Depression – Page 4 – AJ Mullican, Author

Slow burn

#bipolar, #books, #design, #publishing, Abnormal, anxiety, Art, costuming, Crafting, Depression, embroidery, fencing, Freedom, Friendship, Health, Home, Insomnia, Marketing, Mental Health, Musings, Novel, Parties, Promotion, SCA, Sci-fi, Sewing, Sleep, Social Media, Stress, swordfighting, Thoughts, Time, Work, Writing

I’m trying. I really am.

I get up and go to work every weekday (unless the office is closed or–rarely–I request off for an appointment or something). I work a full week, sometimes into overtime, and I hardly ever call out or ask to go home early. I clock in on time, and I stay until my boss says I can go. If that means clocking out less than twelve hours before I have to clock in again, then that’s what I do. If it means working when I’m in pain, I do. If it means working through a panic attack, I do. I can’t afford not to.

Most weekends I end up doing SCA things; whether it’s an event, a household meeting, rapier practice, or crafting various things for SCA events, household meetings, or (rarely) something just for me.

I sleep when my body lets me. Sometimes it’s six hours, more often closer to four, maybe four and a half. I drink caffeine and take Adderall to make it through the above listed days without falling asleep sitting up…or standing up. Or while driving.

I do the laundry every week, sometimes multiple days a week. Sometimes I’m aching enough that I have difficulty picking up the clothes that end up on the floor instead of the hamper…. so I leave them. Sometimes I’m so worn out from all the other things that I leave the clean laundry in the dryer for a few days and just fluff it when I need something to wear. Sometimes I go to the effort of taking the laundry out of the dryer and putting it back in the hamper until I have the energy to put it away.

When I have time alone–usually in the wee hours, when sleep evades me–I write. Or edit. Or revise. Or embroider. Or sew. Or plan and execute social media marketing stuff for my writing.

There’s more, but right now I can’t think of exactly what.

I’m trying. I really am. But I am feeling more and more burned out lately. Just thinking about the things I have to do makes me exhausted and depressed. The things that I used to do for fun are now duties. Chores. Requirements. Necessities. There are deadlines upon deadlines upon deadlines. Even the SCA events that used to get me all excited now fill me with dread. It’s not “yay! I get to do this thing!” It’s “well, I guess I have to do this thing.”

I need some me time. Problem is, time is not something that I have available to give myself. It’s all filled with things. Work. SCA. Housework. Crafting.

I can only do so much. My body and my mind and my spirit are all stretched as far as they can go.

I need to think. Introspect. Look inside. Take all the pieces and see where they fit–and what ones shouldn’t even be in the puzzle. I need to prioritize and cut back where I can.

Some people might feel like I’m pulling away, but it’s not trying to get away from them so much as trying to regroup.

I’m committed to several things for the next two months. I have to hold on at least that long. But after Estrella War?

I might not try as hard. I really might not.

Drizzle

Depression, Home, Insomnia, Mental Health, Musings, Sleep, Thoughts, Work

It’s raining in Arizona.

It happens from time to time. Mostly in the late summer and early fall, during monsoon season, but it happens.

I could be sleepy because of the dismal weather. It could be because I didn’t really sleep much last night. Or maybe that second cup of coffee I skipped. Regardless, I’ll be needing another dose of my Adderall if I’m going to survive work today.

This kind of weather actually excites some Arizonans, especially the lifers. Me? I hate it. The sky is dreary and dark, even though the sun should be up by now. The pitter patter of rain on the windshield as I wait in the parking lot drones, making me feel drowsy and sluggish. It’s altogether depressing.

It’s cold, too. Not bone-chilling by any means, and my cousins up north would laugh if they read this, but it’s still cold to me.

I am not looking forward to today. If the rain keeps up, I’ll probably dread tomorrow too.

I want to go home. Back to bed. Snuggle up under the covers and forget the world. I can’t, though. I need to make the money to pay the bills. Gotta keep a roof over our heads and food in the fridge. Heating and cooling and all that. Takes money–which requires work. Fucking vicious cycle.

The sun’ll come out… sometime. Meanwhile I will drag one foot in front of the other, plaster a smile on my face, and pretend that I want to be at work.

Fucking responsibility. Worst type of day for it.

