Breathing in Tight Spaces

I was a total mess yesterday. Total meltdown mode, and I couldn’t cope with anything at all. I sobbed for hours, and there was snot and sticky stuff in my mouth. Total mess. I was in a bizarre sort of dissociated haze. Time passed in large increments during which I kept crying and not crying and being unaware of where the time was going. Finally, at 9:00 PM, I was sensible enough to hear my inner voice of all-knowing tell me to take some Seroquel for nappytime. So I took 500 mg (it’s allowed), fell asleep within half an hour, and didn’t regain consciousness until 10:30 this morning.

There’s nothing quite as therapeutic as thirteen glorious hours of sleep.

It’s good that this has happened, because the disability people want proof of my continuing inability to function in the workplace. I’ve already filled out the paperwork, but they’re also going to mail my dad. He witnessed my complete inability to function yesterday, so he can tell them about it from his perspective. (The disability people check to make sure I’m still disabled every few years, and they ask who they may collect more info from, so I always say my dad. They also gather info from Dr. Phlegm.)

My dad determined that I was stressed and overtired. I can’t handle stress, which is actually why I can’t function at work. Yesterday, I was overwhelmed from:

  • Helping my friend Ash move
  • Going to my brother’s house early to let in his chandelier installer
  • Bringing my mom over here for fun, and she wasn’t on her best behavior, and there was traffic
  • Sleeping poorly one night and never getting a nap
  • Feeling pressure to clean my room already
  • I was on my period

All that has been in the past week, so… train wreck meet Meg, Meg meet train wreck. I just completely lost it. I contacted a crisis chat, and I mostly just let myself remain completely dissociated and catatonic. I listened to some YouTube videos and made note of how often my tears stopped and returned. At one point, I successfully got myself to blow my nose. (Snot was just hanging everywhere the rest of the time.) Hours passed in the blink of an eye, which often resulted in tears being spilled all over my face. In retrospect, it seems bizarre that I was so out of it, but there you go.

I treated a very good friend of mine horribly, but life goes on, and it’s forgiveness all around. These are the sort of people that I wish everyone had in their lives.

I’ve still been working on my memoirs, and I’m sort of relieved that I’ve already written the trauma stuff. Nothing else is that depressing. I’m trying to have more awareness of when it’s upsetting me to write the memoirs. I can take a break, or I can write a happier passage. There are always options. I’ve written 23,470 words so far, and I’m only up to late elementary school, early middle school. It’s amazing me that my project has such a high word count already. I usually struggle to get a high word count, but there’s a lot that I remember, and most of it is going in there!

It’s been interesting. Little things, little memories, add color and content to memoirs. I’ve been writing everything linearly, meaning that if something comes back up in my life, it has to wait until that point in my memoirs to be reintroduced, so there are overlapping and interwoven plot points, if that makes sense. This has been a great strategy, because otherwise the book would be a series of anecdotes which would all need to be contextualized. I’ve also been writing from the view of a child. I’m using big words (I’m telling it in third-person, so I think that’s okay), but the “voice” is childish when I’m writing about that age.

I’d like to be reasonably done with it by November, because then I’m switching to NaNoWriMo. If I can’t be done, maybe I can at least reach a stopping point.

I’m not sure how to market my memoirs, but I want to try to find an agent. The issue is that most memoirs need a focus, like, what it’s like to grow up autistic, or what it’s like to struggle with addictions, or what it’s like to be in foster care, etc., etc. My life has been all over the board, but my memoirs really do need to have a focus to be marketable. Hmm…. major mental illness, abuse, fetishism… they all tie into each other, but how could you describe them in one broader term? Hmm… I don’t know. I also don’t have a working title. I like Breathing in Tight Spaces. That’s from this passage right here:

Interactions between me and my mother worsened. She kept seeking me out wherever I was in the house so she could engage me in a long series of ridiculous power struggles. Her heavy pathos felt like a blanket I couldn’t breathe under. In bed at night, I tried to suffocate myself under heavy blankets. Instead of dying, I somehow mastered the art of breathing in tight spaces where there’s no air to breathe. I marveled at the impossibility of it.

Maybe a subtitle would bring the themes together… Breathing in Tight Spaces: A Look at Childhood Sexuality, Abuse, and Mental Illness. Huh. That could work! Well! I’m glad we’ve had this talk, reader. Thank you.

I can’t believe sanity has been restored. Yesterday was almost scary. I’m feeling all better and am taking life slower today. It’s all good!!

2 thoughts on “Breathing in Tight Spaces

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