Melted down all over Facebook today. It….wasn’t pretty. The inciting event was that, after weeks of struggle on the part of both my partner and myself, I finally got an appointment with a new doctor to attempt to refill my brain pills.
Happy news, right?
Or, yano, not.
It was difficult enough to prepare myself for the idea of dealing with a telehealth appointment. But that’s not what I got. No, I was assigned a physical appointment at the tail end of the month.
At best, I run out of meds in less than a week.
After some wrangling, there was improvement. I was granted a telehealth appointment with a different doctor a week earlier than the other. This is better. Much better. However, I will still be without meds for at least a week.
I share this here for a couple of reasons. The first harkens back to that post about authenticity. My brain is a pretty messed up place. If I’m going to be real with you all, I’m going to expose a lot of my fucked wiring. Sometimes the results are entertaining. When I’m lucky, wrangling my crazy ends up putting words on a page. More often, it’s like this – a constant struggle against the assholes living in my head as they pull levers and push buttons at will.
I’ve followed authors off and on who have been open about their mental health struggles. There have been times when I found solace or inspiration in them. Even when a post didn’t resonate with me, however, there were often others expressing how it had helped them.
If there’s a chance that talking about my own mental
hell health issues will do the same for someone else, I’m here for it.
That’s one reason. The other is how the dickweeds in my mind act when let off the med leash. During those times, I am not remotely close to being the best version of myself. I’m not the parent my kid deserves. I’m not the spouse my partner deserves. And I’m not the writer you deserve.
Hence the title of this post. Because there will be at least one entire week when my brain gremlins will be unfettered. Assuming things go well and I get a new script, there will be another week of bullshit as my brain pills desperately try to recapture the little fuckers.
What does this mean for chapter releases, new work, etc.? I…don’t know. Probably nothing good. There’s a slight chance I’ll hit a manic phase and churn out chapters like some sort of chapter churning machine, but…yeah. My production has already not been where I’d like these last few weeks. Of course, stressing that just kicks off more anxiety and ’round and ’round we go until we all get dizzy and fall down after barfing all over our shoes.
Sorry. That kind of got away from me there. Mainly, I wanted to let you know that this is a thing that is happening, there is a rough patch on the horizon, and my stubborn ass is going to fight my way through.
Categories: general musing the process
Stormy Lane McKnight
Writer of trashy queer superhero romance, smutty sci-fi, and other things that are gay af. Disaster enby and all around bisexual wrecking ball.