Hey, Miss J!

Everything has to pop, doesn’t it? If you don’t want to have more of a look at how disturbed my mind can be, you might want to look away from this blog post. If you do, you were warned.

There has to be something said about your perspectives in many things. Because I deal with ongoing feelings of failure, I end up making myself miss out or lose out on things that I actually need. I put so much pressure on myself to fail that when I’m successful, I don’t attribute any part of it to my own hard work.

I’ve been having so many vivid and painful dreams.

A few of them involved my maternal grandmother, and when I woke – I felt completely heartbroken.

You suspend reality when you’re asleep. Things that wouldn’t be possible seem like they are.

At least that’s how my dreams go.

People you shouldn’t be able to see, you can.

My medication is causing some memory problems, so often when I wake up now, I can’t remember what I saw except in bits and pieces.

I’m finding myself haunted by decisions and encounters I’ve had in the past. Could I have done things differently? Could I have been more polite? Was what I did too cruel?

There’s something funny about the past. And I don’t mean that “Hindsight is 20/20.” business. No. You can’t really go back and undo what you’ve done. Decisions you make now will have lasting impacts on yourself and others.

That is why so many people toy with the idea of having persistent second chances to do things.

“Second Chances” … was the name of a novel I was working on in 2014.

It was amazing! Unique and like nothing I’d ever read, heard of or seen before. Yet… I chose to discard it due to the contents. There are many things now that I can’t just indulge in. Many things I don’t feel like writing. Not anymore.

Thinking about ramifications helps me toe the line. I don’t want to be the person behind the pen that caused someone to think the wrong thing or made them want to harm themselves. It would break my heart if that happened.

So, while writing about happiness and love are all things that I readily enjoy – along with drama and hurt/comfort, I also have this barrier now… and unseen wall between what my mind impulsively wants to insert and what goes into print.

That little tickling sensation in my head that tells me ‘Do not’ when I battle back and forth as to contents to include.

I’ve said before that I don’t write smut.

It must have been yesterday or the day before.

It’s not that I’m incapable of writing extremely explicit and graphic sexual scenes… it’s because I don’t want to. I don’t want to let my mind linger too long on that kind of stuff. I worry about inflaming my readers so make sure that anything like that is literally cut so close that it’s just a blip on the radar.

“Fade To Black” are my favorite exit strategies.

If you happen to be one of my readers, you can understand just how detailed I can be and how obsessed over little nuances I am.

Or…

Maybe you don’t know. Maybe you don’t see.  Maybe it’s easier to hide under the sand and not see what’s plainly visible.

Am I angry? Yes… but not for the reason you may think.

As a person who is still dealing with vices and fighting off addiction, it can be understood why someone would not want to go back into what they crawled out of right?

I have a broad enough and sadly… at times perverse and extremely libidinous imagination. I don’t want to drag anyone else into the muck my tiny mind experiences. My medication enhanced what was already there… which I was concerned about having as a side-effect.

Enhanced libido.

But I was so obsessed with the idea of feeling some semblance of ‘normal’, that I went ahead with taking it. It was a foolish thought, because being normal would mean I didn’t need medication.

It’s false sense of security and stability.

I’ve been on my meds for over a year now, dealing with the strange and lovely uptick in my mood. Early on, I enjoyed how happy I felt… but as soon as I mentioned additional depression that ‘sort of’ lingered, my dosage increased. My doctor didn’t want me to feel depressed at all.

It kept going up and up and up…

I was so heavily dosed at one point that I couldn’t walk without pain and even moving caused me to break out in a sweat.

Let alone the persistent engorgement between my legs. It was so uncomfortable. I felt gross.

People for some stupid reason think that walking around and constantly being aroused is a good thing. It is not, I assure you.

You itch, you feel embarrassed the entire time and sometimes for me – even driving wasn’t pleasant, especially since there are so many dips and bumps in the road.

Along with additional medication came extra lift. Like not even airplane lift. We’re talking rocket fuel lift. And the feeling that went higher than being more awake? A spike in anxiety.

Now I’m back at the dose I was on right before.

Muscle fatigue? Yes.

Still extra sweating? Yes, but I no longer soak my sheets.

Mood adjustment? Yes.

Strange thoughts? Not as bad. Thank goodness.

Anxiety? Yes. Helped with meds.

Do I imagine strange things with my characters? Yes… and it makes things so unpleasant when I’m trying to figure out problems they need to work through.

Is that why I’m working to revise my book? Yes. The type of content in my novel is… complex shall we say?

I think that’s a nicer way of saying it.

I also realized I can’t remember the last time I took my anxiety medication. Well… that explains a few things. While on it, I barely think about sexual things at all… like how I was before being on my main meds.

In better news, my headaches are resolving. My blood pressure has also been going down. How related that is to recent weight loss, I’m uncertain.

I am starting to get better sleep too.

And often distressing and agonizingly intense dreams.

And now we’ve come full circle. Thanks for sticking around despite how messed up I can be and how muddled my mind is.

~J. Lyst