- Published on
All of My Yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
Memories of things,
We can only lose.
Memories of people
Always fuse
Memories of light,
Memories of night,
Of days spent dreaming,
Of nightmares dreaded,
And bad paths treaded,
And today
We are alive.
What does it mean?
I think so I am.
I feel because I breathe.
My footprints in the sand
Time tramples on,
And I am forgotten.
Stripped of the flesh,
Bones from Atoms,
Interred and forgotten,
Laughter,
Tears and farts,
And sickness of heart
Today
In your eyes
I am singing, dancing,
Soon to be sleeping
Where I dream
False realities,
Of a wishful mind,
A tenant renting time,
In debt to death
Forever,
A sobering word
For the unknown,
The nonexistent
That drifts from me,
Threatens
Everything I am
Folded, wrapped tight,
Bits and bytes
Saved and kept
Photographs on mantelpieces,
Trinkets and lottery bets,
Captured motions,
Of reflexes--smile,
Moments beguile.
Forever and always
Today and tomorrow,
And yesterdays
- Published on
I don't get nervous. I try not to get excited. I am not used to 'good things' happening to me. I am superstitious. Will I jinx myself? What if this is all a dream? So many dreams die in the womb of imagination, never quickening into existence.
It's closer, getting closer, and yet I still can't feel it in my grasp. When is it okay to feel it? When is it okay to say it aloud? Am I an imposter? I feel safe in the liminal. I feel content in the drift of never knowing, letting the rip tide of the mundane soak me through, never letting up.
But the mundane is so safe for so long. So calm for so long.
And then it begins.
And how will I handle it?
It's closer, getting closer, and yet I still can't feel it in my grasp. When is it okay to feel it? When is it okay to say it aloud? Am I an imposter? I feel safe in the liminal. I feel content in the drift of never knowing, letting the rip tide of the mundane soak me through, never letting up.
But the mundane is so safe for so long. So calm for so long.
And then it begins.
And how will I handle it?
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This is my favorite time of the year and my worst time of the year (for maternal reasons).
I like the dark, cozy mood of fall.
Autumn leaves, pumpkin everything and spices.
I love boots and sweaters.
I have been struggling to make my own pumpkin spice drinks. It doesn't taste like the ones you buy in the cafes, but then again, those aren't made of pumpkins (just spices).
My mood goes up and then goes down.
I like the dark, cozy mood of fall.
Autumn leaves, pumpkin everything and spices.
I love boots and sweaters.
I have been struggling to make my own pumpkin spice drinks. It doesn't taste like the ones you buy in the cafes, but then again, those aren't made of pumpkins (just spices).
My mood goes up and then goes down.
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I sleep on it. I wake up and think on it. Consider it. Fodder it. Entertain it. Sustain it. Dismiss it. Then I sleep on it. Dream on it. Inspired by it, I wake up. And I linger on it, tinker it, cuddle it, and nurture it ... my heart's full of it.
And the days drift, and I lose it. Then I regain it, pulled from a coil of a dream of it. Then I desire it. I repeat it. And I recycle it. and praise it. And I go on to shape it, imagine it, but never fully grasping it.
I owe it, a birth into existence; hence the persistence. I'll never grow it, and I know it, but I put all my hopes on it ... until the day I die.
And the days drift, and I lose it. Then I regain it, pulled from a coil of a dream of it. Then I desire it. I repeat it. And I recycle it. and praise it. And I go on to shape it, imagine it, but never fully grasping it.
I owe it, a birth into existence; hence the persistence. I'll never grow it, and I know it, but I put all my hopes on it ... until the day I die.
- Published on
I am still learning how not to expend myself.
The last few days have been stressful --domestic problems. Family. Drama. Home renovations, on top of all my editing, critiquing and anxiety issues.
I am trying to sleep, listening to my body, wrestling with my desire to over-indulge in caffeine. But when the body says rest, there's nothing else to do.
These days I desire only to sleep, dream and sleep no more. Best summarized in these Shakespeare words, “To die, to sleep—No more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep. ... To sleep, perchance to dream”.-Hamlet
The last few days have been stressful --domestic problems. Family. Drama. Home renovations, on top of all my editing, critiquing and anxiety issues.
I am trying to sleep, listening to my body, wrestling with my desire to over-indulge in caffeine. But when the body says rest, there's nothing else to do.
