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Okay, since that's done now....
Category: Real Life
I write to relieve stress. Sometimes I write constantly. There isn't an empty scrap of paper to be found anywhere in sight. There sometimes is fifty different projects open on my laptop that I have started, but not finished. I'll start on one story, and end up side routed and diverting my attention to a minute detail of the story, so much that I realize it's a story in and of itself that I have to re-write as a standalone. Usually half way through, it's gone.
Most recently it seems most of my writing focuses on trauma processing. I've used writing so long to escape reality that now I'm using it to process unwelcome parts of reality that my mind has a hard time dealing with.
In all honesty, it's kind of a nifty concept to grasp for me.
No, I'm not going to go into specific detail of the trauma I'm dealing with, for now. One day I'm sure I'll spill gut and come out with all the gory details that have made me the .... individual.... that I am, but right now I'm going to give the very shorthand version.
I'm in my thirties. I have four kids. I suffer from PTSD, BPD, and Bipolar. These things aside, I've mellowed in my old age. I used to go on these wild adventures, before the therapy, and the medication. I absolutely detested the medication, so here I am, non medicated for the last eight years, and actually doing... somewhat well, for me anyway. I work a full time job, oftentimes working two jobs plus whatever side hustles I can get my hands on. I raise my children, one of which has autism and another has diabetes. One of my kids is actually my step daughter, so occasionally there's a little drama with that, but generally not so much. My husband is actually my second husband, He's a few years younger than me, but is definitely my fp, although I split on him occasionally (google bpd splitting, because I don't have the spoons to explain that tonight.... and now that I think about it, I don't think I have the spoons to explain what I mean by 'Spoons' tonight either. )
I've survived my own brain this long, which is oftentimes a nightmare in and of itself, but I've also survived domestic abuse, both physical and emotional. I've survived being poor for... well basically my entire life, and survived child abuse, abandonment, and neglect.
I'm not going to pretend that this is going to be some sort of inspiration porn, it's not. It's probably going to be absolutely and downright depressing on a fairly regular basis. I'm not really even expecting anyone to read it. I might make a few connections to people of interest here, but who knows.
Unfortunately it's time for me to crash out, Work in the morning.
Adios
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