Super Sekret Projekt

#bipolar, #design, Art, Crafting, Depression, embroidery, Mental Health, SCA, Sewing

Yep, I’m at it again! I’ve got another big embroidery project ahead of me, and I’m really excited.

I can’t really say much what it’s for, other than that I get to work on royal garb again. It’ll be a big project, but one I hope I can execute to Their Royal Majesties’ liking. 🙂

I want to show you pictures of what I’m going to be doing. I want to share it on all the media. But I won’t. I shouldn’t. But damn, do I want to.

Despite my excitement at this new project, I still am in kind of a funk lately. I’ll be “normal” for a period of time, but that depression creeps back in. Mostly when I’m busy at work. Or not busy on lunch break. Or sitting at home. Well, okay, so there’s not as much “normal” as there is “blah.”

This project, though, once I get it started, should have me back on the ups. Yeah, I’ll get frustrated at times or discouraged or just plain tired of stitching, but being able to see the finished garments, if they indeed will be worn to an in-kingdom event, is a good motivator. I never got to see Duke Ivan and Duchess Ianka’s finished garb except in photos, because they wore it to an out-of-kingdom event and to the Coronation that I missed due to Tucson Comic-Con. Maybe some day I’ll get to see my work on them.

As with Ivan and Ianka, I get to have input as to what I’m going to embroider, which I think is cool. I’m sure there will be SCA royalty in the future that has a set thing in mind and that’s that, but I’m glad that the royals I’ve worked with so far have been open to me providing ideas or suggestions.

In a few months I can show you what I’ve done, and I might provide some sneaky peeks in the interim. Right now, I have to wait for the fabric to get here (the Queen is mailing out the fabric soon), and I have to go buy the thread. For royal garb, my little cotton thread won’t do.

Cries of “Excelsior!” shall echo through the halls of Valhalla

#nerd, Celebrity, Comic books, Cosplay, Depression, Fandom, Geek, Movies, Musings, Sci-fi, Thoughts

It was finally time.

He gave us ninety-five years, and he gave them selflessly. He created people, places, world’s, universes. And he created a society where geeks and nerds can be who they are. He made nerddom chic.

I know it was coming any day. I know it had to happen. No one lives forever. Not even The Man.

Still, I know my eyes will tear up when that last cameo flashes on the screen. They’re tearing up now, as I think of what the world has lost: a great man, and a creator without equal. He understood what it was to be an outsider, and he gave the outsiders people to relate to when few existed.

I’ve always been more of a Marvel girl that a DC girl. When I was four, I told my mom that I was going to marry Spider-Man. Well, Mary Jane Watson got to him first.

I don’t really know what to say. What can you say about a man who touched so many lives? From the very small to the brightest stars in the biz, he made everyone fit in. There’s a place for everyone in Marvel.

I never got the chance to meet him. Well, I guess I had the chance, but I never took advantage of it. He was at Phoenix Comicon one year that I was attending, but I couldn’t afford an autograph. I should have stood in line anyway, if nothing else than to shake hands with the man who meant so much to so many.

I knew it couldn’t last.

I just didn’t believe that it would really happen.

Legends are supposed to live on forever. But I suppose no matter how legendary the person, Death still wins in the end.

A Legend may be dead, but his legend lives on. In the comics he created. In the worlds and universes he created. In the hearts of everyone who was touched by his creations. In the word “excelsior,” a word that means excellence.

You were most excellent, Stan Lee.

Safe travels.

“I’m fine” is the biggest lie of them all

#bipolar, Depression, Health, Mental Health, Musings, Stress, Thoughts

We’ve all done it. We’ve all been a little stressed, a little down, a little depressed. And we’ve all, at some point during these times, have said “I’m fine.”

There are variations of “I’m fine.” There’s “I’m just tired.” There’s “Nothing’s wrong, really.” These are lies.

They’re not meant to be harmful or malicious lies. They’re meant to spare the person who’s asking how you are from having to deal with your problems. And, in a way, they’re meant as an effort to convince yourself that you are fine when you are, in fact, quite not fine.

I’ve been guilty of these lies more times than I can count….in the last week alone, to be honest. When my husband asks how my day at work went, I don’t want to burden him with “I think I’m depressed so even though the day went all right I’m feeling really down.” So I don’t say that. I say “Meh” or “Fine” or some such nonsense–and it is nonsense.

