Fighting Back and Hitting Targets

I think the title works. I usually save the title for last, to make sure it fits the post. It feels like I've been fighting with myself. Months of writing and walking every day while depressed and in pain have taken a physical toll, but I will admit to a bit of pride here. These are not things I can normally do on a good day. 

Writing is still predominant, even though I've been unwell. I'm now in Book 2 of the Dream Stealer series. Then I remembered that I had finished Journey of a Broken Writer last year and need to get it ready to publish. Well, why not? So, I've been working on the edits for that. Be nice if I could get that up in the next 90 days. 

Most of that was in June. I mentioned some of the health stuff in the last posts, so I won't rehash it here. Things have been uncomfortable. I was also battling a lot of depression. The only time I seem to come out of it is when I'm writing. I told someone it was easier to live in the fictional world I built than the real one I live in.

So, July is ten days in and I am finally not in pain. On the first I went in for an epidural of steroids. It wasn't really painful. The numbing shot hurt worse than anything else, but it wasn't unbearable. 

Listen, I had an epidural when I had my second child. The first one, born in 1979, was a Lamaze baby. Natural childbirth was a thing, and I was a typical 70s girl. Let's do this. Honestly, I was only in labor for five hours and had less pain than when I ruptured the disk in my C6-7 vertebra. When I had that first epidural, it required I sit bent over; and when combined with a significant front baby bulge, it's uncomfortable. You can't get around the baby. This time epidural was a piece of cake. They let me lie on my stomach.

The results have been surprising, but a relief. I still have mild-to-moderate pain in my cervical spine area. I have to take frequent breaks to prevent pain in my upper back because I sit too long when writing. I'm probably not going to be chopping wood or lifting bales but I didn't do that anyway.

Today, Mike came and cut my lawn, and because he has some pain problems of his own, I stopped writing to help him cut the yard. I love working in the yard, but for months I haven't been able to do much of anything. Since February, I've worked my way up to walking 1.6 miles. Then I had the setback with the back pain. After I helped him today, I realized that I may not be doing much cutting the yard.

Now, never in my life have I set goals. Until today. Because I have to. If I'm going to get this done in the time I have left. I need to have targets. Maybe targets are better than goals. Hmm. I like it. 

So, my targets are:

• Finish the edits of Journey of a Broken Writer and get it published under my brand. (Yes, I have one now.)
• Finish book two of the Dream Stealer series.
• Work on getting my blogs in order. 
• And exercise more because I can't stand not being able to do what I need to do.

That's it. If I can hit those targets, I'll be on cloud nine. Well, until it rains.

Through My Veins

For three days now, I've been writing. Not new writing, but I've been editing and revising. 

On Wednesday, I suddenly opened one of my unfinished manuscripts and started working toward finishing it. This book is the closest to being a finished draft of all 9 of my manuscripts. I have a couple of others that almost as close. If I can get this edit done and fill in any holes, I can start a real edit. 

The process feels great, but I'm battling pain, fatigue, and depression. Typical day for me. 

But I'm working. Writing. I'm tired of not being able to think or use my hands. I know there's dictation, but it isn't the same. I've tried it a few times and I still have to use a keyboard to edit. And it is so slow. 

I remember when I was 11 and started writing. I loved using my pen and scratching those words onto paper. I didn't own a typewriter and couldn't have used it if I did. They hadn't invented computers yet. Pen or pencil were the only way to write. 

When I moved to the typewriter, I had to relearn to write because there is something visceral about using pen and paper. They're an extension to your body when you write. What you think pours out onto the paper through a pen. The way blood flows through my veins. I learned to type, and the words flowed out at 70 words per minute. 

Then, I got a computer when I was in my mid-20s. The pen and paper fell by way, to be used only for notes or when I had no access to the computer. Doing NaNoWriMo I learned to write faster and at last count, in NaNo alone I'd written over 465,712 words over 11 years! It's ridiculous to not have a finished novel to show for all that. 

