What Was I Going to Say?

On February 2nd I started what was to be a humorous and delightful post about my love affair with all things British. You might have noticed I never posted it. That would be because I haven't finished it. I haven't even halfway finished it. What I have done is written and deleted the first two paragraphs about a dozen times over the past five weeks. 

You might be thinking "Oh no, there goes that anxiety monster again" but in this case, it's actually been my body and not my brain that has been putting the brakes on not just my writing but on a huge chunk of my life. 

Stream of consciousness writing seems to be a little easier for me these days than actually, like, making shit up (some people call that creativity, Melissa.) So I thought this might be a good time to go public with some of the things I've been trying to get a handle on over the last several months. 

Spoiler alert: It's probably kind of boring if you're not me. Honestly, sometimes it's kind of boring if you are me. Often are the times I think "Are we talking about this again?" But it's sort of a big deal in my life right now, so I'm gonna go ahead and talk about it anyway.

About five years ago I noticed I was tired pretty much all the time. Not "It's been a long and productive day and I'm ready for a good night's sleep" tired but bone deep freaking exhaustion with no discernible cause. At first, I was able to power through it. I drank a lot of coffee and took a lot of naps and was able to live a fairly full life in spite of this constant fatigue. 

In 2013, everything changed. For the second time in two years, I experienced several months of severe uterine bleeding which resulted in extremely low hemoglobin levels. I was eventually sent to a reproductive endocrinologist who diagnosed me with polycystic ovarian syndrome. He performed a DNC, prescribed Provera and Metformin ... And then pretty much launched me out to sea to navigate the waters of PCOS on my own. His exact words? "Your primary doctor can monitor your medication and you'll see me once a year." 

At the time, I remember feeling so relieved. I thought surely my heavy and frequent periods had been the reason for my fatigue and wholeheartedly believed this diagnosis would bring about major changes. It did . . . But not the ones I was hoping for. In the months that followed, I found that my periods of fatigue were getting worse instead of better. They were also accompanied by chronic muscle pain that was sometimes so severe it left me in tears. 

Over the last four years, these periods increased in frequency and duration until this past spring when they ceased being periods and evolved into a constant state of being. I'm always exhausted and always in pain. Along with that has come some supremely annoying issues with my memory and concentration. 

In the interest of full disclosure, sometimes this dearth of mental alacrity is entertaining, even to me. But more often, I find it frustrating and dispiriting because it interferes with my ability to engage in the things I love. The woman who used to read two or three books a week is now lucky to finish one book in two to three weeks. Writing has become a struggle because my brain isn't firing on all cylinders. Like right now, for instance. I want to end this paragraph with an intelligent, well thought out observation ... But all my brain is coming up with is "BLARGH!!!"

I'm going to keep plugging away at that post on British awesomeness ... But in the meantime, I'll try to do more posts like this so you know I'm still around and I haven't bailed on this blog yet again. Until next time, in the words of Bill and Ted "Be excellent to each other." 

Once More Into the Breach

Well here I am again. A new year and, as seems to be my routine, another new start for this blog.

I make this the fourth time overall I've started a blog. Each time I do, I only manage a handful of posts before I crash and burn. 

I'd like to be able to say my inability to maintain this project stems from something positive: a busy yet fulfilling job, an active social life, or an overabundance of time being spent on creative writing. 

I'd like to be able to say that but I'd be lying if I did.  

The truth is ... Well the truth is a bit more complicated.

I've battled with anxiety for as long as I can remember. I was formally diagnosed at 17 when I suffered my first bout with deep depression but my issues began long before that. As far back as first grade I was a bundle of nerves. I worried all the time about everything you can imagine. My social anxiety was so bad that I was well into my teens before I could place my own order at a restaurant.

I was also afraid of the whole wide world of everything. I never took chances. I might have gotten hurt for God's sake! Whether the perceived threat was physical, mental, or emotional didn't matter, nor did the likelihood of it actually occurring. The very fact that something could go wrong stopped me before I even got started.

So what does that have to do with this blog? Two things. The first is that every time I start writing the little anxiety monster inside tells me that it's stupid. I can feel it sitting on my shoulder, breathing down my neck. It whispers in my ear that no one cares what I have to say. Of course, I believe it. Why wouldn't I? I have believed it all my life.

There is also the matter of feeling the need to hide my mental health issues from the world. I've always tried to keep my posts upbeat, focusing on literature, pop culture, and the like. The problem is that I don't always feel upbeat and trying to force myself into writing rainbow and kitten posts when in reality I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel emotionally is at best tough and at worst impossible. 

Recently, thanks to the suggestion of my best friend, I joined a private group on Facebook full of folks who are just like me. Every last one of them is scared and scarred in some way ... But they are also the kindest, most supportive people I have ever come across. Just being a part of their number has lifted me up during a time when I have been in desperate need of lifting. 

I have been inspired by their bravery, their tenacity, and their creativity. So with their life force behind me, I have decided to take another run at this blog. For the first time, my goal is to be nothing more than completely authentic, to share both my joys and my sorrows, my triumphs and my setbacks, to see my love of Disney and Harry Potter co-existing with my very real fears for the world because all of that makes me who I am. 

I hope you'll all come along for the ride.