I was telling a friend the other day that my blog was stressing me out. He asked why. I told him that I didn’t have a freakin’ clue. And that’s totally not true. It’s just that I didn’t want to think about why it was stressing me out.
“Well”, he typed over Gchat, “Isn’t your writing supposed to be therapeutic?” I thought about it for a second and realized my writing has become anything but. At one point a long time ago it was a form of therapy. I was young and I was lost and I discovered that putting those two truths down into words helped. A lot. Looking back on those posts I probably sounded like a nutjob, but weren’t we all at 22?
When more than my Mom under a fake pseudonym started reading my blog, I got nervous. I was afraid that people would think it was some lame-ass teenage-esque diary of a young woman who needed a can of “SHUT THE HELL UP!” . Something I wish they actually sold in grocery stores so I could strategically leave outside college student’s dorm rooms in the wee hours of the night.
So I then decided that I wanted to have broader content, posts that would engage conversation. Stuff that was about more than my tiny bubble. I do write about personal topics still- my writing, the movie I co-wrote, an occasional post on twenty-something love/career/hopes & dreams- but I stay away from “the emotions” a lot.
Now in addition to not wanting to have a diary for a blog, I don’t often write about how I feel because I am simply am not that emotional anymore. I have gotten so caught up in the rigmarole of living and surviving that I don’t stop and think about how I feel. That terrifies me. As a person who wants to become a full-time writer, being out of touch with my thoughts and emotions is detrimental.
So as part of the new Hipstercrite, I’m going to write one personal diary-like post a day (in addition to other non-personal posts), mostly to remind me that I think and feel and that I’m not a robot. I also hope this will help me get my creative inspiration back. I promise not to get too emo. No moody self-portraits like these below:
So as my firstentry (For the love of God, am I going to regret this?):
12:16AM 10/?/11 I really have no idea what day it is
I just took 4 ibuprofen and 1 Tylenol PM. I’m not sure this is good for me, but I’m still alive and this sentence is so far sounding cohesive (Update: 9:11AM next day- it was cohesive, you didn’t have to edit that previous sentence this morning).
I took the 4 ibuprofen because I’m on day 2 of a headache that is worse than a normal headache, but slightly less than a migraine. I’ve found that the only cure is butt loads of ibuprofen and butt loads of coffee. I take ibuprofen often and I think the black void in my stomach is growing infinitely larger. The Tylenol PM is because I still suffer from anxiety at night. Not as often as I used to (needed it every night earlier in the year), but still somewhat often. Tonight’s recognition that I needed a sleeping aid came in the form of a tiny animal sniffing the underneath of my floor boards. Listening to animals less than five inches from your feet, only separated by a 80 year-old slab of wood that was part of a Sears catalog home kit can be slightly unnerving. Earlier this year I called the police because of this. I was convinced that the raccoons living underneath my house were indeed several masked men trudging through my house stealing my Arrested Development DVDs and framed picture of David Byrne.
Another indicator that I need Tylenol PM is that my boyfriend is out of town. At first I thought he was the reason why I had anxiety. Not because he is an anxious fellow or makes me insecure in our relationship, but because it had been many years since I felt I could trust someone with my feelings. Since I let myself love someone. As well as I was handling it on the surface, I contemplated that my subconscious was confused as shit. A man that likes you AND is good to you? My boyfriend and I also live in a part of town where petty crime is common, where my car had been broken into twice. All these fears created the plot line for the movie we wrote this summer called Loves Her Gun and we just completed production on. We’re in the process of editing, but Geoff is not here to edit. He’s on the road promoting his first movie Mars in the Deep South. I miss him, but this will be some good alone time too. He has gotten to try Pumpkin Beer Cheese soup on his journey. A food name that does not flow well but he promised tasted delicious.
Wow. So that Tylenol PM kicked in quickly.
I will undoubtedly be woken up by the neighbor’s roosters and hens that they let run amok through the neighborhood tomorrow. Just as they let their naked children (Update: 9:16AM next day- they started crowing at 3:30AM, the roosters, not the children, and you managed to sleep off and on until 8:30AM. When their crowing grew into a fervor of every 30 seconds, you decided it was time to get up and throw a can of “SHUT THE HELL UP!” out the window).