Why don’t I just say what’s really going through my head? Why don’t I say I’m becoming depressed? A large part of it is the whole burden thing. I don’t want to be one. Another factor is the realization that if I admit to being depressed, I’ll be inundated with questions as to why I’m depressed or how the person can help me not be depressed….questions I don’t always have an answer to.

Yet another part of it is that I’m bipolar; being depressed once in a while comes with the package. I mean, that’s been my experience with it. You get depressed for a while, but as long as it doesn’t get into I-want-to-hurt-myself depression then it’s fine to just wait it out, right?

There’s that lie again: “it’s fine.”

I suppose I should quit lying–to myself and to others. I should say when I’m depressed. I should probably even go to the doctor, depending on how depressed I am. But that’s admitting that I can’t handle it. That I can’t get out of the depression on my own. That I’m not as strong as I’d like to think I am.

One frustrating part is that even when I’m not “fine,” there are moments sprinkled throughout the day where I am “fine.” I’m not necessarily depressed 100% of the time when I’m depressed. I might be depressed only when I’m alone, or only when I’m bored, or only when I’m away from home, or only when I’m at home. The depression could be more of a conditional state of being than a constant state.

Am I “fine” right now? Yeah. Sure.

Am I lying about that?

I don’t really know.

Every vote counts….unless it’s not cast

anxiety, Depression, Education, Politics, Stress

I know, I know, I should have voted. I should have gone after work and cast my vote for….who?

I didn’t read up on the candidates or the propositions. I don’t really watch the news, so I didn’t get any info that way. There are more than a couple of problems with that. One, I can’t cast an informed vote without, y’know, informing myself. Two, I can’t inform myself if I don’t try. The biggest problem, though?

I don’t understand it.

I don’t understand most politics. Yeah, I’ve voted in every presidential election since I was able to vote–but I didn’t always know who I was voting for or why. It takes me extra long to read the ballots when there are propositions to vote on, because I don’t understand what they’re about. I skim over once, then read closer, then closer again–I read until I’m cross-eyed, then I finally get frustrated and pick whatever my husband told me I’m supposed to want to pick.

That’s not “real” voting in my opinion. “Real” voting is making an informed decision about the future of your city/state/country/etc.

So why don’t I try harder to inform myself?

Partly it’s laziness, I guess. I just don’t want to take the effort to seek out articles and informative brochures or whatever. Partly it’s embarrassment. I don’t understand these things that so many other people do. Partly it’s frustration. I get so frustrated by not comprehending that I give up on it.

Everyone has something they don’t understand easily. Even geniuses, I’m sure. Me? Politics is one of those things. I write a little political stuff into my books, but I don’t truly understand the real-world politics that directly affect me.

Shame, I guess, was a big factor in not going to vote yesterday. A part of me is ashamed that I don’t get it.

That being said, please don’t try to explain the current political situation to me. I’ll get frustrated, you’ll get annoyed, and I’ll probably end up crying because I can’t wrap my head around it all. Trust me, you don’t want that. I ugly cry. A lot. And it takes forever to calm me down when I cry from frustration.

So, my TL;DR? If you want to vote, then learn. Don’t just cast a vote because Sally’s pigeonholed you into it. Cast a vote because you read, because you listened to different viewpoints, because you know what the fuck is going on and you have an idea on who can make it better.

Nervous energy

#bipolar, #books, #dystopian, #nerd, #publishing, Abnormal, anxiety, Celebrity, Depression, Fandom, Geek, Health, Insomnia, Marketing, Mental Health, Novel, Promotion, Sci-fi, Sleep, Social Media, Stress, Work, Writing

Maybe it’s because my confidence has always been low. Maybe it’s because the process is still new to me, even though I’ve been through it before. Maybe it’s just those just-submitted-my-manuscript jitters.

Regardless of the cause, I’m abuzz with a ton of energy–too much for the amount of sleep I haven’t gotten yet.

I thought there’d be a rush of relief, a release of pent-up adrenaline, something, but nope. All that excess energy is still swimming around inside my head, and it’s frustrating. I want to sleep. I want to rest. I don’t really want to be up right now, yet here I am. Sure, I could have stayed in bed, but as I’ve discovered lately, unless I’m woken by my bladder and my bladder alone, when I’m awake I’m awake for at least a good hour or two, and the longer I spend in bed lamenting my lack of sleep the harder it is to doze back off. At least out in the living room I can get stuff done.