I haven't given up, even though it feels I'm running out of time. This week I'm trying to make headway. I can tell that the longer I'm at it, the more I want to do, but my body has betrayed me so long. My neck hurts badly as I finish this post. My back hurts. My hands have hurt for days and a couple of fingers are reaching the end of their lifespan, I think. The pain of not finishing is worse. 

Be Nice or Shut Your Mouth

I ended the Facebook "fast" yesterday. I was having some real problems with severe depression and abysmal loneliness all accompanied by the never ending pain. My state of mind was toxic and required action.

Taking off Facebook seemed counter intuitive because I felt it would further isolate me and make the situation worse. However, the day before I went off, someone made a thoughtless comment that really hit me at the worst point in my mental state. It was a trigger, and it worked.

Let me tell you people something. You need to watch your mouth when you know someone is struggling with personal issues, regardless of what form they take. I'm not a person who will go out and kill myself. I have religious beliefs that make that difficult for me. It is just one more thing to deal with and I'm not inclined to add to my grief or other's. However, you won't know that. Even I don't know.

I have a history of clinical depression. It was 20 yrs ago at least. I was suicidal and got right down to the planning stage. But God was so merciful to me and got me help (I learned to self medicate using supplements and herbals) before I did something stupid. Because of that experience, I'm highly susceptible to depression. Depression, for me, is the beast lurking in the dark.

Secondary to the depression, they diagnosed me with PTSD at the death of my husband. I presume the ramifications of that are clear, without my having to explain it. I'm certain I'm not the only person in the world like this. So you need to shut your mouth if you have no tact because you could cause irreparable damage to someone like me.

I left the comment on the site but the person who made the comment can't see my posts now. I've unfollowed them. I never delete comments unless they're obscene. I figure your mouth is my best defense. I never delete people either unless they're crazy or obscene. Again, better the world see you for a fool so I don't have to explain it.

I went off intending to do a month but stopped at 17 days. I will probably do more soon. I've done this before, here and there but with my state of mind this time, the whole thing surprised me a bit.

What did I do? Other things. I've been doing some crochet and more reading. Played some games here and there. I went to the gym but a nasty turn in the weather this week disrupted my system and my pain escalated to where Sunday I had to have a cane to walk. I thought the gym might be a bad idea today, even though I'm better after many applications of Pennsaid Solution. Well, I don't need the cane now. So.

I've been on Instagram some, posting photos but that isn't really my thing much since Sarah left. I enjoyed looking at other people's photos more and found some crochet patterns I want to try. I've been going over some writing things but once the weather shifted, writing wasn't possible again. I discovered some new podcasts, too. Mike and I have been spending more time together since he's had places he needed to go and he always spends time here when he does that. The cats are thrilled, especially Jet. They have a real bromance going on.

After about 10 days, I realized my mood was slightly better, but the depression was hanging on. Until yesterday I just couldn't shake it. Today isn't so bad.

I've learned that one personal failing, or one comment, however well intentioned, can send a person into a nosedive as fatal as a plane crash. That's what living with depression is like. The things that trigger an episode are so stinking random.

So, be nice or be scarce. And if you really hate reading about people's problems go away so we don't have to bother with you. You're adding to the problems. My blogs all state what I'm dealing with and that the posts are about those things. I suppose I should label Facebook but I've laid out my position very clearly in the About section. I should review it I guess and update it.

One negative of the whole thing is that I blew my diet out of the water. Totally sunk the boat. But I didn't gain any weight. So, a bit of silver lining there. Oh, I bought a food scale, too. I think it will help me keep track of the little things like nuts or fruits. We'll see.

Have a great week. It is just getting started, and I'd like to believe it will be good.

The Horror of Writer's Block

Pixabay.com

They're there, somewhere in my head. I know they're there! I hear them breathing, the short, rapid breaths of terror. I can smell the rank sweat of their fear at being found. Sometimes, for a moment, I think I can hear their teeth chatter. And I want to kick down the doors and rip out the walls to find them.

