Self-loathing and cathartic release through writing

It’s Monday afternoon as I type this and today, I’m feeling a little muted and tired. I’ve been writing a lot this past week and am almost finished part three of my series. It’s getting to the fun part now. The hard parts of the trauma dumping have been written. Now I just write complete and total supernatural fiction with the right amount of spice and kinky sex mixed in. It’s honestly been therapeutic.

I’ve been feeling a little defeated, dejected even, since my visit with a second rheumatologist on Thursday. Why I even go to these appointments is beyond me. Why doctors still refer them to me, again – I have no idea. But now I need to find a new GP willing to help me stay on disability for the rest of my life.

I finally got forms for tests this week because my own GP couldn’t even send them to me. It’s been a month and I still haven’t heard from his office. I’m tired of tracking him down. So, the hunt for a new GP is in the works.

Off the bat, the guy took one look at my weight and said, “we don’t do pain management here.” He did spend the next twenty minutes, examining me. Pushing all my bones and joints far past the point of where bones and joints should go. But that’s the condition. Everything hurts. All the time. Pain levels of 8 or more. My ribs right now are suffocating me. It hurts to breathe.

I haven’t seen my dad in over a week and there is guilt for it. I’ll try tomorrow. My emotions are amuck and I don’t feel good about seeing him when I’m upset. It just makes him upset. And so, I’ll hope that tomorrow is a better day.

The story of Mark and Madison continues on in this book and I found a way to trauma dump my frustrations of living with this fucking disease. A disease that has no cure.

My geneticist just told me flat out.

There’s no cure. There’s no treatment.

No one will know what to do with you. Just have to manage symptoms as they come up. And so, as I suffer quietly through the daily pain, so too will Madison. Sorry girl. But you’re my therapy.

Writing… I should have started this a long time ago. It helps pass the time and keeps my mind from having dark thoughts. Trauma dumping all my issues onto the characters is a better way of coping than self-medicating or sitting here wallowing in self-loathing and self-pity.

That is after all, where I got inspiration from the main character.

The first book has almost 80 downloads now. No feedback yet, but friends tell me it’s good. So, I will keep writing. Even if no one reads it, it’s for me. My cathartic release.

And I’m sorry but I’m not in the mood for making a monthly goal post. I may be quiet for a bit.

Thanks for allowing me to use this space to vent freely. Now go read my book if you haven’t yet. It’s spicy and tantalizing, with the right amount of supernatural flair to it. I personally love it. And am even in love a little bit with Ned Mitchell myself.

Part I:

The Oath

Care to join me for a pity party? Subscribe now

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your 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 )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.