What you wish for
I swear it's like I'm suffering from some disease or something. It's this crippling condition that stops me in my tracks every time I write. I start to feel extremely bored by my own words. I've started a number of blogs over the past few weeks but I never get through more than a paragraph or so and then I just cancel out of it. Sure, some of the time it's because of some practical reason, like work gets really busy or something, but more often than not, I just lose the impulse to write and communicate.
I haven't suffered from this terrible affliction for nearly 7 years. 7 years ago I was dating this guy Bill who used to be very subtly mentally abusive. He was the kind of guy everybody liked...until they got to know him. Constantly introducing him to my friends and family to always golden reviews made me think my creeping feelings of disinterest in him weren't warranted. I mean, everyone else likes him, what must be wrong with me?
Anyway, he used to always tell me I wasn't very socially graceful and that I would say things that people didn't want to hear or something like that. Eventually, this got to me and I became more withdrawn. So much so that I even withdrew inside my own mind. I'd rarely have internal conversations anymore. Indeed, thought seemed to disappear from my mind. I started merely existing, floating from one experience to another, barely acknowledging any feelings I might be experiencing.
By no means is my current affliction so...severe, but I do feel remnants of that time in my heart. It's somewhat inexplicable in my current time/space. There's no reason why I should be down on myself. Although I suppose there's certain expectations of becoming 30 that I haven't been addressing, so there may be something there.
Anyway, getting back to my subject line.
The other day I was talking to Topher about wishing something would happen in my life that I would find somewhat interesting so that I might then want to write about it. I hadn't blogged for weeks and, well, I've just explained my internal feelings. Anyway, later that day I got my wish.
After work, I opened the birthday card my mother had sent me. It had arrived late and she hadn't called me on the day of, so I was vaguely annoyed, but my mom and I have a pretty casual relationship so I didn't think about it too much. Inside, my mom had written,
I decide to tear up the $30 check she'd written me, thinking that she probably needs it more than me (eventhough I am broke - which leads me down a depressing tangent of this cycle of poverty with my family which I need to stop myself from going down).
Naturally I call her right away. She confirms what she wrote in the card and tells me her doctor thinks she may have MS.
Of course, I immediately think I know something about this because I watch West Wing and president Bartlett has relapsing remitting MS and I even ask my mom at some point if the doctor used that phrase. Either way, it's pretty scary to think about my mom being so helpless and it's also (god help me) kind of annoying because I'm so used to her being sick in some way. She's smoked since before I was born and is constantly suffering from sinus infections but refuses to quit smoking. She has carpal tunnel from years of being a secretary. Basically a call to my mom was just an update of her ailments, which never seemed to change, but because I'd waited long enough to call they'd subsided and returned already.
Obviously, MS is a little more serious and now the idea of my mom coming to the city to visit me is quite possibly something I can never take for granted again, which, again, is scary and sucks.
Being the youngest child in my family grants me having the experience of what most older adults have at a younger age. But this is early even for my sister, who is 8 years older than me. At least, I didn't see it coming.
We all thought my father, who's been a heavy drinker most of his life, would be debilitated first. Goes to show.
OK, so I guess I'm over the whole writer's block, unfortunately for all of you, who get to experience this mind-numbing depression. Venting has helped though.
I haven't suffered from this terrible affliction for nearly 7 years. 7 years ago I was dating this guy Bill who used to be very subtly mentally abusive. He was the kind of guy everybody liked...until they got to know him. Constantly introducing him to my friends and family to always golden reviews made me think my creeping feelings of disinterest in him weren't warranted. I mean, everyone else likes him, what must be wrong with me?
Anyway, he used to always tell me I wasn't very socially graceful and that I would say things that people didn't want to hear or something like that. Eventually, this got to me and I became more withdrawn. So much so that I even withdrew inside my own mind. I'd rarely have internal conversations anymore. Indeed, thought seemed to disappear from my mind. I started merely existing, floating from one experience to another, barely acknowledging any feelings I might be experiencing.
By no means is my current affliction so...severe, but I do feel remnants of that time in my heart. It's somewhat inexplicable in my current time/space. There's no reason why I should be down on myself. Although I suppose there's certain expectations of becoming 30 that I haven't been addressing, so there may be something there.
Anyway, getting back to my subject line.
The other day I was talking to Topher about wishing something would happen in my life that I would find somewhat interesting so that I might then want to write about it. I hadn't blogged for weeks and, well, I've just explained my internal feelings. Anyway, later that day I got my wish.
After work, I opened the birthday card my mother had sent me. It had arrived late and she hadn't called me on the day of, so I was vaguely annoyed, but my mom and I have a pretty casual relationship so I didn't think about it too much. Inside, my mom had written,
I hope you had a happy birthday. I'm out of work for the next few days for some tests. I'm having trouble walking. Call me. I'm scared. Love, Mom."
I decide to tear up the $30 check she'd written me, thinking that she probably needs it more than me (eventhough I am broke - which leads me down a depressing tangent of this cycle of poverty with my family which I need to stop myself from going down).
Naturally I call her right away. She confirms what she wrote in the card and tells me her doctor thinks she may have MS.
Of course, I immediately think I know something about this because I watch West Wing and president Bartlett has relapsing remitting MS and I even ask my mom at some point if the doctor used that phrase. Either way, it's pretty scary to think about my mom being so helpless and it's also (god help me) kind of annoying because I'm so used to her being sick in some way. She's smoked since before I was born and is constantly suffering from sinus infections but refuses to quit smoking. She has carpal tunnel from years of being a secretary. Basically a call to my mom was just an update of her ailments, which never seemed to change, but because I'd waited long enough to call they'd subsided and returned already.
Obviously, MS is a little more serious and now the idea of my mom coming to the city to visit me is quite possibly something I can never take for granted again, which, again, is scary and sucks.
Being the youngest child in my family grants me having the experience of what most older adults have at a younger age. But this is early even for my sister, who is 8 years older than me. At least, I didn't see it coming.
We all thought my father, who's been a heavy drinker most of his life, would be debilitated first. Goes to show.
OK, so I guess I'm over the whole writer's block, unfortunately for all of you, who get to experience this mind-numbing depression. Venting has helped though.
posted by Brian at
11:40 AM
<< Home