I stare into the mirror and wonder what I can do to get past the barriers they've erected to keep me out. I need some kind of explosive to blow out the walls so they come pouring out in bloody heaps like the innards of a gutted pig. Or perhaps pipe some kind of gas in until it forces them out of hiding into the fresh air, choking, gasping, and clawing at their throats.

Yeah. They're in there. I know. I close my eyes and I can see their shadows darting past the windows of my soul, hoping I won't catch sight of them. I know the words are in there. I just can't make them out.

But I will.

Oh yes, I will.

Sail Away

I joined the gym. Yes, I did. Three weeks ago I signed up at Planet Fitness. I've been four times but this will increase as I get stronger. That's my hope.

The first thing I notice on the days I've worked out is I feel much better. It seems to eliminate my fatigue and reduce pain. This sounds crazy but I'll take what I can get. For now, I'm doing a 30 minute circuit on machines that work my whole body. My strength is terrible because of my fibromyalgia and rheumatoid arthritis. The ruptured disk and following surgery didn't improve the situation.

However, since I began the physical therapy in January, I can tell I'm stronger. I still have very little stamina, though and I'm hoping that the new exercise routine will help with that.

Writing? It's bad. I've done short bouts here and there but the truth is I've been so fatigued that most days I can't do more than watch movies, play video games, or read. My brain just doesn't function on those days. Pain, brain fog, and fatigue have all but drained my creative mind. In the last couple of weeks, I have seen some improvement because I suddenly wanted to do some crochet. Usually I write and crochet so perhaps this is a sign that getting exercise is improving my clarity.

That sums up the last 5 months, I think. Sad, isn't it? For several months, I've felt tormented by thoughts I should just throw in the towel and stop trying. Toss the stories in progress, wipe the hard drives, and move on to something else. It is the most frightening thing I've ever contemplated. I can't do that. I want to write. The unfairness of my illness seems even worse when I think about how it has robbed me of so many of the joys in my life. Writing is the one place I didn't think it could reach.

For now, I refuse to entertain the notion that I won't write again. I will do my best. Keep plodding a few hundred words at a time. But I'm not happy with that. I want to sail away in that stream of consciousness writing that carries me away to different lands. I stand on the dock waiting for the boat to pick me up.

Morning Routine and A Cat Story

I'm at the computer this morning preparing to write something. Well, this post but other things, too. I've read my Bible, put away some laundry, put another load on to wash, have one more to wash but may wait till tomorrow to do that one. I've swept Sarah's room and I made my bed before she went to school.It is just now 9:30! I'm not as tired today as I have been but then it comes and goes so who knows what the day will hold.

I went to church yesterday and was just so tired. Bishop stopped by my seat and prayed for me and I was able to stay and enjoy most of the service. I left just before it ended and came home. So, an auspicious start to the week.

Today I'd like to work on one of my novels. I've decided to just let one of them give me a shout out and see who wants attention. Maybe I'll be more productive. I'm nearly done with ... I don't know what you call it. I've been developing the environment, leadership, and religion of All That's Holy. I need to see the landscape and I need to clearly understand the role of the monarchy with the religious order in place. Several wars have resulted in an interesting structure. So, that's helped a bit. Now I know more about why.

Have you done your taxes? I haven't either. I need to get started but I still have some paperwork to pull and I really can't be fatigued when I start processing that stuff. I hate filing and I don't actually have to file but I usually get a few hundred bucks back so that's the light bill one month.

I'm in very little pain today compared to last week. The foot is improving a bit but I've been very careful to wear comfortable shoes or thick socks in the house. My knee... meh, I need to put medicine on it. The rest of me seems to be meh, too. I just thankful for the relief this morning. I was very depressed over the weekend and the fatigue just makes it much worse.

OK, I have a story to tell. It happened Saturday night.

