Underneath my yellow skin

Tag Archives: dysfunction

Nanowhatmo? Part two

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I want to write more. I know that’s a very generic and broad statement to make, but it’s where I’m at right now.  I write my one post a day for this blog, but I have given up on my fiction writing completely.I am so frustrated that it’s not as effortless as it used to be. I did try for NaNoWriMo not last year but the year before. I got the 50,000 words done, but it just did not go where I wanted it to go.

I have a fairly detailed idea for a trilogy that I shaped and remodeled in the past few years. Every time I try to write it, though, it just comes out flat. When I write something good, the words sparkle and almost jump off the page. I like to say that I am not creating the stories, but am merely the conduit that allows the stories to flow.

In the last post, I wrote about the dysfunction in my family. How is that related to my writing? Well, if I want to write my memoir (which is one of my ideas), I have to delve into my family dysfunction because otherwise, the reader will not have the right context for when I talk about my medical crisis.

I firmly believe that things are interconnected. What happened to me in my childhood has an effect on how I reacted to my medical crisis. I don’t think this is controversial, but not everyone agrees with me. Or rather, not everyone sees it.

Side note: I just had a really big reminder in the RKG Discord as to how ‘normal’ people are really not into the idea that maybe someone else can have an experience that is outside what they believe is possible. And it reminded me that as accepting and welcoming as the community is in certain ways, in otther ways, they are just as limited as society in general. It’s one reason I rarely talk about my medical crisis to the gen pop. It sounds ludicrous when I say it out loud or type it out.

I am literally the only person I know who has gone through what I did. You know how people say that no one is unique (with individual experiences)? Well, it’s not true. I did so much research, and I could not find anyone else like me. I can’t tell you how many medical people have called me a miracle. In fact, when I was in the hospital, it was the first thing most people I ran into said when they heard my whole story.


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Nanowhatmo?

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I have done NaNoWriMo every year for over a decade. Except maybe 2021. I don’t think I did it that year, but I have a handy excuse*. That was a month-and-a-half after I got home from the hospital from a life-threatening medical situation. I think I can be excused for missing that year. I tried the next two years, but could not get the fiction to gel. I have all these great ideas, but the execution is not so good.

I want to emphasize that I consider it a fair trade-off for still being alive. I would like to be able to get back to fiction one day, but if I can’t, well, I can’t. (I will. I just have to find my way back to it.) Fortunately, I’ve been able to write posts with no problem. I have several ideas for posts in my head at all times. I do have ideas for what  Iwant to write, fiction-wise. I just can’t get it from idea to written words.

If I do NaNoWriMo this year, I think I might actually use it to get back on track. In the past years, I did not need the 50,000 word count because I wrote 2,000 words of fiction a day. I haven’t been able to do that in the last year or two. I know it’s because of the medical crisis, which is why I’m not beating myself up over it.

But.

However.

I would like to be able to write fiction again. I have an idea for a trilogy (I always do trilogies), and I think I want to tackle that for NaNoWriMo. However, I want to start with the second book. Or rather, the second story chronologically. I’m not sure that will work, though, because all the pieces need to be set up before I can jump into a story proper. In that case, it would make more sense to start with the first book, but that’s not what I want to do.

I wonder if I could write a novella as the intro, jump to the second book, then go back to the first. Oh, this would be a mystery trilogy, by the way. That’s what I used to write before my medical crisis. I also wrote standalones, but I preferred to write trilogies. Only trilogies because I have the belief that series should not be longer than seven, whether it’s TV, movies, games, or books.

But I digress.

I have two discrete ideas for NaNoWriMo. By the way, that is one of my linguistic pet peeves–mistaking discrete and discreet. Usually people using discrete when they mean discreet.


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Ever more bitter, rarely more sweet

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When you’re in a situation that feels hopeless, it’s hard not to become bitter. There is a commentor on one of the blogs I read who is oozing in negativity. Having read about her situation, it’s understandable. Unfortunately, she’s at the place where she feels like she can do nothing about it but constantly complain.

I’ve been there. I am currently there re: my family. It’s funny because the medical trauma I recently went through* has been a boon in many ways. It feels weird to say especially because it included me dying twice But, it’s the truth. I realized a lot about myself during that time. Most of it good, some of it…sobering.

