Tag Archives: self-image

In Spite of

In spite of a hellish week of over work. Tasks I abhor. Unreasonable requests. I feel fine. I have been feeling fine for 4 weeks. Exactly 4 weeks. After …somewhere between 10 and 40 years of moderate to sever depression and anxiety.

I keep thinking of that therapy model I read somewhere, that once you chip away at enough of the crap trees in the crap forrest, the rest just start falling.

Don’t honestly know if it’s a temporary reprieve or a new chapter that doesn’t suck as much, may even holds good things. Just know the trees are falling of their own accord now. OK, sometimes I have to give them a little nudge. But they’re falling.

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of ants and anxiety

Ant

I was decimating an ant swarm around my kitchen door (which already seemed to be dying) when one ant walked up on my foot and pointedly bit me. It felt like on tiny voice of rage and defiance, defending his tribe, expressing himself. I killed him, told him I was sorry, and realized I can relate. That’s what I feel like when I’m battling depression and anxiety. The size and futility ratio feel about the same.

That said I’ve been feeling good this week, and maybe I’m winning the battle, but sometimes it just seems random. Like I could have just as easily turned right into the house with the death soap bucket, but I happened to turn left into the sugar pile today.

Current state of ants and anxiety – detente.

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Where’s it all coming from – MFA program/T minus 9 weeks

Saw a movie this week at the Austin Film Festival, “The Night Is Young.” Funny guys wrote a funny film, marginally about the hell that is living in Los Angeles as an actor. Reminded me why I left. And that I shouldn’t go back without people to keep me sane.

Driving home I could feel these parts of me that don’t get much face time, deeper parts that have feelings and meaning. The parts you need to write fiction. Fiction that has any traction, that has any weight, any legs. I made a mental note about needing them. But I should have made a note where I found them. I can only remember that they are in there somewhere. No idea how to get back.

Somewhere in side Susannah Raulino there is something real. As symbolized by this letter that told the waitress where to find me to give me my sandwich. Hope there’s a similar marker inside me, for where I go looking for the real me.

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Do you find sources of inspiration that feel important or real? Or notice them in others’ work? Love to hear about it. Please leave a comment.