Tuesday, July 23, 2013

The (Un)State of My Mind

This is probably not what you come to a book blog to read about, but.

So you may remember how, just a few weeks ago, I was shuffling between multiple countries and planning for a great backpacking expedition. You may remember coming across a post introducing my new travel blog, and basically just a whole bunch of references about exciting plans I had to spend several months to a year traveling and living out of my backpack.

As of last week, I am back at my parents' house in New Jersey.

What happened?

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There is no easy way for me to write this.

One day earlier this month, I woke up in a hostel in Beijing and knew that I was sad, that I had been sad for a while. There had been days of gray skies and rain, and days of Beijing traffic and crowds, of sticky sweat that left flakes of darkness on my skin when I scratched at it. Traveling no longer felt shiny and exciting, but rather like something that I had go through the motions of doing.

My sadness isn't something that comes and goes. It has always hovered, unblinking and unfazed, in the dark section of the entranceway to my mind. It's a sadmonsterdog that doesn't need any particular kind of nourishment and follows me around wherever I go. When the sun is shining brightly enough and casts that corner into enough shadow, I can pretend that my sadness isn't there, that the light and life are enough to make me a normal, un-sad person. But if the sun is not out in full force, then I have to look into the void of this sad-thing that threatens to crush me with its need whenever it gets the chance.

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Here's what traveling is like when you're sad:

You wake up. You have three things on your itinerary for the day, but with the sky the silver of empty colors and the sun nowhere in sight, you know you don't have the energy and pare it down to two. You go to your first destination. The crowds are thick and loud. It's hot. Umbrellas threaten to snag in your hair and rip the strands out. It's hot. You're thirsty and there are always people in your photos and the color quality in them sucks anyway because everything's so gray and you just give up on seeing the site as well as the rest of your itinerary and go back to your hostel and curl up in bed with your computer, hating yourself.

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Here's what blogging is like when you're sad:

You have IDEAS and WORDS running together in your head, and a blank screen and a blinking cursor before you. But between your head and the screen is a chorus of faceless voices, crying mocking questions that pierce your well-worn armor.

"Do you think that anything you write now is going to compare to what you wrote back when people actually read your blog, y'know, back when you actually posted things?"

"You are four months behind on reciprocating comments. Way to go with following blogging etiquette. Why can't you do anything right?"

"Wow, your reviews suck now. Just...don't. Stop trying. Stop trying to pretend you're good at it."

As more voices join in, the distance between you and your goal seems to stretch on and on and on, like a demented piece of Laffy Taffy. So instead, you close the lid of your laptop and put your head down on it and try to stop thinking anymore.

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Here's what writing is like when you're sad:

You don't.

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I don't need an official, clinical diagnosis to know what's wrong with me. I don't even want to write the word, I have such mixed feelings over it. The word, to me, has been perverted into a playground insult hurled by ignorant children or, worse, idiotic adults. When others casually use the word to describe how they feel when they don't get their first-choice iPhone color or their local bar doesn't have their favorite imported beer in stock, why would I want to use it to try and describe the blankness that causes me to spend hours at a time lying on the floor of my room, the black mirror that reflects back to me something so dark and twisted and vivid that I'm not sure if I'm looking at a reflection or if I am the substanceless reflection?

What good does it do for me to be all, "Yup, that's what I have, that's what I am" when it doesn't change the way I've felt since I was a freshman in high school? When it won't make a difference, because you've used the word before, and even after talking to People and the threat of medications, you're still afraid that your sadness is an inherent character defect, a birthmark that just won't go away because, well, it's not meant to?

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I had limped through two Chinese cities and half a dozen hostels over the course of two weeks with the same kind of listlessness dragging down my awareness before I realized that to continue traveling when I felt this way was a complete and utter waste of everything. So I looked up plane tickets.

And now I'm here.

I've been trying to get back to what counts for me as normalcy. The process involves lying on my bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes not. It involves motivating myself to force down unappetizing sustenance at set intervals throughout the day. Avoiding writing, responsibility, and writing-related responsibility, because the words that come out don't sound like me, and little sucks more than to not be able to express myself the way I want to. Playing the piano for hours, when I need more things that don't use words. Walking. Reading old journals and cry-laughing over how silly some parts sound, and how some things have not changed at all.

There are okay days, and then there are days where it's really not.

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I just thought you should know.

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I don't really know how to end this post.