These days I desire only to sleep, dream and sleep no more. Best summarized in these Shakespeare words, “To die, to sleep—No more—and by a sleep to say we end the heartache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to—'tis a consummation devoutly to be wished! To die, to sleep. ... To sleep, perchance to dream”.-Hamlet
- Published on
I think too much ... about everything
... will I die alone?
... is the end of the world near?
... when does middle age start?
... am I an impostor?
... will I ever get a traditional publishing deal?
.... am I a real or good writer?
... do I have a good personality?
... am I intelligent?
... do people like me?
... why don't I do something good with my life?
Sometimes my doubts creep up. I want to brush dirt off my shoulders but it's hard.
Staying positive? I cling to little things.
The last couple days I'd been on high thinking I got this ... and I didn't have this (received some great feedback about a short story and was convinced it would be accepted). Received the rejection this morning. I stop investing in things. No longer hold my breath and keep my fingers crossed. I was once accused of not being "passionate." My response (which of course I kept in my head): I am so used to be disappointed I didn't want to run my anxiety up only to be deflated). Of course, I no longer know how to be happy when I receive good news.
Sometimes, I wonder about me ... and where all this is going ...
The rejection says "I kept the reader at bay when it comes to the character's reaction". The story of my life. I am terrible at expressing feelings ... just terrible. I empathize and think, think, ponder, cogitate, worry ... but I just don't express OUTWARDLY.
My characters are criticized for lacking agency, motivation, expressing themselves or simply being plain flat. I love big concepts but don't think I express them clearly.
Been reading about "sociological" writing versus psychological. Supposedly, Game of Thrones lost the plot in season 8 when it abandoned the former for the latter. Ideally, a writer needs both to be good at STORYTELLING.
I try to do both, but ultimately I prefer plot and structure over either but don't do it well.
Sometimes ...
I wonder if I could ever write an intelligent piece of fiction ... NK Jemisin's The Broken Earth trilogy, for example.
Do I have the psychological grasp of the sociological structures that impress upon people to churn out such in-depth storytelling?
I often accuse myself of "tired/lazy" writing ... when I write despite being too tired to care/focus.
Writing criticisms I frequently receive: complicated plots, staccato sentences, wordiness, "elevated" writing style .... which I blame on my general love affair with Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Shakespeare ... I was a pretentious child, who rather liked saying "I shall" versus, " I will."
Sometimes I wonder why I attend writing groups...
Recently listened to a man rant about his older co-worker whom he believes is just showing up to work because he likes the companionship of his co-workers and having something to do, socially.
. I considered quitting writing groups after my mom died last November. And sometimes, especially after a rejection, I think I should give up writing ....
But I have nothing else.
I am not a cross-stitch, crochet-knitting, sell stuff on e-Bay and Etsy type. I can't learn pottery, and I have yet to show up to my soap-making and kickboxing classes (I am still making promises about better weather and stable finances. My older brother says to just do it).
And what will I do with myself?
Watched sick-flick film with Maisie Williams (Arya Stark): she has another "bucket" list in it.
I don't even think I am the "live like you are dying" type. I'd just mope and sink into my shell, convinced the universe really hates me.
Speaking of the universe ...
Some times I wonder ...
Been listening to a lot of physics podcasts lately ... my dream profession had been Astrophysicist. I got intimidated by high school Enriched Physics and dropped out ... fearing I would fail, anyway.
I regret it ... and not pursuing math beyond the 12th grade.
File on my list of life regrets
... Physics
Master's or PhD
Jeopardy
Better relationship with my mom
Life feels like it's running away .... I want a time-loop do-over until I get it right.
Life's okay ... some times.
But sometimes ...
I wonder.
... will I die alone?
... is the end of the world near?
... when does middle age start?
... am I an impostor?
... will I ever get a traditional publishing deal?
.... am I a real or good writer?
... do I have a good personality?
... am I intelligent?
... do people like me?
... why don't I do something good with my life?
Sometimes my doubts creep up. I want to brush dirt off my shoulders but it's hard.
Staying positive? I cling to little things.
The last couple days I'd been on high thinking I got this ... and I didn't have this (received some great feedback about a short story and was convinced it would be accepted). Received the rejection this morning. I stop investing in things. No longer hold my breath and keep my fingers crossed. I was once accused of not being "passionate." My response (which of course I kept in my head): I am so used to be disappointed I didn't want to run my anxiety up only to be deflated). Of course, I no longer know how to be happy when I receive good news.
Sometimes, I wonder about me ... and where all this is going ...
The rejection says "I kept the reader at bay when it comes to the character's reaction". The story of my life. I am terrible at expressing feelings ... just terrible. I empathize and think, think, ponder, cogitate, worry ... but I just don't express OUTWARDLY.
