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Intro Post
Jun. 18th, 2016 12:30 amHello, to whoever's out there reading this.
Little known secret to all, squashed by my tendency to wipe the social anxious moments of my life into oblivion: I hate intro posts. Like, this is my first post on dreamwidth, obviously it's the first one; whether or not it's an intro post isn't even a question. For some reason I feel an obligation to state it and to give a run-down of my interests, but my interests are ever changing, and although I'm a loyal fan, I tend to fall down a slippery slope of being intense and then drifting away to other interests after half a year, then coming back after my contemporaries have left. Fic-wise, at least.
It's been a weird year for me, finding-my-writing-voice- and commitment-wise. At the end of December 2015, I finished and posted a fic for the first time in like, eight years. It was a one-shot, which made it easier, and I'd signed up for a Mad Max gift exchange, which forced me to actually lay down in bed and write, even if I'd barely started two days before the deadline. I stayed up an extra three hours and finished it. It was a miracle--or, it seems like one. I can't write for shit nowadays. Even though I'd spent a whole semester cranking out poetry, even though I got to a place where I was really writing some poems to be proud of, where I thought I could scrape up what was left of my creative energy and keep dancing along this godforsaken limb, I can't. I'm a dried up prune. Something drank up all my life-giving water, and it wasn't the poetry. It wasn't the lesson plans and curriculums I had to design. It's a symptom of the depression, but I don't think it's caused by the depression. There isn't anything that I can pin it on for sure, but it's been circling me for the past three years of college and I don't know what to do about it.
I've been at this half-empty place for awhile, I think. In group this past semester, I thought a lot about feeling like I've buried my words in quicksand, except that quicksand has been inside of my fucking soul. I keep reading--and by the gods, reading has done wonders for me these past few weeks (I've laughed a lot and cried a lot)--but I can't seem to drudge up the energy or the time or even the guilt to propel myself into writing those three poems I owe a friend for her project that have been overdue for practically three weeks now.
I keep losing words. And motivation to respond to text messages. Which sucks incredibly.
So this is a last ditch effort to scrape my way out of this fucking hole in my spirit. Because tumblr doesn't suit as a place for truth-telling anymore--not that it truly ever did with the judgments of rl friends looming overhead my tastes for unconventional/unpopular-according-to-their-tastes-pairings--and I need to create a vaguely fandom-related space where I can say things and be not afraid.
A title and subtitle will come in time. (Was never good at making those decisions on the spot anyway.)
Little known secret to all, squashed by my tendency to wipe the social anxious moments of my life into oblivion: I hate intro posts. Like, this is my first post on dreamwidth, obviously it's the first one; whether or not it's an intro post isn't even a question. For some reason I feel an obligation to state it and to give a run-down of my interests, but my interests are ever changing, and although I'm a loyal fan, I tend to fall down a slippery slope of being intense and then drifting away to other interests after half a year, then coming back after my contemporaries have left. Fic-wise, at least.
It's been a weird year for me, finding-my-writing-voice- and commitment-wise. At the end of December 2015, I finished and posted a fic for the first time in like, eight years. It was a one-shot, which made it easier, and I'd signed up for a Mad Max gift exchange, which forced me to actually lay down in bed and write, even if I'd barely started two days before the deadline. I stayed up an extra three hours and finished it. It was a miracle--or, it seems like one. I can't write for shit nowadays. Even though I'd spent a whole semester cranking out poetry, even though I got to a place where I was really writing some poems to be proud of, where I thought I could scrape up what was left of my creative energy and keep dancing along this godforsaken limb, I can't. I'm a dried up prune. Something drank up all my life-giving water, and it wasn't the poetry. It wasn't the lesson plans and curriculums I had to design. It's a symptom of the depression, but I don't think it's caused by the depression. There isn't anything that I can pin it on for sure, but it's been circling me for the past three years of college and I don't know what to do about it.
I've been at this half-empty place for awhile, I think. In group this past semester, I thought a lot about feeling like I've buried my words in quicksand, except that quicksand has been inside of my fucking soul. I keep reading--and by the gods, reading has done wonders for me these past few weeks (I've laughed a lot and cried a lot)--but I can't seem to drudge up the energy or the time or even the guilt to propel myself into writing those three poems I owe a friend for her project that have been overdue for practically three weeks now.
I keep losing words. And motivation to respond to text messages. Which sucks incredibly.
So this is a last ditch effort to scrape my way out of this fucking hole in my spirit. Because tumblr doesn't suit as a place for truth-telling anymore--not that it truly ever did with the judgments of rl friends looming overhead my tastes for unconventional/unpopular-according-to-their-tastes-pairings--and I need to create a vaguely fandom-related space where I can say things and be not afraid.
A title and subtitle will come in time. (Was never good at making those decisions on the spot anyway.)
