A Complication of an Honest Illness

Last Friday was supposed to be the official release of Soulbound, and I was supposed to put together my tour and bargain my soul for some sort of mediocre success. None of that happened. Depression has kept me locked away, and I've struggled to work on my book at all. I have about 7 pages of notes given to me by one of my ARC readers, my beta reader is willing to invest a substantial amount of money in the project, and I have other backers interested in getting me started. But for some reason, I can't move forward. My arms weigh down like the ground is trying to suck them in, my chest aches, and my eyelids want nothing more than to stay closed all day. During the night, I struggle for an ounce of sleep, and when I wake up in the morning, I feel as though I've not rested in months.

All of the passion I had for life has drained from me, and with it, the passion that drove my writing has wasted away. I received the cover for The Soulshifter--my serial novel--a few weeks ago, and have been so down that I can't even bring myself to reveal it. The artist did a wonderful job, and I can't thank her enough for the time she put into it, but for some reason, sharing it, showing it off, feels like a commitment I'm not ready to make yet. As if revealing it on this blog will somehow prove that I have the courage and the physical strength to move forward with my project.

Part of the worsening depression stems from the loss of my cat and of the four family members and one childhood friend who passed away last year. It comes from my mother's cancer and from my family trying so hard to stay close, even while I wasn't living at home. I feel responsible for things that I have no control over--things like how my mother is the only one who is cleaning and doing yard work, laundry, and taking care of the house, while my sister plays video games and my dad works himself into the grave. I can't help but believe that their lives would be easier if I had just stayed living with them instead of moving out again. I realize these things are not my fault, but that doesn't make them any easier to cope with.

I keep trying to go back to school, too, because no matter where I go or what I do, my intelligence is short changed and I'm made fun of for getting a degree in English Literature. Yes, it was an easy out for me at the time, and being totally burnt out from high school and getting a rejection letter from the Air Force Academy nudged me into changing from MCDB to an easier program, but I worked hard to get the degree I wanted. Yeah, I made the mistake of not doing another program alongside it, like business or teaching, but it still hurts to have people think of me as an idiot, and it hurts worse when they outright say it, as if it won't have an impact on my mental well-being.

Ever since I first began writing, my goal was to be a writer. No one could tell me to do anything else with my life, because there was so much passion, so much fire, so much belief that what I was working on would give others courage to move forward with their own projects...but then something happened, and I don't know what it was. It happened years ago, because I can see no other reason why this manuscript has taken so long to complete. I thought I caught the fire again, but...then, only a few people of the ARC group actually took the time to read Soulbound, a book I've worked on for near 13 years now. I started the damn thing when I was 14. I'll be 27 in November...and I've accomplished nothing that I set out to.

Soulbound was supposed the be the first in an eight-book series, which would eventually spin into a trilogy of YA prequels, a 12-book MG series, a set of serial novels, some picture books, a hand-written journal/sketchbook, and a number of stand-alone manuscripts. I've started just about every one of these--the first book of the MG series is half done, the first of the YA trilogy is almost 2/3 complete, I've 10,000 words of one of the spin offs written, and the first serial novel is complete through Part Two... Yet I can't move forward and finish them. Soulbound just needs about two weeks of revising and rewriting, but it's like my brain and body are fighting me every step of the way, screaming, "You can't change it again! It was supposed to be done!" Even though the changes would benefit the novel in the long run...even though I have a number of book stores and breweries interested in signings...even though I could keep going, and I should, I physically can't, because all I can think about...all I keep wondering is..."What happened to me? What changed to make me so numb and tired all the time?"

I work out just about every day, and I eat fairly healthy, I'm losing weight, but I can't seem to gain energy. Am I not eating enough? Am I just meant to fall into the pits of depression and never reach out again? Are Marik, Eti, Clae, and all of the other people of the Soulbound world meant to drift into anonymity, just because I can't bring myself to continue such a massive project? I don't know. I might never know. I want to fight it, to make myself better, to be stronger and work hard, and I can't seem to. I only have one life, and it might be substantially shorter or longer than I want, but as far as I know, I only have the one. That used to be enough to kick me into gear and get me going. So...what changed?

Maybe it was me. Maybe I've changed, the dreamer blown away in the wind and the bones rooted into the dirt and rock of reality. I don't know. I'm a thinker, and I always have been (you can thank my father for that), and I need time to think, to sort my life out and to get myself figured out before I can move on. The problem is, while I think, life is passing by a day at a time. At this time, all I can promise is that the project will continue, somehow, some way, it will. I can't walk away, because it consumes me, even when I think of nothing, it eats away at me. If I can beat this crushing depression, I can move on; that's what I keep telling myself, but maybe I should be thinking, "This depression is no handicap; it is fuel. Hate it and burn it to create."

Maybe I can, and maybe then, I can move forward again.