Yesterday I finished revisions on the draft of Book 2 and started the tedious process of writing an outline, synopsis, and query letter. Yep, those nasty little necessities that make being an author actual work. I bet if I logged the actual hours I spent working on writing, editing, revising, marketing, and promoting, I’d be in OT. Like, every week.

I know my husband isn’t at all happy with my predawn antics. He wants me in bed, resting. But it’s not like I’m getting up early on purpose–I just…wake up. A lot.

Tomorrow morning I see the ol’ psychiatrist. Guess it might be time to change up the sleeping meds…again. The last med he gave me works well enough at full dose, except I can’t wake up properly in the morning. I get extremely groggy, and I’ve had some close calls on the commute to work when I take the full dose. The doctor said that if that happens I can half it, so I half it. But fat lot of good it does at half.

Sometimes I wonder if this insomnia is bipolar-related, but when I think back on it this has been going on a very, very long time, too long for it to be a manic episode. I think I’d be proper crazy if I was in a sustained manic state for this long. As it is, I’m only semi-crazy, so I guess it doesn’t stem from the bipolar. Is that a good thing? I have no clue.

The psychiatrist should be pleased that Abnormal has been published, along with a book signing and a library appearance, but he’ll be disappointed that I haven’t been on Oprah’s show yet. I guess that’s his gauge of success for an author: appearing on Oprah.

I somehow doubt Oprah would be interested in my writing style, but who knows? Maybe I should add her to my list of influencers to contact. Lol

Battle royale

#bipolar, #books, #dystopian, #nerd, #publishing, #TV, Abnormal, anxiety, Celebrity, Critique, Depression, Education, Fandom, Geek, Health, Interview, Learning, LGBTQ, Marketing, Mental Health, Musings, Novel, Promotion, Q&A, Reading, Sci-fi, Social Media, Stress, Thoughts, Time, Writing

It’s been a while since I’ve had a legitimate bipolar breakdown, so I guess yesterday’s little panic attack was overdue. Still, it would be nice not to have to go through that at all.

Yeah….
So the marketing process for Abnormal combined with the marketing workshop that my publisher is running on Facebook combined with general anxiety about the projected success or failure of said book all are working together to create that perfect environment for a bipolar freak-out. Last night was the first of what I hope is a minimal number of said freak-outs.
It all started with the sudden realization that the workshop assignments were leading up to us authors identifying and contacting our top genre influencers about our works.
Wait…I have to find out who the top sci-fi/dystopian/LGBTQ bloggers, vloggers, podcasters, journalists, etc, are, then I have to write out emails asking them to read and review my book or do an interview with me, then I have to send out those same emails? Like, actually send them? To people who have thousands and thousands of followers, who probably already lead busy lives and already get gobs of junk emails with the same type of requests? But–but–but…what if I’m bothering them?
Ah, yeah, there’s that irrationality. There’s the anxiety rearing its ugly head.
Fuck you, anxiety. You ruined my evening yesterday.
Fighting with this type of anxiety is a tough one. I can always go to friends or family or to my husband or my publishers with my unfounded concerns, but I can’t always take their logical, rational advice and apply it to the very much illogical and irrational fear I’m experiencing. The irrational fear eats logic for breakfast, chews it up, and spits it out in a sloppy wet wad on the carpet. I always end up stepping square in that wad. I hate stepping on anything wet, literally or metaphorically.
Why is it so horrifying to have to send out some nice, polite emails requesting consideration for myself and my book? I don’t know. Again, it’s an irrational fear. And no, it’s not the fear of them ignoring my emails or sending rejections–it’s the fear of being a bother. A nuisance. An annoyance.
It was difficult to send email requests to some of my favorite authors asking if they’d be interested in having an Advanced Reader Copy of Abnormal to peruse and maybe write a blurb on. I was terrified of annoying them. Of being viewed as spam–even if it was potentially some random assistant who was handling that day’s particular emails. That is what had me paralyzed yesterday. It’s still got me shaken up a bit, but so far this morning no fountains of tears. So that’s progress, right?
Another stressor to add onto these imaginary stressors is the feeling that I have to get all my marketing done before the September 1 release date–which is now ten days away. Ten. Short. Days. My publisher assures me that’s not the case, that I have the entirety of the series to build upon and market to my fanbase, but the timing of the marketing workshop is not helping. Don’t get me wrong–I’m extremely grateful for the opportunity to have such a workshop. It’s just giving me a minor heart attack thinking about all the assignments that are being given with “just ten days” in which to complete the assignments.
Ten days…I’m almost in the single digits.
I had my freak-out. I talked with close friends, with my publisher, with my husband. I whined and moaned and misunderstood the assignments and cried and sobbed and overreacted. I did all the things except stay calm and look at it from a logical standpoint. Logically, the bloggers and vloggers and podcasters and journalists are there to build on their own fanbase, and they (theoretically) welcome the opportunity to read and review something that their fanbase might enjoy. Illogically, they’re going to view me as an overeager spammer nobody who needs to leave them alone.
I’m going to get past this. I’m going to finish this post, search for my genre’s “influencers,” and get started on a template to share in the workshop to eventually turn into emails to said influencers.
It may not be within the next ten days. But I have a whole series to get this done in.
Still, better now than never.
Off I go.
Kicking and screaming, but off I go.

