Thrown out of your house? It's not happened yet but is a future inevitable event? Is it due to finances or relationship status or a story played out? The turn over of a new year, while I'm not immune to getting caught up in the spirit of renewal, hope & fresh starts, often reveals itself to be a continuation of the previous year. So it goes. Life is continuation with it's cycles of ups & downs and it doesn't pay much attention to our calendar dates.When people say "this will be a good year" I think, "maybe. but most likely it will be a good and a bad year..." because that's what happens. good things and bad things. I'm only recently learning, or at least, catching on to the fact that it's a matter of how you survive it all and whether you learn from it or not. Or if it alters you in some way that makes an impact on who you are - makes you more or less of who you want to be. Some things happen that take us so far away from ourselves that it can take years to find our way back. Then we wonder why we're "back here" again. Things are never the same though - even when they seem to be.
You can't go jumping off a bridge like Tony Scott (thanks a lot for making me google that shit so I'd know what you were talking about: http://www.cbc.ca/news/arts/story/2012/10/23/scott-death-coroner-report.html ) For one thing, he was older than you so you have to give yourself more time. Another thing, don't be stupid. If I'm sticking around and I'm not even remotely as talented or as pretty as you, then you can put more time in, too. Besides, whatever you're going through now that sucks so bad that you'd even joke about such a thing, it will make for good writing later on down the road. Or something.
I'm hardly the poster child for mental health. I keep going now because I missed the golden age of 27 (not that I'd achieved any greatness by that time anyway) and also, I want to know what happens. How can I find out if things are going to get better if I don't stick around to see? Besides, if I was going to wuss out when things got really bad the innumerable times that it did, I wouldn't be here right now. I never thought I'd be where I am right now. Surprise to me! If this could happen, then, what next? I'll suffer the mental anguish and self-loathing and deterioration of my ruined and imperfect fat body to find out.
Living it up in a swank apartment across from a dying strip mall in a depressed city,