The Case of the Cat in the Nighttime

I hate cats who get on counters and tables where I prepare and eat food. It is the main reason I never wanted cats, well, that and the litter box. Yuck. Sarah has a cat and being a cat, it is a constant source of annoyance. I keep bleach wipes on the counter because once dirty, catbox paws have been on the counter or tables we can't bear to think eating anything in contact with it. So, bleach wipes.

A week or so ago I read you can put double sided sticky tape on things you want to stop the cat from getting on. It said they don't like it on their paws. As someone who has fought with double-sided tape, I can understand that but cats are pretty persistent creatures. And I don't have any double-sided tape at the present time.

I have packing tape.

So, after screaming at the cat to get off my freshly cleaned table and counters, I decided I had nothing to lose. Saturday I got the packing tape and arranged it in stripes on the table and counter. Then I just went about the day. Once, Chaz hopped up on the table in the kitchen and managed to miss the tape. He stared at it but when he saw me, he jumped down and ran off. I was miffed.

The day wore on and wouldn't you know, this is the day he isn't going to break the rules. All. Day. Long.

At 11 p.m. I was sitting on the side of my bed making final preparations to go to bed. In the kitchen, I hear something whump, then a scrabbling and howl. Next, some wild yowling creature catapulted down the hall, running into Sarah's room.

I jumped up and running into the hallway I called, "CHAZ!"

He passed me on the way back up the hall and I chased him into the far corner of the den. He's shaking his hind leg and circling and there is the odd cellophane sound. I talked soothingly to him and bent down. Stuck to his back leg and balled up was the packing tape from the table. I took it off and he darted off back down the hallway.

I went to bed wondering what the morrow would bring and laughing.

There has been no packing tape on the table since Saturday night. I haven't caught him on it again. Of course, he could be getting on it at night. I'll be getting some double sided tape this week.

I'm laughing again. Cats are good for one thing - entertainment.

Terror in my Mind

Courtesy Pixabay.com

It is raining but that's better than snow. It is still cold. I'm slightly better but I'm fighting fatigue like it was some giant troll from The Hobbit. I'm coughing less but no less choking. Either the crud in my chest is gone or I'm starting over.

I did attempt a little bit of writing one day over the weekend but I couldn't tell you which one. A few times I sat down to write but was so tired I couldn't sit up. This morning, after going to bed at 8:30 last night and getting up at 6 a.m., I still had to lie down at 8 a.m. and sleep for 2 hrs. After which, I was still tired and couldn't even put away that last load of laundry.

It is depressing. I recognize the symptoms. I've been sick a month and after the year I had last year, it is so discouraging to not be able to do anything worthwhile. I have a story that is 5000 words short of a completed first draft. Oh, a piece of cake, you think? Only if your brain works and you can stay awake. Before all this, I could have done that in 2 hours. Really.

I would really be curious to hear from other writers with auto-immune disorders that are impacting their life in this way. I retired in 2013 and thought that less stress would help. It hasn't. In fact, I've gotten worse. Most days I feel totally out of control of my own life. When I read over what I've written, I can see that it is really good, very good. And it makes me a sick to think I'll never get it finished.

Oh wow. This wasn't meant to be a pity party. I'm sorry. I was going to write about something else entirely. It is 8:40 p.m. here and I'm about to head off to bed. Despite about 12 hrs sleep in the last 24, I'm tired. I keep thinking this will pass soon. Time is relative.

In a few weeks, I'll see my doctors again and discuss this with them. I do think one problem is that I've lost a lot of physical strength since I blew the disk in my back. I have no stamina and I need to get out and do some physical activity to rebuild that. But it is harder the older you get. Once, I'd have just started an aerobics routine and built up in a few weeks to an hour workout. The thought exhausts me now.

I hope your writing is progressing and if you're struggling with physical problems that interfere with your writing, just keep going. Don't give up or lose heart.  You'll feel worse if you stop. I've been entertaining that thought for weeks now. I'll just give up. No more writing. No more stories. No listening to the voice whisper adventures in the night. Just stop.

That is the most terrifying thought I've ever experienced.