It’s Time For the Bad To Be Over

October 6, 2010 § 1 Comment

Otherwise known as: Remember this blog? Let’s start it again.

I wrote this on my birthday last week but I figured it was a good way to ‘rebirth’ the blog. So, enjoy.

So I’m thirty eight today and I’ve just managed to convince a three year old that a nap is in her best interests. I did so because my kitchen table is covered with potential art. I’m making shadow boxes, and paper cuttings and “altered houses” and Sculpey things for Fall and (christmas). At the same time I am reading Bird By Bird by Anne Lamott in an effort to make myself write. I am also looking for a job and trying to find a way to make a million dollars without getting a job, dealing with newly bloomed back pain that my doctor says “let’s just deal with it!” instead of “MY GOD YOU POOR WOMAN, LAY DOWN WITH SOME CAKE” like I want him to, and ill timed PMS that takes me from near perfect contentment this morning to unbearable sadness about fifteen minutes ago because Todd looked particularly lonely.

The thing is, Charlotte’s asleep and for an hour and a half I can sit here and do whatever I want. I can lose myself in a book, make tiny apples from clay, paint, sketch, write, bathe my stinky dog…and none of that sounds good. Frankly I’d like to lay down on the couch with said dog and think about all the things I’d like to do and imagine how great they’ll be when I do them one day “When I Feel In The Right Mind Set To Do Them”. I put stuff off every day because my literary dramatic nature demands that the “time” be right. Writing needs an eight hour minimum with no possibility of television parole. I need to have taken a long bath and be carried by words to the notebook, bursting with gems of dialogue and description. Art demands a frantic mind, a cloudy day, a positive outlook, an almost obnoxious happiness and energy.

In fact, for the past decade or so, I’ve done great damage to myself and to others, laboring under the illusion that nothing can be properly accomplished unless it’s done in the midst of happiness and peace. I can’t imagine doing a scrapbook page while angry, or sad, or lonesome or hungry. I can’t imagine writing when I’m jealous or frustrated or fed up. In fact, the list has grown longer so that I can’t find myself cooking an interesting dinner, cleaning the bathroom, organizing a closet or going to the library without a pre-approved emotion to guide me there. It’s no surprise to me that after quitting painkillers I never went back to pottery class. I loved throwing clay on the wheel, going back to discover a beautifully glazed, if a little crooked, coffee mug with my name etched in the bottom. I loved the entrancing focus that centering the clay required, the accomplishment that surged when I properly pulled a bowl up and out. But i never went to class without first taking my pills, ensuring that I would be euphoric during my creation.

So for years — YEARS (I quit in May of ’08) I have been ‘waiting” for my brain to return to normal. For the endorphins to straighten out and the pleasure centers to repair and for natural happiness and euphoria to take their place. I’ve been waiting for life experiences to increase my serotonin and dopamine levels before I ‘get back’ to who I was. The fact is that I may never get back there. I jacked up my brain something fierce and trained myself to believe that if I wasn’t ecstatically buzzing with creativity and energy then I was “sick” or “sad” or “depressed” when actually I was just “normal”.

My mother gave me a little “helpful hint” about a year ago that I promised her I would take to heart, and I actually did try to do so for a while…but then I got laid off and it became easy not to … do anything really. Sitting around moping became my hobby. She told me that a friend of hers in recovery gave her a quote that said:

We do things to feel better, not wait until we feel better to do things

So brilliant in its simplicity and SO. HARD. TO. DO. But I guess that’s my focus for this year. I would like to feel the joy I once felt doing the things I loved, including things that would be so good for me like yoga or swimming. I would like to learn how to make myself feel better rather than laying on the couch waiting for an antidepressant or an antianxiety pill or a couple of tylenol to do so.

Charlotte will wake up within the hour and ask to “do halloween”. We’re making decorations together this year to save money, and it makes her so happy to cut a piece of cheesecloth into a ghost on a string. There’s almost nothing to it, but it thrills her beyond belief. So that’s what we’ll do. And i’ll make sure that it’s fun.

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§ One Response to It’s Time For the Bad To Be Over

  • Tami says:

    How I long for the ability to feel joy in something as simple as cutting cheesecloth as I did when I was but a child myself. This could have been written about me or by me-it rings so true. I guess I have not known anyone else in my position. My doctor says that the creativity that opiates gave me is mine and that I need to be able to tap into without the opiates-of course without the opiates. I am having a hard time because when I try to paint or write its just not there-I ca do it sure but it’s no good there is no magic to it. I know I was good at one time as my short stories have been published. How are you doing with this-you wrote this post almost a year ago.

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