I gotta get my butt in the seat. To work on this novel, I mean.

I read online that Maggie Stiefvater wrote her first published novel from 2-4 pm on Wednesdays. Butt-in-seat adds up to a finished book– it’s simple math.

There have been one thousand distractions since last fall– diagnoses and treatments, contract issues, online dating lows (and highs!)– but I think it’s time to start clocking some time in front of the manuscript.

It won’t be like it used to be– for years, I was able to write daily; for years, I wrote so many hours in a weekend. But it doesn’t have to be. Showing up from 2-4 pm on Wednesdays results in a book if you show up for enough Wednesdays. Thank you, Maggie, for reminding me of that.

This week I will show up. Next week, I’ll report how it went.

xo Jack

I stopped taking that med. 

I called my doctor and said, “Do I need to taper off or can I quit cold-turkey?” I did not give an option for staying on it. She said there was no need to taper, so I’m done.

Tomorrow I’m seeing both my psychiatrist and my rheumatologist to check in and see if I need any other changes. Sadly, the “lab rat” aspect of finding the right medication is one I’m ultra familiar with.

I already feel like I’m back in control of my moods. AMEN. It’s such a bizarre feeling to theoretically know that something isn’t worth the tears but to NOT. BE. ABLE. to stop bawling. To feel like a total failure over the smallest things.

No. Yuck. I am not a failure. I have multiple illnesses, and I persist in finding treatment. That’s not failure. That’s success.

Certain words
are the overpowering cologne
of men who let me down,

And even when you say them, I only smell deception.

I cry like Niagara just to wash myself clean
Of foolishness, of judgment.

I should have known no one could love me like that.

I fight.
I fear.
I withdraw.

But you catch me by my collar when I turn to run.

You crawl into my darkness with soothing, silly words that make me wonder if maybe someday

All we will fight about is what to name our kids,
And all we will worry about is what to eat for breakfast.

The truth is that lately I keep trashing drafts of sad blog posts in lieu of more hopeful ones. The truth is this is more of a fake-it-till-you-make-it scheme and a way for this website to be a place of light and not darkness. But the truth also is that vulnerability is always what has made space for healing in my life, so this post is going to be the truth. 

I’m taking a new medication, one where I take a week’s worth of the medication on one day. I’ve chosen Saturdays because the next 36 hours are full of fatigue and, for me, irritability, moodiness, low self-esteem, feelings of failure, and so. much. crying.

Today I went to Target. It was raining and I had to find a semi-dry cart. The lady in electronics wasted my time, which annoyed me, then in the 30 seconds it took to print a gift registry, someone took my cart.

On a normal day, this would have been annoying– maybe even funny!– but today, in the hours following my medication, it triggered a near-meltdown. I abandoned three of my four tasks, then started sobbing in my car. I was angry and sad and warm and I felt ugly and unlovable and like a failure.

This happens basically every weekend now. I basically sleep for a day and a half, and in the times I am awake, I cry.

I know, I know. I’m working with all my doctors on it. It’s honestly been hard to nail down exactly what the issue is, especially when I have so many new meds. Getting three major diagnoses in the course of several months has been SO GOOD, but also, well, overwhelming.

I have to remind myself constantly that I am a work in progress, and the fact that I never give up is the best way for me to judge success right now. If I were judging by pain-free days, anxiety-free days, great self esteem, weight loss, how much time I dedicate to writing, etc., I would feel miserable. So I am clinging to the fact that I persevere.

OCD has flared up.
Fibro has flared up.
Arthritis has flared up.
Depression has flared up.

It feels like an onslaught.

But I persevere. I plan, process, do my best to encourage friends. I try to be honest with myself, I rest when I need to, and I research solutions. I ask for help.

That one’s huge. Asking for help.

So there you have it. That’s the truth about how I’ve really been lately. Those other posts aren’t lies. I have had many happy days, I’m getting great sleep, my friends are the most incredible people.

And sometimes it helps to write about tulips instead of tears.

But I’m in the business of sharing first. I want to give others the gift of saying, “Me too.” So: I have been having awful weekends, a lot of physical pain, and pangs of OCD and depression. That’s where I’m at. How about you?

I want
safety
affection
donuts
time
stability
kittens
him.

I’m sick of
mood swings
tears
sore muscles
90-degree weather.

I feel
loved
overwhelmed
undeserving
grateful.

I hate
OCD
arthritis
Dolores Umbridge.

I love
my CPAP
Instagram
possibility.

I read online about a man born blind who underwent an experimental procedure at the age of four. When it was time to take the bandages off, the doctor took him to the greenhouse in the mental health ward of the hospital. The first thing he ever saw was thousands of blooming tulips.

That’s how I want to be overwhelmed.