I haven't blogged in years. Not really. For a while I fancied myself an up-and-coming MMORPG blogger, and I pretty religiously posted rants about guild leadership, the "right" and "wrong" ways to do things... Basically, I was an elitist prick waggling my epeen at people. Little surprise that blog never really took off. I think I had one regular reader. In Russia. Which, given everything, kind of makes sense. Those Russians love their World of Warcraft. Anyway.
The last few years have seen me fall very much out of touch with a part of me that used to be pretty damn important- my inner writer. Used to be, I would write constantly. Stories, online role-playing, journals, my blog. Hell, I wrote analytical reports on books I read FOR FUN, back in high school. (I can hear you shouting 'nerd' from waaaay over wherever you are, and trust me. You are not the first person to say that.) Those years also saw me become a much angrier, stressed-out, and emotionally unstable person. Maybe it's just the age of the beast. I mean, I am nearing thirty. All kinds of chemical nastiness is going on in my body right now, I'm sure. Or maybe it's adult-onset mental instability. I wouldn't be the first person in my family to have that problem. I've consulted the oracles of modern medicine, behavioral and internal, and while they've had some helpful suggestions... something's still not quite there.
Hence this blog. Ultimately, this is going to be the Seinfeld of blogs- which most blogs are, in my experience. No stated plot, no major theme or message. I'm not here to share recipes or give tips on rearing a strong two mommy family, or how not to look like a complete jackass in a video game that's been out for ten years. I'm just a woman on a mission to reconnect with the things in her life that really matter, and get rid of all the things that don't.
Which brings me to the pickle jar. The other morning, while I was still sleeping off a panic-attack and crying bout, my unfathomably understanding girlfriend posted this video on Facebook. Short version, a professor dumps a bunch of crap into a pickle jar, and it's a life lesson. The jar is us, the stuff in the jar is all of our baggage. And then there's chocolate, but... I'm going to sidestep that particular issue. (Touch my chocolate and I will cut you.) I realized, after I stopped sobbing like an anorexic blonde chick in a Lifetime movie, that I've spent most of the last few years worrying about all the wrong things. Yes, finances and computer stuff and having the right job and...all that other crap I worry about matter. Well, not all of the crap. Class balance in player-versus-player content doesn't matter. That's sand. (Watch the video. You'll get it.) What matter most are my health, my happiness, and my family. I've let stress from work (and other things) push my relationship to the limit. Multiple times. I let my health go for so long that it took two months and close to five hundred dollars in doctor visits, tests, and prescriptions to START getting me back on track. And my happiness...
I cry at sudden, unexpected noises. And yelling. And strangers making eye contact. I can't sit still any more. My chest seizes up when I go out in public, and when I'm alone at home I oscillate between fine and terrified that something bad is going to happen. I have been very much doing it wrong for a long time, and it's got to change. Pills aren't the answer. They help, yes. But I can't live my life popping pills and hoping that'll make my troubles just...disappear. Somewhere along the line my coping mechanisms took an arrow to the knee. Zoloft won't fix that. Ativan won't fix that. Only I can.
So here we go. The first step in a journey of a thousand keystrokes. With some exponent, because I can blow through a thousand characters pretty damn fast. (Which is why I suck at Twitter and never use it.) Maybe someone will read this, and at least know they're not alone in their hardship. Or realize that their problems aren't as bad as they could be. Or that their problems are WAY worse than mine, and get all full of righteous indignation that inspires them to push on. Or...maybe no one will read it, and I'll just work my feelings out on paper (so to speak)...and move on.
We'll see. That's all we can do, right? ^.^
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