Following on from my last post really.
I think I just need some time to myself, which is hard to get when you're surrounded by people all the time. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, my wonderful friends, but sometimes I feel loneliest and saddest when I'm surrounded. Especially because I don't talk to them about what I'm going through, how I feel. I used to tell my mum, we're close and she's the person I go to for advice. But she has taken to suggesting I see a doctor, even though I know I don't want medication, my mum suggests asking about therapy of some sort, but I have this irrational fear of talking to strangers (irrational because I can stand on a stage, taking part in a speaking competition, which my team won, or take part in a play, or speak up in a lecture hall, but I can't talk about personal things with someone I don't know, and isn't that what blogging is)
Anyway. I don't want medicine, I won't be taking illegal substances (because I disagree with using dangerous, unknown garbage to get out of your head) or drinking myself into a stupor (I'm too much of a control freak to get that drunk) but I will be turning to my paper friends, my books, for support.
Back when I started this blog, I wrote about Kate Bornstein, an author who's one of my literary heroes, she's also an amazing person. She wrote a book called Hello Cruel World: A 101 Alternatives to Suicide for Teens, Freaks and other Outlaws, which, although I have never contemplated suicide (for a control freak that's the ultimate loss of control) is full of ways to rescue yourself from despair and darkness. I will be re-reading this. I will also dip into my Tamora Pierce collection, a feisty heroine battling the odds will help. As will reading something funny, so either Terry Pratchett or the very silly Pirates! series by Gideon Defoe will be on my bedtime reading this week. If I need to get out of my head, I crawl inside another world, possibly that of Neil Gaiman's Sandman or even Lewis' Narnia, a perennial childhood favourite is Aslan's world.
This is a very long-winded way of saying I'll be ok. I may be feeling sad and small, and completely devoid of any creative spark, but I know my story doesn't end like this, there's too much coming up, there's too much still undone. It's just going to take a while, and maybe a few more mornings spent sat in my pyjamas, but I'll get there. I've done it before, I can do it again. I just need to keep reminding myself of that. It's a cycle, and it's painful, but it'll revolve away soon.