trigger warning, depression

It’s a day in which waking up is an inevitability, but unwanted. I can’t sleep for more than two hours this week, and getting to sleep is a struggle, although I am sleepy all the time. I want to hate it, but the effort is too great. So, I’m in this limbo where nothing is happening, and I’m whining because there are options I should take, but I won’t because I’m too tired, or apathetic, or watching a series and unwilling to turn it off for a few minutes to deal with the insomnia.

It’s a day in which the ground is firm, the sun is hot, the air is dry, and my hair is glossy because the sunshine warms the lotion in my hair, and makes it work the way putting my hair under a drier for a few minutes would if I tried to go near a hair dryer. My skin is dry, my nose bleeds, and my eyes water a lot because of the air. So, when I feel like crying, I have an excuse.

The world is going on with their plans around me. There’s a pregnancy, a loan, a renovation. People are getting jobs, and promotions. Income. People are doing things they want, or as close to it as they can get.

My world remains the same: try to sleep, try not to wake up and fail. Write the story, and keep writing no matter how much I hate it. Listen to music that doesn’t make me cry, or curl up in myself. Listen, and watch shows that will keep my mind from thinking that it’s a good time to google what types of drugs I can overdose on that won’t destroy my organs. I figure contaminated blood is a loss worth the rest of my organs being viable for donation. Or run away from home. Leave and say nothing to anyone. And never return.

It’s been a day; the kind that I will put down as one I found at its end with me still in existence.

Been trying to write something, anything to keep up with my intention of publishing more than once in a long while. The past fortnight has been of sadness for me, so it’s been difficult for me to keep motivation to write up. Especially to write something that isn’t frivolous. Then I read a reminder, that writing involves anything, no reason to be embarrassed; and even if you are, no reason not to just write until you can’t anymore. Hopefully, this doesn’t end up being unfinished.

And what is this?

This is me realising that I haven’t written a wedding scene in all but one of my stories since high school. And that’s saying something cause it’s been twelve years since the last wedding scene I remember writing. Then again, I haven’t written a barrage of books since then. It’s difficult to have a collection of titles when you find everything you write subpar when you’re halfway through. But, for someone who writes romance; isn’t that off?

I think it’s partly because I have a fear of weddings.

It’s not a phobia; no. I attend weddings with thrill, most of the time. I mean, I fear having to craft a wedding. Thinking up of things that best suit the characters, that is sweet, and encompassing of passion, love, and commitment. I dislike doing that. The best scene(according to friends who’ve read my work) I’ve ever written for a wedding was one between people who got married for money. It was cold, procedural; and hinted at malice. I don’t feel comfortable writing happy go lucky weddings, which is probably reflective of personal revulsion to commitment. That, I am phobic of.

Also, finding things to do with weddings that would appeal to me. There are too many dresses, so many great spaces; and even better types of cakes, and themes; I would derail myself from the story, and spend thousands of words on something that would in essence be of small significance to the story. I don’t how wedding planners do it; or maybe they do it cause they love the frustration, and chaos that comes with choosing things for a wedding.

Anyway this realisation is making me want to change that. I don’t know which story to write it on; or maybe I should do outtakes of presently written stories. But I want to be able to tell myself that I once wrote a fabulous wedding scene, and it was great for me.