Hi everyone! I hope you’re all having a great day!
I’ve finally exited the slump I was in, during which time I lost interest in all things creative or productive. Ugh. I was afraid I’d never come out of it, but I have, so God bless! Sonya was interviewing me for her blog a few days ago. She wants to blog about my schizophrenia. I’ll share a link once she gets it up. It got me to thinking that maybe I should reconsider about self-publishing my memoir. (I’d decided to keep it in the Meg vault, but now I’m thinking I might publish it.)
So I got back to work on the memoir. However, it’s been making me a stress mess. I’m not sure this one scene is coming out right. (That’s not why I’m a stress mess. I think I’m struggling with the memory.)
I’ll share it here, so please feel free to share any thoughts about how it reads! None of this is triggering, I wouldn’t think. I was six years old here.
I had a lot of insomnia. Alone in my room one night, I watched some bugs swarming around my still-lit floor lamp, and I couldn’t handle the boredom and isolation of being the only person awake. My brother’s room was across the hallway. I heard gremlin pods hatching under his bed, and it made me afraid. It sounded like the rustling of newspapers. I wanted to protect him but was too scared.
I gazed at my huge wordsearch puzzle. I’d already found all but three of the one hundred hidden words and circled them with different colored crayons. I’d long ago lost interest in finding the remaining three words, for I was convinced they weren’t there to be found. And the plum crayon, my favorite, had lost all of its paper covering and was worn down to the nub. I didn’t want to use up the rest of it.
I made my way through the dark upstairs hallway and entered my parents’ bedroom. Although my dad was sleeping closer to the door, I rounded the bed to my mom’s side and shook her awake. To this day, I can’t remember why I didn’t choose to wake my dad, who was always the nicer, gentler parent. Did I fear having him awake with me in the middle of the night? I honestly don’t know, but it’s always struck me as odd that I didn’t nudge him awake.
“I can’t sleep. Can I watch TV?” I whispered to my mom.
My mom said no, so I went into the moonlit living room and lay on the sofa without turning on the TV or the lights. The large brown cushions were itchy yet comforting with their familiarity. Then I heard another scary sound, but this one wasn’t gremlin-like. It was more akin to the hissing of an angry snake. My gaze darted all around.
To my right, on the floor in front of our marble side table, sat a huge disembodied eyeball, bigger than a softball. It stared at me, and I stared back, not quite believing what I was seeing.
The eye creeped me out. I didn’t note the color of its iris, but the pupil was black and the sclera was white, both as you’d expect. I wondered if the eye was always watching me, even when I couldn’t see it, silently recording every aspect of my life. I wondered if it knew things about my own life that I was afraid to behold. It held me in its thrall, and I had an odd moment of philosophical reckoning. Time held still. What was its message for me? What if it wanted me to realize something that I couldn’t face?
It glid across the floor toward me, pupil facing ever forward, and its swift approach broke the spell I was under and jolted me to action. When it reached the exact midpoint between us, I jumped up and fled to my room. I never saw it again.
I told my parents what happened the next day, and they gently laughed at me. There was no eye, they said, for I’d surely been imagining things. I wasn’t convinced. The eye was real.
And I couldn’t help but wonder. The idea took hold that every moment of our lives was recorded somehow, but toward what end? For posterity? For future study in the afterlife? I had no clue. But the sense of something detached and objective watching me, and monitoring my every move, took hold. From the spiritual plane, my entire life was being videotaped, and I knew it.
It wasn’t a bad feeling. It was just sort of… weird. I wondered if everyone was being watched by the same eye, or if everyone had their own unique eye watching them, or if it was only me, or if it varied from person to person. In that self-absorbed way of childhood, I considered that perhaps I was the only person in existence while everyone else was a puppet meant to give me the illusion of reality, like in a bad sci-fi movie. I rejected that theory, though. It seemed too ridiculous. Surely no universe would go to all this trouble just to create my own existence but no one else’s!
I’m probably overthinking it! It seems okay, I guess. But it’s making me so tense to think about!
Anyway, how long has it been since I blogged? A few days ago (or whenever it was), I got mad and sent an angry email to etsy. I was upset because their home page kept showing me penis artwork, even though all I searched for (that led to these recommended products) was “rainbow stickers”. I don’t see the connection, but geez. I complained for about a week and was consistently ignored, and then I finally just called everyone at etsy whores and sluts.
But the important thing is here that I immediately recognized my emerging anger and sprung into action. Before I could go on a psycho, hundred-email angry email sending campaign, I went to the drugstore and bought some valerian tincture. I came home, took two droplets of the stuff, and almost immediately felt lightheaded and dopey and as if I’d been resetted back to “neutral”, angerwise. Nice! That stuff packs a punch, in a good way. So I didn’t send anymore angry emails.
I’ve also been experimenting with aromatherapy, an idea that my friend Emilia gave me. (Shout out!) I bought some affordable lavender essential oils from Amazon. It came in the mail after the etsy incident, so I haven’t been able to test it out yet. The stuff stinks, but then again, the valerian also stinks, but it works! But I always thought that lavender would have a good smell, like flowers. Huh.
There are other scent options for anger, including ylang-ylang, so I might also try some other internet suggestions and see what I like. Emilia said that scents can be mixed, too. One thing I love about essential oils is the way you can get a specific scent, like orange. I hate perfumes. They just seem so… pretentious? Forced? Fake? (I’m not remotely judging anyone who wears perfume. It’s just not my thing.) What I love about essential oils is that it’s the exact scent you want. And you can use it as perfume, which I do with my orange essential oils. I often dab it on my wrists and then put a few drops on LuLu’s head. LuLu loves smelling citrusy! Sweet pup.
Oh, yeah, and I’ve been working on cover art. What do you all think?
I’ve got “Atlantic” by Keane in my head. Gorgeous song. I only like the first half of it, though.