My characters are criticized for lacking agency, motivation, expressing themselves or simply being plain flat. I love big concepts but don't think I express them clearly.
Been reading about "sociological" writing versus psychological. Supposedly, Game of Thrones lost the plot in season 8 when it abandoned the former for the latter. Ideally, a writer needs both to be good at STORYTELLING.
I try to do both, but ultimately I prefer plot and structure over either but don't do it well.
Sometimes ...
I wonder if I could ever write an intelligent piece of fiction ... NK Jemisin's The Broken Earth trilogy, for example.
Do I have the psychological grasp of the sociological structures that impress upon people to churn out such in-depth storytelling?
I often accuse myself of "tired/lazy" writing ... when I write despite being too tired to care/focus.
Writing criticisms I frequently receive: complicated plots, staccato sentences, wordiness, "elevated" writing style .... which I blame on my general love affair with Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and Shakespeare ... I was a pretentious child, who rather liked saying "I shall" versus, " I will."
Sometimes I wonder why I attend writing groups...
Recently listened to a man rant about his older co-worker whom he believes is just showing up to work because he likes the companionship of his co-workers and having something to do, socially.
. I considered quitting writing groups after my mom died last November. And sometimes, especially after a rejection, I think I should give up writing ....
But I have nothing else.
I am not a cross-stitch, crochet-knitting, sell stuff on e-Bay and Etsy type. I can't learn pottery, and I have yet to show up to my soap-making and kickboxing classes (I am still making promises about better weather and stable finances. My older brother says to just do it).
And what will I do with myself?
Watched sick-flick film with Maisie Williams (Arya Stark): she has another "bucket" list in it.
I don't even think I am the "live like you are dying" type. I'd just mope and sink into my shell, convinced the universe really hates me.
Speaking of the universe ...
Some times I wonder ...
Been listening to a lot of physics podcasts lately ... my dream profession had been Astrophysicist. I got intimidated by high school Enriched Physics and dropped out ... fearing I would fail, anyway.
I regret it ... and not pursuing math beyond the 12th grade.
File on my list of life regrets
... Physics
Master's or PhD
Jeopardy
Better relationship with my mom
Life feels like it's running away .... I want a time-loop do-over until I get it right.
Life's okay ... some times.
But sometimes ...
I wonder.
- Published on
They work. When you don't want to think. Do something. It tires you out., but you don't even get a chance to think about being tired.
- Published on
Come along this way
To the other side of sanity,
An escape from mundanity
The winds of calamity,
Opening wardrobes,
And triggering episodes
That will get me committed
Admitted,
Off to lands of ecstasy
My very own dark fantasy
c2018km all rights reserved
To the other side of sanity,
An escape from mundanity
The winds of calamity,
Opening wardrobes,
And triggering episodes
That will get me committed
Admitted,
Off to lands of ecstasy
My very own dark fantasy
c2018km all rights reserved
- Published on
I first came across the phrase, maladaptive daydream disorder (MDD) three years ago while trying to find out if I was normal or going crazy. I used to type things such as: "roaming mind" and "absentmindedness" and "out of control fantasizing." Then, I came across a mailing list, which led me to the tumblr page, and reading it, I knew I found a name for my problem.
I initially feared I was coming down with schizophrenia, or that I existed on the spectrum somewhere, and when I contacted a psychiatrist about it (I was that worried), she asked me all the regular questions -- do you hear voices? No. Do you feel like hurting someone? No. Okay, then you are fine, she said. No one diagnosed me with anything, even when I told her I had difficulty controlling my roaming mind.
Still, I was normal. But, normal people didn't put themselves to bed by exhausting their minds with lavish tales of adventures. I knew this, and for the longest time I felt shame, especially if I let slip a word, or pace or flail my hand (which is characteristic of MDD). People like me live in our heads, and in our headspace are worlds filled with daily adventures and lavish tales of grandeur. The closest thing I'd ever seen that captured MDD was the short story, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (the two films drift from the original writing) about a man who has five daydream episodes while he waits for his wife who has gone to the beauty parlor..
People who suffer from MDD can have ten different adventures all in an hour. We could be off saving lives in a hospital, skiing in the Swiss Alps, traversing an apocalyptic landscape ala Katniss Everdeen or trying to save fantasy worlds from orcs and evil sorcerers.
