Writer’s Block

About a month ago I said that I would blog every single day.

That dream didn’t last long.

After those four posts I wrote, I had such bad writer’s block that I haven’t written anything. No stories, no letters, barely any journal entries.

I can’t begin to explain how frustrating this is.

I read an entire book about how to unblock writer’s block. It was the first book I had finished in a long time, so I guess this isn’t all bad. I don’t think it helped anything. I still have writer’s block.

And yet I am here writing. How is this possible?

I have decided to tackle writing differently than I have before.

I am using writing as a spiritual discipline.

My dad has been learning a lot about the Christian disciplines and spiritual practices which means I have been second-hand learning about them. A spiritual discipline is something that you do in order to get to know God better. Usually those disciplines are things like fasting, bible reading, meditating, and worship.

Instead of relieving my exhasperation with writing by quitting, I am praying and asking God to help me to continue to write. That means I have been doing a lot of praying.

I am discovering that God cares about all the little things, even blog posts. But I’m also learning that anything can be used as an opportunity for coming closer to God.

Normally I hate group writing projects, but I guess having the God of the universe as a partner isn’t too bad.

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Life Update

I have spent most of today brainstorming for a blog post topic. I was all set to write about time travel when I realized that I needed to address the elephant in the room. I have depression again.

Two months ago I wrote about how my medication was working really well and that I was on my way to feeling completely better. Since then my meds stopped working, and I had to ween myself off of them. Pretty soon I will begin that fun roller coaster of trying out new medications.

I haven’t really told anyone for several reasons, the main one being that I’m doing ok and there hasn’t been a lot of reason to bring the subject up.

The other reason is I don’t want to talk about depression all of the time. I have done that already. As you can see on the sidebar of my blog, my biggest tags are “depression” and “mental illness.” I want the biggest tag to be “nice and happy things that are fun to read,” but alack. I don’t have a single post under that tag.

As I am progressively getting worse, I see that depression is what will be taking up a lot of my thoughts for the next couple of weeks. I hate to say it, but when someone has any sort of chronic illness, that is the main thing on their mind.

But don’t worry. I will not be only writing about mental illness. I will definitely get that time travel post up here at some point, and I will try really hard not to be boring.

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Angry Bird Cake

I am pleased to say that I finally have a real job. I am a caretaker/provider for a girl with developmental disabilities. So far I really love my job and my client.

When I have told people about it, many have reacted by saying, “That’s cute.”

Cute? How is my job cute?

I suppose it’s sort of cute how I come home with bodily fluids on my shirt. And it’s adorable all the medications I keep track of. And it’s super sweet when I hurt myself with all the heavy lifting.

Now that I have reason to think about it, “cute” is a weird word. According to my Pocket Oxford English Dictionary, cute means “charmingly pretty; sweet.” But I don’t think it actually means that because when I Google “cute,” this is the first thing that comes up:


But when I Google “charmingly pretty and sweet,” this is what comes up:



Two very different things.

So according to Google and the dictionary, what people are actually saying to me is, “That job sounds like an Angry Bird cake!”

To which my response is, “Exactly!”

Cute is one of those poor words that used to mean something positive, but is now starting to sound like a backhanded compliment. Cute things are small and not very important. “Cute” is for when children play doctor and when kittens make friends with ducklings.

When I Googled “cute jobs,” do you know what came up? One opening for a cupcake truck manager and then tons and tons of nanny jobs.

First of all, I would make a great cupcake truck manager. Second of all, why is working with young people so “cute?” It’s hard and serious. And if you think about it, cute doesn’t pay. Elementary school teachers are adorable, but college professors make more money.

“Cute” takes respect away from something. It is a patronizing word.

So please, my new job is not “cute.” It’s “really cool,” “important,” and “valuable.”

And also it’s just a job. I have to make money somehow and hanging out with a charmingly pretty and sweet person is as good a way as any.



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How to Have a Conversation

Every time I go to my Tuesday night bible study, I think, “I’m going to talk to strangers today and be welcoming and mildly extroverted.” And then I hang out with my same group of friends.

This week a poor stranger took the initiative and talked to me. I now see that maybe I should have been practicing my conversation starters all those other weeks. Here is more or less how our introductory dialog went:

What are you interested in? he asked

I’ve been reading a lot of Shakespeare, I say.

Oh yeah? What’s your favorite play?


Why’s that?

The character of Hamlet is basically my soul mate. He’s depressed, narcissistic, talks to himself, and he murders people.

Hahahahaha I’m joking. The weather, amiright?

That’s it. That’s my story. Come back to tomorrow for another just like it.

Thank you and good night.

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Anyone Can be Anything

When I was twelve I decided that I would be a professional novelist. By the time I was about fifteen, I decided that was ridiculous and that nobody made money that way and I wasn’t that good of a writer and I should go into accounting.

Well, things have changed. I watched Zootopia a few too many times and now I know that anyone can be anything.

I’m going to be a writer.


But I now have a problem. Even though I love to write and it’s one of the things I’m best at, I hate writing and am terrible at it.

According to the internet most writers feel the same way.

That’s a relief.

This is all to say that I will be attempting to write a blog post every day. The reason is quantity is better than quality and practice makes perfect. I might run out of ideas and I will probably look back at my uninspired mess and have to delete this whole blog, but if I want to be a writer I have to actually write. So weird.