19 comments:

  1. Hi Steph,

    You probably don't remember me, I went to college with you once. I just want to say that I enjoyed your China photos and China moments and have always thought you were a fun, interesting, and (most importantly) unique person to be around. And I hope that you get through all of this OK.

    Best,

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  2. *hugs* I'm terribly sorry you had to cut your travels short and return home. I'm sorry the darkness is creeping in but you're strong enough to fight it back, even if that involves outside help. And, even though it might not feel like it right now, it gets better. *more hugs*

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  3. Thank you for sharing this very personal post. I'm glad that you feel comfortable enough with sharing your experience with your readers. Sometimes just getting the words out even if there are no answers and no solutions can be freeing. But as a writer, I'm sure you already know that.

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  4. Hey Steph,

    I'm sorry that you're going through this. You may decide that medication isn't for you, but I hope you do find something that works for you. Living through the fog sucks. There's no one-size-fits-all solution, but there is help when you're ready for it.

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  5. You are so brave for posting this and I know you will get better! Just take one day at a time. You should focus on yourself now and know that traveling/blogging/writing will be here when you can get back to it. We'll be here too :)

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  6. Oh Steph <3 I think you did a very brave thing by being your true self and sharing this with us. I'll be praying for you and sending positivity to you in my thoughts! <3

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  7. Steph <3! I think you're incredibly brave for sharing something so personal. I've had similar moments as well, though not as pronounced and I hope that you'll get through all of this. Sending positive vibes over! :D

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  8. I'm so sorry to hear about all this, Steph. I really hope everything gets better soon, we all do.

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  9. We've never met, but I've always enjoyed reading your blogs, whether they were about your travels or book reviews or anything. I think you were very brave to post this. You're not alone and I hope things get better for you soon.

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  10. Hi Steph,
    As an author who follows your exceptional book blogs as a sort of mercenary pursuit in the eventual hopes that you'll read something I've written and like it (along with a shared passion for YA), I never comment to avoid being one of those self-promoting alienating types.
    But this time, I have to say something. I've lived your emotional exhaustion and despair now for many years. Stubbornly drug free after one too many futile hospitalisations/counselling sessions/numbing binges. It seems an awfully trite thing to say, but wait, be patient, ride it out, it will not last. Eventually, those grey, oppressive clouds will lift, if only briefly, and the sun will once again light your way. You will know then, that you can absolutely pick yourself up and find a way to keep going. Maybe, someday, after you've kept at it, you will discover your love of every minute returns and the blackness becomes fleeting.
    I am with you every step of your journey, rooting you on and hoping, that like me, you find a special method of coping. For me, it is books. Those that I read and the worlds I create where I am powerful and not crippled by sadness and anxiety.
    I don't need to tell you to be brave, I know you are already :)

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  11. I'm glad you came home and hope you feel better soon.

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  12. Steph, this must have been a hard post to write and it's hard for me to read it, seeing you suffer, because I care about you. Depression (there I wrote the word) is nothing to be ashamed of. So many creative, intelligent people suffer from it and there are good treatments for it. My friends who got help (medication and therapy) have gone on to lead happier, productive lives. After weening my second child I got postpartum depression for months, and it was awful. I was unable to see it for what it was at the time. You will get through this but do get professional help. As for your blogging, your reviews and posts are still wonderful to read. Thanks for trusting us by sharing. Your post may help others who suffer and need help too. Big hug!

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  13. Thank you for sharing, if you ever jaunt out to Manhattan come hang out!

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  14. *hugs*. Thanks for telling us.

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  15. Ahh, Steph! *hugs* I'm so sorry. You'll be in my prayers.

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  16. Steph, sending you hugs from Singapore! Thank you for sharing this beautifully-written post with us. And thank you for letting me glimpse your travels through the postcards that you’ve sent, I appreciate hearing about your adventures. I hope you’re finding comfort in your home and with your family.

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  17. Steph, you are incredibly talented and brave young woman! (as the many people above agree). I hope your local pool sees some of you this summer. I don't know about you, but it's always been a source of comfort for me. Keep on keeping on.
    Casey

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  18. This is such a brave post, Steph, and I admire you for posting it. I really hope everything gets better for you soon. To me, your travels always look stunning. Hopefully one day you'll be able to enjoy them to the fullest, but until then just take your time.

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Hello! I'm so excited to read what you have to say. Due to high amounts of spam, I'm forced to disabled anonymous comments for the time being. Sorry for any inconvenience this causes, and I hope you can understand and still appreciate the content here!

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