What you’re about to read is a post I made back in February 2012 on my old site.
– originally posted on wordpress.org site –
I keep secrets. Yep. You’ve seen the hashtag, so you know it’s true. But that’s a fun secret that I like to tease y’all with. This isn’t a fun secret and it’s really not much of a secret anyway.
I’ve talked about the fact that I suffer from clinical depression and anxiety alongside a whole host of acronyms that really just mean that adulting can be unnaturally hard at times. Even though I’ve spoken about it, I don’t know if I’ve been really open about what that means for y’all.
It means that I wake up every day with the best of intentions to get through my to-do list. I’m not a lazy person. I’ve always had hobbies and tasks to busy myself with. I never just sit around and watch TV. If the TV is on, it’s going in the background, and I’m working on something in the forefront.
It means that I may be on a roll and stay up writing for thirty hours straight, clocking an impressive twenty-two thousand words in that time period. It may mean that I’ve checked everything off on my to-do list and I’ve completely reorganized my kitchen.
It can also mean that I got up and brushed my teeth today. Or my hair. The crippling depression means that some days I’m lucky I even got out of bed. It means that what is a routine errand to the grocery store for someone else is a heroic feat for me. It means that even though I open up my Word doc every single day, that no words get written.
I know many authors who I admire that also suffer from similar diagnosis as I do. Each of us copes in a different way. Some can throw themselves into their work to get through it. Others will read book after book until they feel better. I’m not really in either camp. When it hits, I’m rendered still. Well, kind of. I’m probably counting the same things again and again to see if I get a different number on any given count.
I might take care of the basics (like feeding and watering myself, but even those are iffy), but I’m not getting to my email, or my bills, or any of the hundred things on my checklist that are work-specific that I need to get to that day. And because nobody can be as mean to me as I am to myself, I manage to get my bills taken care of, and slowly poke through my email. It may not be timely, but it’s the best I can do at that time.
I’ve been outwardly quiet about when the next Bayonet Scars book will be published because I, quite simply, can’t predict these things. If I schedule a date before it’s done and a wave of depression hits, then I may not make my deadline. I’ve learned that lesson the hard way. So I’m keeping all these little secrets about the hush hush project I’ve been working on, when you’ll get to read Wyatt’s story, and what the finale of the series is going to look like. I’m working on the book and my project and that dreaded to-do list as hard as I can. But I’m also working on being healthy and not sacrificing the person for the job. I’m an emotional writer (like everyone else I know) and that means that this job puts me in a touchy place with my depression. It doesn’t help that, for now, I do this full-time and it’s my sole source of income. My passion, my money, and my emotions are all tied in every book I publish. No pressure tho, right?
So please, please, please be patient. If you’re waiting on something, please know that I’m trying to get to it. If you’re itching for the next book, I feel ya. If you don’t really care about all this, I commend you for getting this far. I hope to have better news for you in the future. I hope one day I can post about how good I feel and what helped me stave off my depression. I’m just not there yet. So, in the meantime, keep in mind that there’s a human being behind the silly Instagram posts and snarky Facebook commentary. And she’s struggling to keep afloat in an ever-changing, competitive industry, and she is– quite simply– doing her best. Every.single.day.
TIA for being your awesome selves,