science fiction and fantasy author

Tag: depression

Sometimes life has other plans

First of all, a heads up that there is a group interview with some of the Bloodstones authors (including me) live at Erin Underwood’s blog, Underworlds.

Secondly, I know I have been somewhat absent about these parts.  I burned out pretty hard after finishing the draft of Never, both  physically and mentally.   I started to get sick, and kept getting sick with recurrent respiratory infections (I’m having to pause to cough and splutter here while typing).  The kid got sick, too, and so did the husband, both with a pretty nasty flu.

I tried to work on a few short stories, without success, then tried to do some novel outlining.  It got to the point where I could barely string a sentence together, and I was cringing every time I thought of reading.

It’s kind of ridiculous how long it takes to recognise that depression is taking over again.

I had been trying, with some success, to come off medication.  I guess that success was short-lived, because I’m now back on the meds and feeling much more motivated about everything.  I’ve been reading again, and am working on getting back in the writing groove.

I’ve admitted that the current novel I’ve been trying to outline, Wintersun (previously entitled The White Raven) isn’t quite ready to come forth yet.  I have a bunch of research I need to do, and in the meanwhile, I’ve unearthed an old novel of mine, Shaede, to work on again.  It’s an exercise in seeing how much I’ve developed as a writer, if nothing else.  Not sure what the plan is going to be with this one, but for now, it’s fun being back in that world again.



Breaking silence

So, I’ve been quiet over here again.

Part of it has been the fact that I’ve taken a step back from all social media.  Facebook, especially.  I’m just tired of passive aggressiveness, plain old aggressiveness, and everything meaningful getting lost in a flood of memes, reposts and arguments.

I have been blogging, just in a more private space.  And I had considered taking the blog section on this website down.  I figured it wasn’t really giving me anything.  That I would be better off just spending my time writing.

But then Mur Lafferty posted about why she hasn’t been blogging or podcasting much of late, and it has one reason: depression.

I have a long history of struggling with depression.  I don’t make any secret of that, nor do I see a reason to.  I didn’t choose my genetics or my brain chemistry in that regard.  I do choose what I do about it.

I am currently off medication for depression, something that I am damn proud of.  Frankly, when the depression was really bad, I needed it.  But when things are stable, you know what that medication is (for me, I’m not speaking for anyone else here)?  It’s a crutch.  It’s a way to stay numbed, to not have to deal with normal emotion as well as the depression.

I didn’t really realise that until I came off it.  And I came off because I was sick of the side effects, and I wanted to see how my brain chemistry was now that I’m sleeping well, eating well, exercising and working meaningfully.  And in terms of the overt depression, I’m doing okay.  I do have some mood swings, and I know that my fuse is shorter than when I am medicated.  But in general, everything feels better.  A lot better.

What I hadn’t realised is how engrained some of the thinking styles had gotten.  I did a lot of work with a therapist recently on this (and, as an aside, if you have depression or anxiety and you’re only relying on medication, get yourself to a good therapist Right Now.) and I’m realising that I have a way to go.

Because, you see, like Mur, I wasn’t posting because I figured no one would want to read what I had to say.

The state of the internet feeds into this so much.  We’re all on Facebook, posting bite-sized updates on Twitter.  Few people seem to want to sit down and write real blog posts now, and fewer are commenting, unless there’s something they want to argue.  And I am just as guilty of the not commenting.  There is just so much information being flooded over us every day, and it’s damn hard to find the time and energy to give something meaningful back.

We are all so connected, and yet we’re drifting further apart.  And for some of us, with the black voice of depression whispering to us, we figure that’s how it should be.  That no one would want to hear us anyway, so why bother?

I am bothering.  And I am saying a hearty fuck you to depression and the thinking that leads there.  Because if even one person reads what I write and finds meaning in it, then it’s worth it.


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