All of my sadnesses
I have been reading the book Wishcraft by Barbara Sher recently. One thing I have noticed about what she says in this book is the value of putting everything down on paper. While I have firsthand experience of experiencing therapeutic healing and relief from writing about things, lately I have bottled up A LOT of things that I was dealing with. And since it got out of hand with driving me to drink and then breaking down last night and crying about it all, I feel that maybe it is time to let it all out and write it down. I am going to go further and post it all on my public blog. I just feel that I should because a lot of people like to judge me, condemn me, hate me, kick me out of their lives and spread lies about me when they don’t know what I’m REALLY going through, dealing with and carrying around. Not that they even care. But here it goes.
I’m angry at myself for failing to achieve my dream: Being a successful novelist. The problem is that I gave myself a deadline to make that dream come true, and when it didn’t, I abandoned it. I gave up. But the fact that that it never happened bothers me a lot. I know I made a lot of mistakes which prevented that from happening – I stopped looking for an agent after two experiences with bad agents, I settled for publication with an independent publisher and thought that was enough, I wrote in more than one genre instead of sticking with ONE to build up a platform – but at the time, I tried to beat the odds. I didn’t care that I should NOT do those things; I wanted to break the mold and STILL achieve success as a novelist. But I didn’t. Only ONE copy sold of the two novels I have had published. I FAILED. And that has been a thorn in my side for a long time and something that I regret. Because, you know, that dream meant a lot to me.
Still, I continued as a novelist and as an author of nonfiction books. But I can no longer continue sending other books to one publisher because of a changed policy that I can’t afford and I have TRIED to find another publisher for my books but all of the ones I have approached ended up being shady. They don’t want my books, they want MONEY. Screw that. But this has also been another source of frustration. And I have thought of once again doing the agent hunt, but the problem is, agents and publishers want authors who write in ONE genre. And I’m not that kind of author. Look at my book page and you will see that I write books in various genres and on various topics. I also write poetry! I cannot and will not write only in one genre. As it is, I have a YA novel, a YA fantasy series, a chick lit novel AND I’m writing a middle-grade paranormal series. The novel I am revising right now is a vampire horror novel, and I have plans for another horror novel. It’s hard to find another publisher who takes all that from an unagented writer. So I have considered just self-publishing my novels from now on. But there’s no money to pay for an editor to edit the manuscripts or an artist to design a book cover.
And that’s another grievance of mine. I DON’T HAVE A JOB! I have been TRYING to get a job for months. NOTHING! I know I have my monthly check, but that goes to my family. I never use a dime of it for myself. I used to have a “book budget,” but after a year of adding it all up and seeing how much money went towards all of my book stuff and authorly things, my husband became angry and let me know that I shouldn’t have done that. That that money could have helped us. (Apparently, my check is now not enough to help the family, either. Even if I get a job, some of THAT money has to go to the family too.) So much for that!
I am very frustrated about the job thing. And it’s getting to be too much. I feel like I am useless to the world and letting my family down. I feel like I have NOTHING to contribute to the world (my books don’t exactly SELL!) and that I’m just a waste of space. Why should I even exist? I can’t give enough and I can’t give anything that someone would want or need or could use. (I know I am useful to my kids, though. That is about it.)
I am also sad because I don’t have anyone to talk to about stuff. I am in the process of finding a counselor but it would be nice if there was a relative or a sibling or a friend that I could talk to about anything. That I could really unload on or just talk about stuff. But nobody cares. I no longer feel comfortable talking to one person who betrayed my trust, my husband and I really don’t talk, and my friends apparently have their own problems to worry about. We don’t do anything. We don’t even text or email each other. I see them when I see them. So, no, I really don’t have someone to talk to about stuff. I THOUGHT I did with my mother-in-law via text messaging but I guess not…
It really would be nice to communicate with someone more often. Just talk with someone.
I miss my family. My siblings. Nieces and nephews. They’re all growing up and doing stuff and I don’t see them. I don’t get to be a part of any of the things they do together. I don’t get to do things with them.
I am pretty much alone. I don’t do things with people. I have tried to embrace the “loner lifestyle” but it’s hard. I wish I could hang out with people sometimes. I guess they don’t want to hang out. And I wonder if it’s because I am deaf. Or maybe they just don’t care!
There’s just too much fakery and I’m sick of fake friends. They say they’re a friend but where are they when I need a friend?? They don’t care about me or what I’m going through – THEY CARE ABOUT THEMSELVES. This is especially true of people I know only on the Internet. Some of them only communicate with me because they expect me to help them but they never help me. They never ask about stuff I’m going through or anything. And I feel it’s time to cut them off. Or at least not invest anything in them anymore. They’re just users.
I’m sick of being broke all the time. I know money can’t buy happiness but there’s so much stuff that I want to do and there’s no money for any of it. And I can’t even take care of myself; my shoes and some clothes have holes in them and I can’t replace them. (This is where having a job would help! I hardly even have nice clothes for a job.) I wish I could take my son to a baseball game or my daughter to an art show but there’s never any money for that.
I also hate the way I look. I KNOW I need a new look but I can’t figure that out. But I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see! Every! Single! Day!! I want to look different and I want to be in better shape, too. Well, I am TRYING to make that happen. The motivation thing is hard. I hate myself and I hate the person that I am because this person failed at Life.