Draw Nigh

Depression, Friendship, SCA, Thoughts

Someone I knew not nearly as well as I should have passed away yesterday, and I’ve been trying to take time to process my thoughts and feelings on the tragedy.
I should’ve talked with him more. I should’ve engaged and not shrunk into my shell when he said “Hi” to me at SCA events and meetings. I should’ve … Well, I could fill the whole Internet with shoulda/coulda/wouldas here. Suffice it to say, a great man died, and rather than using my words to console friends and chosen family–other than to send my condolences in a private message to his wife–I spent my day reading how he touched others’ lives and wondering why I wasn’t touched the same way.
In the end, I determined it was my fault. My shyness and social anxiety kept me from knowing this man as well as everyone else did. Sure, I said “Hi” back, and I hugged back, and I answered any questions he asked about how I was doing and such, but I didn’t force myself to really listen and ask questions of my own. The last thing I said to him was something along the lines of “Oh, gallbladder surgery is a piece of cake.”
His gallbladder, it turned out, was not the problem.
So why didn’t I send a Facebook message to him when his wife, who I know a little better, sent out requests for kind words, silly memes, and comfort? I certainly had been Facebook friends with him long enough that I should’ve been able to send a meme to cheer him up in the hospital, right?
There’s that shoulda again.
Maybe it was guilt. I mean, he was already in the early stages of whatever-it-was that killed him, and I brushed it off as a piece of cake. I’d had my gallbladder out over ten years ago with no complications whatsoever; surely this tall man with the booming voice and ever-present smile would make it through something like that just as easily.
There it is. There are the tears that wouldn’t come yesterday. But am I crying for the loss or crying for myself?
I don’t really know for sure, but considering it was seeing “booming voice” that set me off, I’d like to think there’s enough humanity inside me to be sad at something other than my own inadequacies.
I think I’ll miss that booming voice most of all. Of all the heralds I’ve met in my short time so far in the SCA, his was the loudest, the clearest, the strongest. Even in his day-to-day conversations, he sounded like a radio announcer or movie voiceover actor. There was depth to that voice. Confidence. Strength.
“Draw nigh for court” will never sound quite the same. A great voice has been silenced, and it’s going to be a while before any of us are really okay again.

Being #ABNORMAL is not a crime

#books, #dystopian, #publishing, Abnormal, Bullying, Depression, Diversity, Learning, LGBTQ, Mental Health, Musings, Novel, Reading, Sci-fi, Social Media, Stress, Thoughts

Abnormal is rapidly approaching release, and I want to know: What makes you #ABNORMAL?
There are tons of “abnormalities” in life that are criminalized, penalized, or ostracized in society. Transsexualism, LGBTQIA “lifestyle,” being overweight, underweight, tall, short, rich, poor, too ugly, too pretty even. What about you makes you “abnormal” by today’s society? What have you had to deal with due to your “abnormality”?
Let me know. In a comment, a tweet, an Instagram post–let me know what makes you #ABNORMAL. Hashtag #WhatMakesMeAbnormal and #ABNORMAL, and let’s get a conversation going. I want to know what you’ve gone through. I want to know your trials and tribulations due to not being the impossible “normal.”
I want to get “normal” thrown out the window–or maybe redefined. I want us all to be proud of our “abnormalities,” not shamed by them. I want to create a new normal, one that includes all of humanity–no matter what they look like, act like, talk like, whatever.