Tag: anxiety

Fifty

~ Meg ~ 113 Comments

October 21, 1966 – That is the day I was born. I have completed fifty years on this earth. I can safely say I am past middle age. It would mean living to 100. Not completely out of the realm of possibility, but highly unlikely. Although, I do have a great aunt who’s still alive at 104. Anyway…

Do you know what the lead story around the world was on the day I was born? A mudslide buried a school, killing 148 people in Aberfan, Wales. The local Merthyr Vale coal mine had dumped coal waste, ash and sludge to a height of 700 feet. Heavy rains led to the slide and the subsequent burial of the Pant Glas elementary school and some nearby homes. 116 of the victims were children. Horrifying.

Fifty is hitting me hard. I’ve never minded turning another year older. The other milestones haven’t affected me the way this one is. I feel like doors are closing on me – there are things I can never go back and do again. Opportunities have been lost, the consequences of past decisions have now been fully realized. The future is no longer wide open with possibilities, it has narrowed to a dimly lit hallway with doors that have been locked or that have been stuck with paint so they are hard to open. The walls are covered with artwork displaying everything that is now out of reach.

However….

I remind myself of these words of wise King Solomon: A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one’s birth – Ecclesiastes 7:1. And I remember that really a birthday is nothing more than a way to mark the passage of time. That, at the beginning of one’s life we have no name, no reputation, no body of work, no achievements, no experiences, no friends and no memories. After fifty years, at least I have all of those things. And though I feel like a great portion of those fifty years could’ve been better spent than they were, time unfortunately does not move in but one direction.

My only option, then, is to move forward down that dimly lit hallway, yank open the paint-stuck doors and take advantage of the opportunities left to me. It just no longer seems easy or effortless. But not impossible.

Header image from owl-cation.

Subterranean

~ Meg ~ 37 Comments

The sky opens, bestowing on the parched earth, rain
With eyes toward heaven, stretch arms wide and spin
Quenching such a desperate thirst for happiness
But the splashing becomes a stirring up of dust
When the water evaporates
Beneath the heat of his disdain
The dragnet drags through the ash
And frisson dissolves
In a whirlpool of despair
Those highs are so heavenly
But the lows are positively subterranean
Go ahead give me a little shove
I’m already on the precipice
I did the math:
Seven seconds of absolute euphoria
Then nothing
There’s no Wonderland
At the bottom of the hole

Random and raw

~ Meg ~ 68 Comments

My brain is in a bit of a jumble, finishing up my latest project. So much to think about, details, details… It needs to be perfect. It’s never going to be perfect. I have so many random thoughts running around in my head….

Am I ever really going to feel like “A Writer”?  Yes, I’m a published author, but I wouldn’t be able to survive on the income from it. Is that what it will take?

Marketing. I have a BS in Marketing and right now that BS really does feel like bullshit. (That was before chiropractic school). I’m exhausted and overwhelmed by what I REALLY need to do to get my writing that kind of attention. 

Blogging might actually be making things worse. I’ve developed this schedule that my brain has started treating like a real world obligation. Like I get fired if I don’t write “this” for this day and “that” for that day. I’ve got it in my head that you all will leave me if I don’t keep it up. I watch some of you post once, twice, three times a day – beautiful poetry, heartfelt personal expressions, short fiction… I can’t measure up. 

The novel series… I have ideas for 3 more of them. What I really want to write is my WWI story. I can’t do both. How long can a series sit dormant before readers lose interest? 

I’m not reading. Not nearly enough, anyway. My reading challenge for 2016 is 25 books. I’ve finished 6. That’s pathetic. I have books by 4 fellow bloggers on my list. I swear I will at least read those before the close of the year. 

Sometimes I wonder what you really think of me? Do I sound confident? Positive and upbeat? Do you know that I worry? That I have panic attacks sometimes? That I fake being happy just so I don’t have to talk about it? Because I really don’t like to talk about it. Consider this the rare occasion I’m saying something.

I need to move. I hate the place I’m at right now. I have to think about getting out of here and I don’t quite see the way ahead. 

Just one final thought. I love you guys. I appreciate your friendship. I treasure the relationships I’ve formed here over the last ten months of blogging. Don’t go away, ok?