I am purposefully trying to straddle the line between sanity and madness for this writing journey.
I’ve spent much of my life in a state of invincibility, of being in control. And it’s only now that I’ve reached my mid-fifties, and see how much of a negative effect it’s had on my children (that includes my step-children), my wife, my ex-wife, and on myself.
Over the years, during the times I’m been depressed, anxious or otherwise stressed-out, I worked hard to maintain self-control, to avoid, to redirect my attention to work — which is my default mode, my “safe” zone. Now I still don’t think this is always a bad thing, but far too often I didn’t let myself feel.
Well that’s not entirely true of course. I’ve cried a lot in front of my children. I’m getting better at crying in front of my friends. I’ve always cried during movies, and sometimes I let myself cry in front of my wife. The feeling of vulnerability is still like a weird foreign friend; she’s been missing from my life a long time and while it’s sure nice to see her once in a while, well shit, “V”, do you have to come over all the time now?
I don’t know where this blog is going to go. I need a space to vent, to apologize, to talk about mental health and ADHD and just let it all hang out – the good, the bad, and the ugly.
I can’t do that when I’m “in control”. I can’t do it either in the middle of a breakdown. But we’ll see. I think I understand why it seems like so many really good writers have demons. That came to me today like a bit of an epiphany.
“Hello, wee demons. Welcome to my self. Come, help me write.”