And, finally, the cherry on top is my husband working at night. He has been working nights for 10 years. We’re asleep when he gets home. I have not liked this for a long time and it’s getting to be too much. I am tired of going to bed by myself all of the time and even on the weekends when he’s home. I have tried to get used to it but I can’t. I don’t even know what it’s like to be close to him anymore.
So that’s it. That’s everything. The End.
I’m angry at myself for failing to achieve my dream: Being a successful novelist. The problem is that I gave myself a deadline to make that dream come true, and when it didn’t, I abandoned it. I gave up. But the fact that that it never happened bothers me a lot. I know I made a lot of mistakes which prevented that from happening – I stopped looking for an agent after two experiences with bad agents, I settled for publication with an independent publisher and thought that was enough, I wrote in more than one genre instead of sticking with ONE to build up a platform – but at the time, I tried to beat the odds. I didn’t care that I should NOT do those things; I wanted to break the mold and STILL achieve success as a novelist. But I didn’t. Only ONE copy sold of the two novels I have had published. I FAILED. And that has been a thorn in my side for a long time and something that I regret. Because, you know, that dream meant a lot to me.
Still, I continued as a novelist and as an author of nonfiction books. But I can no longer continue sending other books to one publisher because of a changed policy that I can’t afford and I have TRIED to find another publisher for my books but all of the ones I have approached ended up being shady. They don’t want my books, they want MONEY. Screw that. But this has also been another source of frustration. And I have thought of once again doing the agent hunt, but the problem is, agents and publishers want authors who write in ONE genre. And I’m not that kind of author. Look at my book page and you will see that I write books in various genres and on various topics. I also write poetry! I cannot and will not write only in one genre. As it is, I have a YA novel, a YA fantasy series, a chick lit novel AND I’m writing a middle-grade paranormal series. The novel I am revising right now is a vampire horror novel, and I have plans for another horror novel. It’s hard to find another publisher who takes all that from an unagented writer. So I have considered just self-publishing my novels from now on. But there’s no money to pay for an editor to edit the manuscripts or an artist to design a book cover.
And that’s another grievance of mine. I DON’T HAVE A JOB! I have been TRYING to get a job for months. NOTHING! I know I have my monthly check, but that goes to my family. I never use a dime of it for myself. I used to have a “book budget,” but after a year of adding it all up and seeing how much money went towards all of my book stuff and authorly things, my husband became angry and let me know that I shouldn’t have done that. That that money could have helped us. (Apparently, my check is now not enough to help the family, either. Even if I get a job, some of THAT money has to go to the family too.) So much for that!
I am very frustrated about the job thing. And it’s getting to be too much. I feel like I am useless to the world and letting my family down. I feel like I have NOTHING to contribute to the world (my books don’t exactly SELL!) and that I’m just a waste of space. Why should I even exist? I can’t give enough and I can’t give anything that someone would want or need or could use. (I know I am useful to my kids, though. That is about it.)
I am also sad because I don’t have anyone to talk to about stuff. I am in the process of finding a counselor but it would be nice if there was a relative or a sibling or a friend that I could talk to about anything. That I could really unload on or just talk about stuff. But nobody cares. I no longer feel comfortable talking to one person who betrayed my trust, my husband and I really don’t talk, and my friends apparently have their own problems to worry about. We don’t do anything. We don’t even text or email each other. I see them when I see them. So, no, I really don’t have someone to talk to about stuff. I THOUGHT I did with my mother-in-law via text messaging but I guess not…
It really would be nice to communicate with someone more often. Just talk with someone.
I miss my family. My siblings. Nieces and nephews. They’re all growing up and doing stuff and I don’t see them. I don’t get to be a part of any of the things they do together. I don’t get to do things with them.
I am pretty much alone. I don’t do things with people. I have tried to embrace the “loner lifestyle” but it’s hard. I wish I could hang out with people sometimes. I guess they don’t want to hang out. And I wonder if it’s because I am deaf. Or maybe they just don’t care!
There’s just too much fakery and I’m sick of fake friends. They say they’re a friend but where are they when I need a friend?? They don’t care about me or what I’m going through – THEY CARE ABOUT THEMSELVES. This is especially true of people I know only on the Internet. Some of them only communicate with me because they expect me to help them but they never help me. They never ask about stuff I’m going through or anything. And I feel it’s time to cut them off. Or at least not invest anything in them anymore. They’re just users.
I’m sick of being broke all the time. I know money can’t buy happiness but there’s so much stuff that I want to do and there’s no money for any of it. And I can’t even take care of myself; my shoes and some clothes have holes in them and I can’t replace them. (This is where having a job would help! I hardly even have nice clothes for a job.) I wish I could take my son to a baseball game or my daughter to an art show but there’s never any money for that.
I also hate the way I look. I KNOW I need a new look but I can’t figure that out. But I look in the mirror and I don’t like what I see! Every! Single! Day!! I want to look different and I want to be in better shape, too. Well, I am TRYING to make that happen. The motivation thing is hard. I hate myself and I hate the person that I am because this person failed at Life.
And, finally, the cherry on top is my husband working at night. He has been working nights for 10 years. We’re asleep when he gets home. I have not liked this for a long time and it’s getting to be too much. I am tired of going to bed by myself all of the time and even on the weekends when he’s home. I have tried to get used to it but I can’t. I don’t even know what it’s like to be close to him anymore.
So that’s it. That’s everything. The End.
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