On the good tip: I fucking love my body. Decades of body issues disappeared in a flash. That’s not exactly true. They were already starting to mitigate with the help of Taiji, but when I left the hospital, you could not say shit to me about my body or my face. Not that my parents didn’t try, believe you me. They wanted to go there with my weight, which I had shut down decades ago. I explicitly told them they could not bring up my weight. Of course they moaned and groaned about it because ‘they were just worried about my health’. Uh huh. That’s straight-up bullshit, by the way.

When I was anorexic and my junior counselors in college told my mom, she had nothing to say. N-O-T-H-I-N-G. No words of concern or encouragement. The only thing she had to say was that she was jealous my waist was smaller than hers. So, health concerns? Hell, naw. That wasn’t it at all. It was purely weight and how I looked. She put me on my first diet when I was seven, saying I would have a beautiful face if I lost weight.

When I look at pics of me as a teenager, I was chunky yes, but I wasn’t grotesque as I was made to feel by my mother. I was thick in part because I have dense muscles, but I was fine. My mom monitoring every morsel that went into my mouth gave me a complex that lasted decades.

Taiji started making me feel at ease in my body. Then it helped me walk away from a minor car accident with only a big bruise on my stomach from the seatbelt. Or maybe the air bag popping. Other than that, I walked away without a scratch. I couldn’t say the same for my car, sadly.

That’s when I started to realize that my body was a wondrous machine. After waking up from my medical coma (walking pneumonia, two cardiac arrests, stroke), I was in awe how my body had taken a beating and kept on ticking. I don’t think  can overemphasize how bleak the prognosis was.


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Learning to Bite My Tongue

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finding my peace.
Just breathe….

Remember when you were a kid and your mom told you to count to ten before saying anything when you were angry? Or maybe she was a ‘think before you speak’ kind of woman, instead. Basically the same thing. If you’re like me, you probably scoffed it off as trite. Well, it is trite, but I’m finding value in it these days. Sort of. I’ll explain.

In the past, my relationship with my parents consisted of them saying something and me immediately snapping back defensively. It didn’t matter what they said–I would take it as an attack and respond accordingly. It’s partly because my family is highly critical is the way we talk to each other (me included), so there is a sense of being on the defensive baked into any conversation between any of us. In addition, I have PTSD for several reasons, so I’m prone to lashing out, anyway.

The basis of taiji is to respond to any action with an appropriate reaction, using just enough force to repel the attack and nothing more. It’s called the lazy martial arts because you want to expel the least amount of energy possible for the biggest result. It’s not something I consciously dwell on, but after eight or nine years of study, I’ve soaked it in. In the past, I was near suicidal when one or both of my parents would come visit. You might think it hyperbole, but it isn’t. I couldn’t sleep for days before they came*, and I thought about killing myself to get out of it. I was tense the whole time, and I felt as if I had no control over my anger. I would tell myself to be chill, and next thing I knew, I’d be flying off the handle over the stupidest thing. That would make me feel worse about myself, and I would quickly spiral downwards into the abyss.

Now, I’m tense before they come, but not to the point of wanting to kill myself. It’s more because I really, really, REALLY like to be alone. I’m a happy single, which is one reason I never want to cohabitate with someone, not even a partner. Come to think of it, especially not a partner. A friend, maybe, but not a romantic partner–hell no!

The thing is, I’ve noticed that while I still get irritated by my parents, I’m not flying off the handle nearly as much. I may snap at them one out of ten times, but that’s better than ten out of ten. Half the time, I can give them a calm and reasonable response, and the other forty-percent is filled with a terse, but not angry answer. I find that after they say something, my brain automatically tells me just to digest it a second without saying anything. I’m not consciously telling myself to count to ten or to think before I speak–I’m just automatically doing it. It’s one thing I’ve learned about the way I learn things. I think/work hard about/on it for years, and then it just ‘suddenly’ takes. I don’t consciously decide to do it–it just becomes a part of me.

Same with my interactions with my parents. I’m more able to be calm and to give a reasoned response. Even when I’m upset about something, I’m mostly able to talk about it without shouting. I’m using my words finally! It’s easier with my mother because she’s a psychologist and I was a psych major. We speak the same language, even if it’s her third language and not her first. We can talk about projection and codependency and shit without having to explain the terms. It really is easier when you have the jargon in common.

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