So if you want your inbox flooded and your dashboard covered with things by an emotionally unbalanced young adult who thinks she can write, you can follow this blog. Or you can follow almost any other blog. There are a lot of us out there.

Finally. I’m done. This took me way too long.

Now I just have to do it again tomorrow.

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Everything is a Lie

When I told people that I had depression, they often tried comforting me by pointing out that they don’t usually feel very happy either and it’s okay that I feel like crap because everyone does.

One person explained to me that once you move out of childhood and start having more responsibilities, life gets dull. Adults don’t enjoy things. I’m just having a slightly harder time adjusting to the mediocrity that is the rest of my life than other teens. That’s all.

It was all a lie.

Being an unhappy mentally sound person is light years away from being an unhappy clinically depressed person.

Obviously life’s not exactly dancing through flower fields singing The Sound of Music. I am still chronically tired and have zero time management skills. I cry way too easily. I had to drop one of two junior college classes. (Writing 121. For the second freaking time. I don’t know why my writing abilities suddenly die as soon as someone tries to teach me how to write.)

Life is hard. That doesn’t mean it’s sucky and joyless.

Now I have plans and dreams for the future that make me smile when I remember them. I can talk to strangers and make friends without having to think about it twice. I can sit down and write an entire page of a novel and enjoy it. I can laugh. All the time. In fact I am now reminded that I laugh way too loud and way too often. A few days ago a friend finally found me when she heard the small explosion that happened in a far corner of the crowded room when someone told me a joke.

I can’t figure out why people would tell me that life isn’t that great.

Every day when I was especially depressed I would look around at the people surrounding me and wonder how that kept going through the motions of life. Did they question on an hourly basis what the point of everything is? Did they spend lunch breaks crying in the bathroom? Were they better actors me?

And then some of these people would answer my questions and tell me, “Why yes. Life’s a bitch and then you die. You’re slightly below average on the emotional well-being scale, but pretty soon you’ll be all better and can get on with numbly doing all the things humans are programmed to do.”

I must note that most of what I “heard” was probably my own sick brain talking. When you’re that stuck in your head it can sound like the whole world is echoing with your thoughts.

So this is for everyone who is right now struggling through life with depression or anything else. IT WILL GET BETTER, AND IT IS WORTH IT. Maybe half of your days will be bad days, but that means the other half is good days. It’s not sunshine and roses, but getting better is something to look forward to. The highs of life will feel so much higher to you because you know what the lows are like.

And to everyone who is hoping to comfort someone who already thinks that life isn’t all that worth it, don’t reinforce that idea. Tell us that there is hope and, even in hard times, being not depressed is so awesome in comparison to where we are now.

Maybe you will never be brilliantly, enthusiastically joyful, but don’t worry, there is a lot good in between living a Disney musical and where you are now.

Remember that you’re amazing wherever you’re currently at.

Keep trucking.


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Mind the Gap

When I was about eleven, I read a book that told me that teenagers and adults don’t have time for reading. It recommended that I read as much as I could before I hit thirteen or else I will miss out on all of the thousands of good books there are in the world.

At least, that’s how eleven-year-old me understood it.

I took this sad fact of life very seriously. I had only two years left of my literate life, so I proceeded to read at least three books a week. If I read fewer than that, I was letting my future self down.

I went on reading like this after I turned thirteen. Then I turned fourteen with still no change. I read and read and read all through my teens. I decided that I must be one of those unique human beings who would keep my reading abilities through adulthood. I found some sort of fountain of youth that would keep me eleven forever. Eleven is certainly not the worst age to always be. You’re old enough that desperate parents will pay you to watch their kids, but you’re too young for puberty.

But alack. My fountain of youth runs dry.

At around eighteen my devouring of books slowed way down. I didn’t have as much time to read, but more than that I was way too tired to read. After all the teenager stuff I had to do, my brain couldn’t take anymore work.

I really love to read. It makes me very sad that I can’t read as much. I still get tall stacks of books at the library feeling hopeful and certain that I will read them, but they stay in the same stack in my room until it’s time to return them all untouched. Poor books. I feel sorry for them.

But the story does not end there.

I fell in love with a book like I hadn’t since my youth. We met through a mutual acquaintance: Alice in Wonderland.

While I love the Alice books, it was the Tim Burton movie that brought us together. I am really excited for the new Through the Looking Glass movie, and I wanted something to watch, or read, while I waited.



Doesn’t it look exciting??

I Googled “books that are like Alice in Wonderland.” According to various sites, Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman was a book with an Alice in Wonderland feel but darker.

And thus, our love story began.

Neverwhere is a combination of Alice in Wonderland, Wizard of Oz, and fairy tales in general, but it did not seem like a fairy tale itself. It was weird, quirky, confusing, and half of story was never explained. It was everything I loved about Lewis Carroll’s books.

Unlike the original stories, the main character was amazing and believable. I have not felt such a strong connection to a literary person in such a long time.

I wanted to go back and read the book again once I finished, but I’m saving it for when I go back to my teenage ways and am tired of reading.

For now I am doing something I have never done before. I read all the way to the end of one book before I start a new one. It’s weird. I probably do it because I am adult and mature and now I know the most efficient way to read.

The moral of this story is don’t lose hope. The joys and true loves of youth don’t fade, they gradually change and grow.

Just kidding there isn’t a moral. I just wanted to talk about Neverwhere. Now go read it.

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