My Self Inflicted Punishment

My days are full of as much structure as possible — a rigorous therapy schedule. In a way, it reminds me of college. This time block for writing, this one for meditation, this one for Yoga, etc.

Sometimes I’ll throw in something else crafty, like drawing or honing my skills with Photoshop. Then I’ll go back to the writing. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

I’ll do this over and over again in a day until my eyes cannot continue.

And everything I do is meant to keep me calm and less on edge.

The most significant part of my therapy — the part that helps me the most is writing, delving into the mind of someone else. I can only do this in short bursts because I can’t concentrate for long periods of time. When I move on to something else, it’s meant to allow my eyes and my mind to rest, to reorient myself and start again.
transparent partitionBut since I finished writing the last book, I needed a break.

So did my mind.

And I’m suffering for it.

My stress is high. My migraines are worse.

The nightmares that haunt me are vividly horrifying. Imagine waking up paralyzed, or feeling the pain experienced in the dream lingering for hours or an entire day.

Sometimes I think the world is coming to an end. (Not literally, but sometimes it feels like that.) Yet I’m still avoiding the very things that usually help me. It’s like a sickness. I just cannot help myself.

I’m wasting time binge watching bad urban fantasy dramas when I should be binge reading the books in which they were based. I should be editing. I should be writing.

But here I am, bitching about my own procrastination. I know why I’m doing it. And I know how to break it, but yet, I’m forcing myself to take a little break.
transparent partitionYou see, I’m punishing myself. After a year of this rigid structure, turning to writing as my only pure source of help, and transforming it into something beautiful, I felt like it was only a matter of time before those shaky legs I was finally standing on were kicked out from under me.

And that’s exactly what happened. Sort of.

I created a system that was crazy efficient, and I developed the novels in my head and documented everything in OneNote before I started writing the first word. So the books were written fast.

Or so it seemed. Since I rarely sleep, those blocks of time allowed me to write a fair amount in a day, but it was spread out over the course of about twenty hours. Every single day.

But I was forgetting something important.

All over the internet and in print you’ll see writers saying that to be a writer you: 1) need to write a lot and 2) you need to read just as much.

Well, I wasn’t doing that. Not much anyway. Reading one chapter of a book a night before going to sleep wasn’t enough. I didn’t want my writing to suffer, and I felt that I needed to adjust my therapy to account for more reading.

It wouldn’t necessarily be a terrible addition, because it’s still delving into someone else’s mind.

But I don’t handle change well.
transparent partitionI needed to breathe. I needed to grieve that sudden shift in my life. I needed to reorient myself and then start again. Better than ever. It’s the wait that’s torturing me. The wait is my punishment.

The stories you’ve come to know and love in my books are far from over. Connor and Aisling are far from over. The werewolves, vampires, witches, and many other creatures you’ve yet to see are far from finished telling their stories.

When I do start writing again, I’ll go full speed ahead, because that’s how I operate. I’m going to tell those stories that are knocking around in my head. I’m going to dictate those movies playing in my mind’s eye.

Though I’m aware that this “vacation” from my therapy schedule is a detriment to me, I felt it was necessary to step back for a little while. But it’s starting to wear on me. So it won’t be long before I push myself to start again.

I’ll get past this hurdle. And I’ll be better than ever. Back on the road of therapy and hopefully, there in the distant horizon, is the freedom I so desperately crave.

The freedom from the fear — the abuse I endured. Of all he said, all he ever did to me when I was a child.

Until then, and long after, I’m going to keep writing. Because that’s my passion. It’s what I do that helps me feel better. And I’m going to kick ass at it in the process.

At least, I’m going to try my best, like I always do.

© Sarah Doughty

Advertisements

16 thoughts on “My Self Inflicted Punishment

  1. Sarah, read your struggles about coping up with being a writer. Be the best thing is all, you write pretty well and that keeps your mind in shape. I also have the struggle to read books and read many together. But inspiration for writing comes from within and not from the books read. Anand Bose from Kerala

    Liked by 2 people

  2. It’s such a struggle – writing, dealing with chronic health issues, living in general – and so brave to talk about it and keep doing it. I’ve also taken enforced breaks from writing that seem to get worse as they go on. No easy answers. Thanks for stopping by my blog and good luck with your writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Dear Sarah, I feel like I know you. Okay, you actually remind me a great deal of someone very dear to me. Your backgrounds are almost identical, you even resemble her quite a lot. Your writing is powerful and easy to read (well, it would be if I didn’t feel your pain and the suffering you endure – but your posts are well-written).

    You probably hear all the time to be patient with yourself and be kind to yourself and blah, blah, blah. The best thing anyone ever told me was to not expect to be like, to do anything like anyone else – I’m an individual. So are you! I’m learning to be patient taking baby-steps and run for my life when I can run. I suspect you can too. Don’t. Give. Up.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I know what is to go through real rough times, and discipline-structure does help. And I too have found writing to be a great therapy, I also know about having very dark dreams, and again writing is my refuge and my way of yoga. I call it yoga-writing!
    Glad you stumbled upon my crazy little blog.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Why is it that we have this need to do what we know that will not help us ? and might actually hurt us ?
    To me is sleep , when things get rough I sleep more than I should (because when I sleep I dream …good dreams) and the more I sleep the less I want to be awake and down it spirals.
    Turtle Hugs

    Liked by 1 person

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s