Way back, when I started this writing gig, I felt totally inadequate. All the best writers, I felt, had a disastrous childhood, a set of parents who beat or ignored or hurt them in some way, a problem with addiction, run-ins with the church or with the police or school.
They had handicaps, couldn’t write because they had to work double jobs even at the age of 12, lived in grinding poverty and stole moments to write on scraps of the Sears catalog when they were shivering in the outdoor privy.They were unloved, outsiders, alone, had made up friends. You know, the poor pitiful writer thing.
That was back when I wrote comedy. Life, I thought, was a huge cosmic joke, and besides, I didn’t have any deep substantial trauma to write out of myself. I tried to become an alcoholic, but just became depressed when the addictive part passed me by. I tried smoking cigars a la Hemingway but they tasted awful.
Well, the gods, I have to say, have listened to me. Though I rather with they hadn’t. Over the past few years, tragedy seems to be stalking me. I’ve developed the unpredictable disease, MS. I had to stop working and now see my life in a series of downward spirals of increasing disability. Well, okay, only on my bad days.
My parents both died in untold agonies. My marriage also. My family disintegrated. My relatives started perishing, also well before their time. My favourite uncle vanished one day, leaving me wishing for a goodbye, but too late. My favourite aunt withered away, her spirit unquenched until the last horrible days. My mother in law developed and died of ALS, a cruel destiny for anyone, but most especially for her, a strong New Zealand lass who took all of life in stride.
Then other bad things happened, stupid things that served to mess with my head – sexual assaults, terrible male friends with horrible pasts, financial disasters. Depression sauntered into my life and turned it grey. My daughter stopped speaking to me, and broke my heart.
Then, this past week, a lightning bolt that will change my life forever. It’s nasty enough to make me call back those gods and say, hey, enough already!
Suffice to say I have things to write out of me now. And it’s fortunate I like to kill people in my stories cos I have a few I’d like to really do away with but can’t as prison life isn’t healthy. And I couldn’t hurt someone deliberately, really. Sortof.
So listen, ye gods of old, unless you give me my own lightning bolt to fire, maybe you could lay off my life for a bit. I’m sure there’s some other wanna be writer who needs a bit of inspiration. I’m full up now. I’m good. Really.
Oh man, enough already. I remember about 15 years ago during a similar few years, one day, after too many horrid things happening, I look up at the sky and yelled I’ve been pissed on enough for now. Go pick on someone else”. Not sure it helped anything but,man, it needed to be said. Do hang in there, okay? And if you needs listening ear,I’m not that far away.
The pouring rain is desperately needed now.
Tomorrow it may be too much.
Bouncing of the bi-polar poles has its pluses as well as its minuses.
I hear you at the top percent!
There is an old saying so true,”What doesn`t kill you will make you stronger!”
You need everything you are given and/or taken away from/to you and much much more at times of need!
Ask for more ?
When you are strong enough to.
DA, you tantalize with your hints of catastrophe. What’s up? Remember that Margaret Atwood says it’s not necessary to suffer to be a good writer – enough already! Wishing you better times now and ahead. Hugs.
To some,what seems to be catastrophe at hand is only a solution yet to be solved by another wioth love and understanding!
If nothing else,write your feelings/experiences needing explanation in your daily diary !
The best surprises and relief sometimes comes in such small packages and in the most needed times as well and so unexpectedly making up for those tough down times!
Talk to GOD if nothing else.Let it all out!