Thirty-Second

This is yet another stream of consciousness post. It has been several weeks since my last post but I have felt either too tired, too busy, or too distracted to come up with a topic. I have chronic fatigue as a symptom of my fibromyalgia and multiple sclerosis and I can’t seem to shake it. I have to start going to the gym. I know it will make me tired, but if I’m healthier, I hope my illnesses will go into remission. I am just so sick. And I hate it. I can’t be the wife James’ deserves, the mother Momo deserves, the human my cats deserve while I feel this way. In other news, I got married. I am so very happy. I wish I could say that I had a beautiful wedding, and I did have a beautiful marriage ceremony, but money is a factor and so we opted for a courthouse wedding.

I am so bored and so tired. I want to nap, but I know I have to stay awake. I wish I didn’t though. Maybe just a short nap.

I have started going to church. The LDS church. I don’t really believe in it, but I want to. I believe in a lot more of the witchcraft path than anything else. But mostly, I am an atheist. As much as I want to believe in Deity, I just can’t ignore scientific facts that seem to support the theory that there is no intelligent design. I fully believe in evolution. I suppose I could subscribe to the theory that I used to hold. That in the beginning of eternity, there was the Masculine and the Feminine. The joining of these two forces created the universes, and the repetitions of time immemorial. These masculine and feminine principles manifest in God and the Goddess and the “different” deities worshipped throughout time were mere facets of those two principles. They wrote the universe in physics and math and science so science does not prove that they don’t exist, it merely explains the way the universe is.

I just don’t know. I want to know. I want to believe in something. Because I surely don’t believe in myself.

Thirty-First - Stream of Consciousness

This is a stream of consciousness post. I am trying to write because I am on a self-appointed deadline and I want to finish my books early so I can perhaps publish them early but I don't know if it's possible. With my fiance moving in, my daughter moving back in with me, I will be heavily distracted. If James gets a job during the hours that my daughter is at school, I will perhaps have six hours to myself to create but will that be enough? I am a skilled enough typist but the problem is arisen where my mind is not as quick, not as sharp as it used to be and I wonder if I have enough brainpower to manifest a story, the poetry, the short stories, as quickly as I created the first three chapters of my novel. I am doing my best, but I am succumbing to doubt. Am I an author? Will my product be good enough? Will people buy it? What is my motivation for writing? I've wanted to be an author ever since I was little. I thrived when it was writing time. I feel blessed that I was enrolled in schools that encouraged creativity, imagination, and innovation. I hope I can achieve my dreams. I cannot imagine the joy I will feel as I publish my books. I will officially be an author when that happens. No one will be able to tell me different. I will be create my own destiny. I only wonder if I have the strength. 

Post-traumatic stress disorder and mental conditioning thrust upon me by other parties, namely my family, have crippled me. Am I intelligent? Everyone says so. Even my detractors have always told me I'm smart. It's funny how some people claim I'm manipulative and successful at getting people to do what I want, but I am also stupid. That makes no sense. It takes some sort of cunning to manipulate people, and while I know I possess some small part of it, I have no desire to manipulate people. I want people to want me - my company, my body, my friendship. If I have to manipulate them into giving that desire to me, I no longer have value for the relationship. It's really very simple. I just need to get all these racing thoughts out of my head. 

I despise bipolar disorder. I take my medications faithfully and I do my best to surround myself with peace and calm, but sometimes the manic episodes sneak in and I can't shut up my mind. I wish my novel flowed as easily as this post is flowing. But I am so self conscious about how the end product will be received that I second guess every word I write. What am I to do? I suppose I could turn to my Ativan, but I really don't want to abuse it. I just need something stronger. It is when I am like this that I fear my future. Notice how I went from declaring my destiny as my own to create to fearing my destiny as if it's out of my control. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.