I wish I could say I am happy and I am doing so much better and I am writing really well. But I’m not. I can never finish any of the writing projects I start, and I always end up thinking it sucks. Is it because I’m depressed? Because bipolar meds suppress creativity? Because I’m not that smart? I hate not writing well. Is it because I’m not writing in the right genre for me? Should I give up on the fantasy novel? Because it seems like I’m never gonna finish it. Should I work on the memoir which is so painful to write I keep getting stuck on that too? Or am I merely avoiding writing the hard stuff? I got an MFA in Creative Writing but it seems like it turned out to be a waste of money and time.
How I ended 2017:
Spent the Xmas holiday with my parents, brother and sister-in-law and their dog Cammie. My brother, sister-in-law, and I watched Star Wars: The Last Jedi in IMAX 3D on Christmas Eve. It was alright. I liked seeing women and people of color in starring roles, but the plot was a little thin. I liked Rogue One better.
On New Year’s Eve, rented Wonder Woman, which I liked very much for the most part. It did strike me as odd that when Diana left her mother and Amazon sisters, she didn’t seem to miss them or female companionship much. Because men wrote the script. The only loss she reminisced about was her former male lover. It would have been more satisfying if she cursed stupid humans because she left her home and family and totally badass female Amazon warriors just for them and they kept screwing up. She should have walked away from their dumbasses and stupid wars and psychopathic genocidal fantasies. Because really, fuck them all.
How I started 2018:
Playing Wow because I’m angry and depressed more than anything, and all I want to do is escape everything. I’d rather be writing, but like I said, I end up thinking everything I write sucks. Maybe I should try outlining again. Idk. I feel like if I never get my stories out in the world, I have nothing worth living for, and everyday is just about getting by. Not even people make me very happy. Maybe it’s a symptom of my illness. The borderline personality’s feeling, and of emptiness, longing and fear of intimacy, the inability to sustain relationships, fragile sense of self, sensitivity. And all the rage and unstable emotions.
I feel like I belong nowhere, and I am so fucking envious of the writers who do. I have never fit in anywhere, or never stayed too long with any particular community, and I can’t sustain my friendships IRL.
The only community that I’ve sustained in the last 10 years is WoW. I’ve been raiding with some players on and off for five years. Aside from my main raiding guild, I’m also in a Horde women-only guild and a FB group for women WoW players. WoW passes the time, and the online community is a good place for people are relatively isolated to communicate and socialize with others who share at least this one common interest.