Not Writer’s Block

Photo by Jan Kahánek on Unsplash

Lately I’ve been frustrated with myself.  I’ve wanted to write during these past few months.  I’ve especially wanted to fill you all in on my mom’s cancer journey, but sitting down to actually do it has been damn near impossible.

For a long time, I thought what I had was a case of writer’s block. After all, what is a writer who doesn’t write? Someone who is clearly “blocked” by something, right? 

But, here’s the thing…once I start writing, words come out.  I never waste any time staring at a blank screen.  It’s just that I so rarely even see the cursor awaiting input.  I can’t ever make the time.

A few days ago, I finally got sick of my own bullshit, and opened a blank document.  I started typing away with a new determination.  (The end result was my most recent post about finding grey hair.

However, what initially emerged doesn’t look like what I posted.  Instead, it was 600 words of self-indulgent navel-gazing.  It was a lot of blather about something that happened a few years ago.  (I guess I still had something I needed to purge.) Blah blah blah.  Whine whine whine. Definitely more appropriate for a diary than online.  

It felt good to write, but I wound up scrapping it. Still, the act of writing got me somewhere.  It helped me realize that what I’m experiencing isn’t writer’s block.  At least not in the traditional sense.  It’s something else.

As I wrote, the source of the problem dawned on me all at once, finally revealing itself;  this is depression. I am actually depressed. 


Well, shit.  

A resounding bell of recognition clanged through my head.  It all made sense…the weight gain and lack of motivation.  Those general feelings of “meh” and “blah” that I find myself succumbing to more often.  

This new knowledge was a relief.  Thinking that “something” is wrong with you, but not knowing what is frustrating!  Now that I know, I have a better path forward.  

The past year and a half changed everything.  I’ve never really been all that depressed, but I’m not surprised that this part of me was amplified.  

You see, depression isn’t always big, earth-shattering sadness.  Sometimes it manifests as a lack of interest and motivation…just like mine!  You can find a list of common symptoms of depression HERE..  Please talk to a health professional if you recognize these symptoms in yourself.

Please do not worry about me. I can promise that I am addressing this.  I am speaking to a therapist.  I am forcing myself to do things which will ultimately bring me joy. (Like writing more!)

Onwards and upwards,


**NOTE:  My mom had breast removal surgery (mastectomy) on Wednesday.  At that time, things looked very good and not inflamed.  They also removed a few lymph nodes, which the surgeon said looked ok.  (She is awaiting further results from pathology.)  She has been healing very well, and is far more active and capable at this stage than I would have anticipated.

The results from pathology will dictate the course of the radiation treatment to come.   I will share more details shortly. She is doing well, and the chemo has done a good job, judging from the results so far. 

Non Navel-Gazing Friday

Earlier today I was writing some intense, navel-gazing foolishness about me, and all my complex inner workings, and how I had been feeling sad recently. (A lot of the reason why I haven’t been writing here much.)

A whole bunch of journal-appropriate venting about how I might seem one way, and be feeling another.

The drama.

That kind of writing never really works for me.  Every time I try to explain about my own mental health, I just sort of graze over it. Fluff it up. Work around it.  Never depressed.  Maybe just “blue.”  “Anxious,” not, “suffering from relentless anxiety.”  Obviously, there are reasons for that, (who likes to admit to what is often perceived as weakness?) but I think that I’m ready to skip all of that crap for today.

Hence I’m scrapping most of what I wrote.  Even some of the pretty words.  No need to dance around how I feel or who I am.  There’s also need for me to make myself out to be some kind of victim, or to feel sorry for myself because I am this extra-sensitive, squishy person on the inside.  No need to play myself a tiny sonata on a teensy-tiny violin.

I’m not actually “crazy.”  I may like to dance and sing and dye my hair green, and I may spontaneously decide that I ABSOLUTELY MUST LEARN HOW TO YODEL, but I’m not now, nor have I ever been “crazy” in the negative sense of that loaded word.  I am firmly in this reality.  I am not dangerous.  I am non-violent.  I am intelligent and  loving and do not intend to do harm to myself or to anyone else.

But yeah, in case I haven’t made it clear, I know a little about anxiety and depression.

The world we live in, how our lives our designed, and the pace of life mean there are so many others like me; regular people who happen to be no stranger to inner darkness and self-doubt, or seem to have an over-active panic-button.  If you don’t deal with those things, well, congratulations, because I hardly think they make me special.  (Watch an all-news station for a while and try to keep yourself in a good mood! Attempt to attain a laundry list of societal check-boxes deemed necessary to make one ‘successful’ and stay relaxed!)

But it’s FRIDAY, and I really do feel fine, after all.  I don’t really want to wallow, or sing a song about the darkness.

(Although I’d be happy to listen to something BY The Darkness…)

If you’re like me, I don’t think you should either.  Plan to do something this weekend that gets your blood flowing and makes you happy.  Don’t get lost in your own head.  Find a reason to be grateful.  Hug your cat.  Phone a friend.  Get distracted!

Let’s look up from our navels for a while.