Just talk.

The passing of Robin Williams is not something that I am taking lightly.  No, I didn't know him personally and honestly, if asked who my favorite comedians/actors were, I’m not so sure he would have made the list.  What’s impacting me the most is the news of his struggles with depression.  Millions of people struggle with depression every day and, much like how people felt about Mr. Williams, I’m sure there are those out there who people look at and think, “how can he/she be depressed?  They seem so normal and happy.”  A writer for Cracked.com wrote an insightful and heartfelt look into why comedians and comedy writers often struggle with depression and suicidal thoughts.  And while I personally don’t fall into that professional category, I do understand wanting to always appear on and ready, not wanting to show anyone any other side of you, any weaknesses. 

Even as I write this, part of me wants to hesitate on calling what I have “depression.”  For as long as I can remember, I have been referred to as emotional- highly emotional, if the universe felt like being particularly shitty that day.  I have this ability to absorb emotions.  It’s almost like The Blob: I take them in, I store them, I feed off of them: happiness, anger, sadness.  When people mourn, I mourn twice as much for them.  When something goes wrong, or when I get upset (and it doesn't take much for that to happen), I shut down: I let it simmer.  And then I get inside my head and can’t get out.  I start turning over every phrase, every movement, every moment, replaying it in my head over and over again until I can’t even think coherent thoughts anymore.

If none of that makes sense, I apologize.  It barely makes sense to me, which makes it hard to put into words.  But the bottom line is that I spend a lot of time in my head.  Which means that a lot of what I’m feeling never comes out.  And it gets to the point where I don’t want to do anything or see anyone.  And just letting things fester unresolved is not healthy for anyone, physically, mentally or emotionally.

I know there are a lot of us out there like that, who spend a lot of time in our heads without anyone being any wiser- not our friends, our families or our lovers.  Part of that is because we don’t want to burden others with what we’re going through; part of it is that we feel no one else would understand.  I know that I have a lot of supportive family and friends and a kick-ass husband.  But when they’re happy or going through their own issues, why bring up mine? 

Following Mr. Williams’ untimely passing, I've been reading many stories from individuals who echo my sentiments, my inner quarrels.  As a community, we acknowledge that talking is something that we need to get better at, but are slow to correct.  And on the flip side of that, perhaps there are those out there who could become better listeners.  “But how can we become better listeners if you won’t talk?”  Sometimes it’s as simple as asking how their day is, what they've been up to and how they’re feeling.  Sometimes it’s more complicated and isn't always easy to spot.  For me, being surrounded by my family and loved ones keeps me out of my head, because it keeps me occupied.  And that occupation makes a world of difference.

So if you or someone you know are struggling with depression, please do not hesitate to talk to someone or seek out a helping hand.  The world may be a fucked up place, but there are solutions and plenty of people who want to make it a little less so.

R.I.P Mr. Williams- and to the many others that we've lost.

Four Years a Kansan

I think I'm finally getting used to life in Kansas.

As of August 10th, we will have been here for four years.  Since we moved here just to go to school and wait out the Great Recession of 2008, I never really considered this my home.  Home was always Chicago. Whenever we talked about going to Chicago for the holidays or just to visit, it wasn't "oh, hey, we should go stay at my mother's"; it was "hey, are we going home this year?"  I didn't even bother to register to vote or change my license until I absolutely had to.  In my mind, I was going back home as soon as I finished my degree.  No point in changing anything, right?

Four years later...

I think part of the reason it's taken me so long to assimilate to Kansas is that I honestly haven't been giving it a fair chance.  I haven't exactly tried to learn anything about what makes it unique or what it has to offer.
And it does have a few positives.  I mean, the cost of living is ridiculous cheap (when compared to Chicago). Gas prices are considerably lower.  It's located in a nice in-between spot, giving me an equal distance between my family & Halbastram's family (both trips take roughly 8hrs).

But then there's the problem of having to drive everywhere.  Seriously- people who bitch and moan about how gross and crowded and whatever their public commuting options are: I will trade my commute with any one of you.  Sometimes, when the weather gets bad, as it does in Kansas between December-March, and you can't(won't) dig your car out, it'd be nice to have that bus as a back up.  Let someone else worry about trudging through the snow.  I've got nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  Bad weather in an exceptionally hilly location (yeah, Kansas has hills.  It's not the total flat barren wasteland pop culture has lied to us about) ain't nothing to fuck with.

And so there I am, in my tiny economy-sized automobile, struggling to keep from spinning out on the icy highway, while Toby McPickupTruck whizzes by doing 80mph, spraying gunk in my direction, partaking in general dickery as he is usually wont to do.  And even though the weather is treacherous, I make sure to take at least two seconds out of my busy commute to give him a nice Seasons Greetings!, courtesy of my middle finger.

I do this about three times a day.  Year-round.

Sure, sometimes the train cars smell like New Year's Day and their on-time rating is somewhere in the negatives, but I will surely take that option over the Snowy Hills of Death.

Some days, I will look out the window and think, "take the risk or sick day?  What's that?  Ice storm?  I suddenly don't feel well..."

But it's not all doom and gloom.  August more than makes up for the aggravation of a Kansas winter commute. Which is not a bad month to celebrate a 4-yr moving anniversary.  I'm not sure how many more of these winters I can take but while we're here, I'm going to make the most of it and enjoy the cheap gas.

Until we meet again...

The (writer's) struggle

“Teaching’s just something I do to pay the bills while I finish my novel.  I’ve been working on it for five years.”

“It must be very good.”

“It’s a piece of shit.”

And with that line, I think Donald Sutherland captured the essence of pretty much how all first-time/part-time novelists feel about their work.  I’m not a fan of anything I write and yet I continue to work at it.  Writers are a bit of a masochistic bunch.  We toil and torture ourselves for that perfect sentence, that perfect adjective, that perfect paragraph, that perfect “call me Ishmael” opening line.  And even after all of that, even after people tell us, “hey, that’s a pretty good story,” we’re still not convinced.  It could be so much more, so much better.  Which is why we never stop writing, never stop trying to achieve that literary perfection.

Now, that’s not to say that there aren't “writers” out there who must be stopped, writers with confidence where there shouldn't be any- especially now that self-publishing e-books has made it easier than ever before to give unpublished writers a chance to gain an audience.  Unfortunately, that means that everyone and their grandmother who has ever had a brilliant idea once in the 7th grade is now clogging up the bibliosphere with their nonsense.

But, shouldn't we be happy that people are actually writing things for others to read?  Technically, yes.  I do have a special place in my heart for people who promote reading as a viable leisurely activity (even if they’re only doing it because they’re absolutely convinced that they will become the next J.K. Rowling or Stephen King). 

Also, in a bit of a twist, I’m quite jealous of the confidence that some of those writers have, to just put out their product and throw caution to the wind and your opinion on their writing be damned!  But, alas, I am Donald Sutherland in “Animal House.”  Yes, I have been working on my piece of shit novel for almost 10 years but I will never stop.