You may say, what's so bad about having a great imagination? The problem with MDD is that we can't control when we slip into a daydream. True, that if we're busy, we don't daydream, but the moment we're not occupied with real world acts, our minds drift. It can happen anywhere and anytime, and we can't control it; although, sometimes we can will it to happen, as I often do before bed. I choose my adventure--which character do I want to be tonight. MDD also means we have trouble getting out of bed. Many of us have laid in bed for hours daydreaming--no joke. The most embarrassing part is the involuntary movements (pacing/flailing hands) and vocal outbursts --blurting things aloud.
The thing is -- I can daydream as a character in one of my stories, or as myself. It's not unusual for me to become a character when I'm reading about that character. This involves putting myself in the action as the main protagonist. But, I can be me in a story, too. For example: when I see a group of skateboarders, I picture myself as a skateboarder (usually MJF-ish in Back to the Future) cruising on a futuristic skateboard that defies gravity.
It's important to understand that people who suffer from MDD know the worlds in our heads aren't real. We don't hear voices, though we may speak aloud in response to a character in our story.
PS. Maladaptive Daydream Disorder (MDD) is not medically recognized by the DSM.-5, and many have dismissed it as another form of ADD, or as a kind of borderline personality/anti-social disorder, and reports suggest ADD medication can help with it. Nonetheless, I have reasons to believe, it's a new condition on its own.
More on MDD:
1. http://www.medicaldaily.com/maladaptive-daydreaming-what-it-247629
2.http://maladaptivedaydreamingsupport.tumblr.com/mdd
3.http://www.wsj.com/articles/when-daydreaming-becomes-a-problem-1462818328
4.https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/living-in-an-imaginary-world/
5.http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/04/when-daydreaming-replaces-real-life/391319/
I initially feared I was coming down with schizophrenia, or that I existed on the spectrum somewhere, and when I contacted a psychiatrist about it (I was that worried), she asked me all the regular questions -- do you hear voices? No. Do you feel like hurting someone? No. Okay, then you are fine, she said. No one diagnosed me with anything, even when I told her I had difficulty controlling my roaming mind.
Still, I was normal. But, normal people didn't put themselves to bed by exhausting their minds with lavish tales of adventures. I knew this, and for the longest time I felt shame, especially if I let slip a word, or pace or flail my hand (which is characteristic of MDD). People like me live in our heads, and in our headspace are worlds filled with daily adventures and lavish tales of grandeur. The closest thing I'd ever seen that captured MDD was the short story, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty (the two films drift from the original writing) about a man who has five daydream episodes while he waits for his wife who has gone to the beauty parlor..
People who suffer from MDD can have ten different adventures all in an hour. We could be off saving lives in a hospital, skiing in the Swiss Alps, traversing an apocalyptic landscape ala Katniss Everdeen or trying to save fantasy worlds from orcs and evil sorcerers.
You may say, what's so bad about having a great imagination? The problem with MDD is that we can't control when we slip into a daydream. True, that if we're busy, we don't daydream, but the moment we're not occupied with real world acts, our minds drift. It can happen anywhere and anytime, and we can't control it; although, sometimes we can will it to happen, as I often do before bed. I choose my adventure--which character do I want to be tonight. MDD also means we have trouble getting out of bed. Many of us have laid in bed for hours daydreaming--no joke. The most embarrassing part is the involuntary movements (pacing/flailing hands) and vocal outbursts --blurting things aloud.
The thing is -- I can daydream as a character in one of my stories, or as myself. It's not unusual for me to become a character when I'm reading about that character. This involves putting myself in the action as the main protagonist. But, I can be me in a story, too. For example: when I see a group of skateboarders, I picture myself as a skateboarder (usually MJF-ish in Back to the Future) cruising on a futuristic skateboard that defies gravity.
It's important to understand that people who suffer from MDD know the worlds in our heads aren't real. We don't hear voices, though we may speak aloud in response to a character in our story.
PS. Maladaptive Daydream Disorder (MDD) is not medically recognized by the DSM.-5, and many have dismissed it as another form of ADD, or as a kind of borderline personality/anti-social disorder, and reports suggest ADD medication can help with it. Nonetheless, I have reasons to believe, it's a new condition on its own.
More on MDD:
1. http://www.medicaldaily.com/maladaptive-daydreaming-what-it-247629
2.http://maladaptivedaydreamingsupport.tumblr.com/mdd
3.http://www.wsj.com/articles/when-daydreaming-becomes-a-problem-1462818328
4.https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/living-in-an-imaginary-world/
5.http://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/04/when-daydreaming-replaces-real-life/391319/