Walking home from work I have an awful lot of time to think. Sometimes, like today, I think of things I need to say in a blog post to get them off my chest.
Unfortunately, by the time I get home and complete whatever needs to be completed before I get to my blog… these things jumble themselves away. I wish they didn’t so that I could get them all off my chest at once. The problem is that I only seem to have two real emotions at the minute. Crying and vacancy.
They’re not really my choice of emotions. In fact, I’d rather not have them.
Right now, I’m feeling vacant, which is probably why this post makes marginally more sense and feels much more detached than the past few.
Not only are they not pleasant, but it means I’m depressed almost every hour of the day. Almost because some hours I’m actually asleep. Sadly dreaming really isn’t helping either. I’m dreaming things I don’t want to dream because there’s always that pang when you wake up, like the back of a shovel smacking your stomach, telling you that it’s just wishful thinking.
I had one of these kinds of dreams on Friday. I’m hoping I haven’t told anyone about it because it hurt me more than ever to wake from and it crushed me more than ever even when I was dreaming it. The problem is that I think I might have as, the day after, I went to a Halloween party and got uncharacteristically drunk.
I say uncharacteristically not because I don’t drink but because some of the things I said are vague and because I’ve never really managed to get to that level of inebriation due to a rather handy ability to sober up quickly. I think it was partly helped by the fact I feel so depressed as well. You seem to feel less sober than usual even on the same amount of alcohol that would normally leave you in control.
I don’t mind telling you I started crying again. You can probably guess anyway so there’s no point in my hiding it. I really did try not to. I even waited on the stairs, hoping that it would pass before anyone came to find me, but sadly that didn’t work out and I ended up bawling my eyes out even more. Irritatingly, it ruined the pirate make up around my eyes that I’d worked so hard on.
Alcohol doesn’t help. I know that.
Sometimes I really wish it could, but at least it gets me socialising, I suppose. Right now I probably need the socialising as a distraction from the nothingness, the pain and the interminable thoughts that run around and around in my head. A lot of what is keeping me going are friends and the idea that I have to get published.
That’s all I really want. When I finally get published then I’m done. I’m happy. I don’t really need anything else. All else is superfluous. I just want to be a great writer.
If I’m considered a great writer by other people then nothing else ever really matters. All else is nothing. And all of this horrible pain and heartache that I’ve been through… All of it. It was worth at least some small something and I could die happy in that knowledge.
Not that I’m going to go off into a tangent about dying and other such thoughts, because I think that’s a bit too far from cheery for tonight’s post and I’ve already brushed on that anyway recently. So I’ll just keep my mouth shut.
Writing anything new has been hard, though, recently and I still haven’t been able to dive into my edits. It’s difficult to do when you feel like your world has caved in. I have, however, managed to enter 100 words into Stevie McCoy’s #TuesdayTales, so if you want to read my piece of micro fiction have a click through. There are plenty of other great writers involved and I hope you enjoy their entries as much as I have.
And on a side note, good luck to all of those participating in NaNoWriMo this month.
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