Month: December 2015

A bit of a miracle

So, last week (it seems so long ago now!) I was plagued with a few days of distracted, anxious thinking culminating in 36 hours of straight-on nightmares that made me weep. It was awful.

However, there came a bit of a breaking point in my nightmares. I dreamt, with sadness, that I had a child and it had been stolen from me as a baby, and subjected to cruelty. Then, somehow, my thinking started to realign itself and I started to think, maybe my child had been cared for by strangers- maybe this child was well.

Now, it is impossible that I have a biological child. I’ve never given birth and I’ve never donated eggs. I know this is a fiction. But in my dreams, this fictional child had been raised by kind people in Turkey- a country which I had shunned because of my first husband, a Turkish-American man who had abused me. I even started thinking that my fictional child had been raised in part by my ex-husband!

This brought with it a lot of mixed emotions, as you can appreciate, but in the end, I found myself forgiving my ex-husband for a lot of things- and started to remember good things about him, and Turkey, and Turks. A glacier in my heart had melted, and I felt much lighter, much happier, as if a weight around my neck had been lifted off me.

I know it’s hard to suffer from delusions, but sometimes they can help- it is a bit of a mixed blessing, since they often cause pain, but it’s nice to know that sometimes they can also bring healing.

Merry Christmas, if you celebrate, and if you do not I hope you have a nice day.

Writer’s block

So, readers, I have been dealing with an extended period of depression and insomnia (are the two linked? I have come across many papers which suggest that they are) and of course, it’s winter- and I always get lethargic and kind of mopey in winter.

All this means that, on my single days which I have to myself to write (those being Sundays), I find myself doing laundry, tidying the house, sitting on the couch typing diary entries or emails or blog posts, and basically doing anything and everything except writing fiction. Today has been no different- all I have accomplished is one load of laundry, a shopping trip to get groceries, and a long email to my collaborator at UCLA.

This is actually not great, since I’d like to get my novel finished by December 31 (a rough draft, at least), and I have a lot of chapters left. I am telling myself I can write a lot over the holiday break, but honestly- unless I am left alone, it’s just not going to be possible, and it’s the time of year where there is never a lot of time to oneself. I may have to revise my schedule for the novel and just chalk it up to my own frailty (curse you, seasonal affective and bipolar disorders!).

I have another couple of hours after I finish typing this post to work on creative writing- I may give it another shot. The self-talk running through my head isn’t helping me meet my goals: it’s a never-ending stream of “you’re too tired to write well, everything you write today will suck, just put it off until next year”, etc. etc.

It’s a vicious cycle, because each time I fail to meet my writing goals, I feel worse about myself. I need to have discipline and I need to try to muster what energy I had when I was writing two chapters a weekend. Here’s me signing off with a note that I’ve got about two hours left to write today, and even if all I do is stare at my computer screen, I am going to give it my best shot.