Oh, I’ve Been Nuts, But How Are You?

It’s about time I dusted this thing off. I’ve wanted to start writing again for months, because it’s my therapy, but thinking about it caused an up-swell of the anxiety that choked off the words to begin with.

I need to write to be less anxious, but thinking about writing gives me anxiety. Which I could dispel, if I could write. But…anxiety.

Kind of feel like a cat on a leash—every move is an antagonist. I know that if I could just settle for 5 minutes I’d be able to stop fighting myself, but I’m too jacked up to actually apply any sort of logic to the situation. So instead I bite my tethers, the people who love me, and my own feet.

I considered therapy, but imagined sitting in an office for an hour, not saying anything due to paralyzing social anxiety, then paying $120 for the privilege.

Painting the porch blue and sitting out there with a potted fern and some magazines would accomplish essentially the same thing, but without the ding to the bank account.

I tried reading self-help books and inspiring quotes, but they just make me angry. Anger makes me anxious, since I don’t have a good outlet for it. You can’t yell at a meme. Well, you can, but probably shouldn’t, if you don’t want that therapy to become an involuntary thing.

I wished I could talk to Mom, but she thinks Al-Queda are hanging out in the ceiling vent, and that one of them leaves her whoopie pies when she’s asleep.

I’d talk to Dad, but he’s dead, and I don’t talk to dead people anymore.

I used to, until one night I was talking to a dead person, and something really strange happened that was totally the type of thing that particular dead person would have thought funny. I have enough to worry about without worrying about the dead playing practical jokes on me. So I don’t talk to dead people anymore.

I even caved and sought medication from my doctor.

But, like earlier efforts at better living through chemistry, it didn’t do anything. At least nothing good. I still had the anxiety, the insomnia, the paralyzing fear. The medication just made it so I also felt dull and disconnected from everything.

Time kept ticking by and I kept closing in, and in, and in, until I’d left my house exactly 1 time in 8 months for something not strictly necessary.

Then I started thinking about agoraphobia. That made me more anxious, and I decided it was time to force myself to do…something. It was time to jump


Jump, they said. It will be fun, they said.

So I opened the blog. I tinkered around until I had a new layout and header. I read old posts and decided I sucked. Then I read other old posts and decided I was funny.

Then I looked around the room I have occupied for a disturbing number of hours each day, and decided it didn’t matter.

So here we are at the end, if you, too, made it this far. And I didn’t even tell you a story.



I’m sorry?

Measure twice, cut once?

I don’t really know what to say. I should probably strive to get over that.







6 thoughts on “Oh, I’ve Been Nuts, But How Are You?

  1. Never, ever, worry about that time out, or about why you’re not writing. It’s like catching lightning in a jar, or something not quite so clichéd. We all go through it; we get angry; at ourselves, or the creative “process” when it ceases to flow and I’m not even sure what that means. I’m kind of a “pantser” myself, and my best ideas come when I’m planted in my little garden chair with pillows that serves as my blogging chair, and I go off on some tangent and land with some zinger, that wasn’t even close to the point of whatever the hell it started out to be. Those are the posts that get the highest praise, and that is the reason why I will never write the “Great American Novel”, if there even is such a thing anymore. I mean, the “Great” and “American” part; we’ll always have novels. I just don’t think I’ll have my name up there among the literary luminaries.

    Maybe I’ll be more like Jack Handy with wry observations. The one thing I do know is this: you have a powerful voice and when you choose to use it, it stands out. You do deserve to be heard and I celebrate the fact that you’re back and blogging. Don’t worry about talking to the dead people. Hell, I talk to dead aliens and survived my “involuntary therapy” just fine; I’m probably a better person for it! Peace and welcome back. Love and light! Mary

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes, yes. And today was one of those days that I DIDN’T know what to write. But at least I got words out, in a semi-coherent fashion. Calling it a win, especially since it helps to know I’m not a lone in this.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Measure twice, cut once. lol You have to start somewhere, right? Because you have to start. YOU…particularly…HAVE to. 🙂


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