I read and write my way through the beautiful chaotic mess that is my brain. I use it to get through each day, and today I need to get through my anxiety about going to sleep tonight with the possibility that someone I love very much might not being there in the morning. I went to sleep eventually last night, and after I awoke today, I messaged to make sure they were still with us, and thankfully they were. I am grateful. <3 However, this doesn’t mean that anxiety goes away, as tomorrow is another day, and yesterday is full of people that I love not making it through the night.
I read to escape. I am reading The Drago Republic by R. F. Kuang right now. I am purposefully reading it slowly and taking breaks because I love the escape. I love the main character Rin. Having her occupy my brain makes me happy, and gives me an escape. Reading is hard with an overactive brain. I’ve never been diagnosed with anything related to ADHD, because that isn’t a narrative I subscribe to, but reading while your brain is perpetually moving 1000x the speed of the words on the page is very hard. It is something that takes work. It is precisely why I read—to slow my brain down. To reroute my brain. I am looking to escape for even a brief few moments into a world that is not this one, escaping in between the pages and words from the pain of my life.
When I walk my sidecar down to the curb each day to take Poppy for a bike ride, I think of Rin carrying the pig to the top of the mountain each day in the first book of the Poppy Wars. She used it to build strength. I do too. Sometimes I read too fast and miss things. Sometimes I have to go back and re-read a page. I remember when I sped through Rin’s first period, where she was caught off guard by this biological event–I too was caught off guard. I had to go back and re-read. And again. I was so inside Rin’s head, that I couldn’t understand this reality in the same way she couldn’t understand it. I never had thoughts of having a period in my head. It was always out there. (Hand Waves) It was someone else’s problem. Inviting these thoughts into my head, doing the work to read them slowly on the page, is the work that I need. It is something that television and Internet can never do for me. Truly letting other people’s stories into your head.
I write to make sense of things. Without writing I would be dead (not exagerating). Writing enables me to take something my brain is spinning out on and do the work to remove it from my brain in this moment and set it on the shelf. Sometimes I come back to something I pulled out of brain and spend more time with it. Sometimes I never revisit again. Writing something down allows me to move on and get back to whatever I should be doing. Sometimes I have to stop and write something in the notebook. Other times I have to hit publish and make it public within my domain. Otherwise an idea will bounce around in my head causing untold amounts of unnecessary damage. Being able to write fictional as well as non-fictional accounts of what is happening is very helpful. I mean what else do you do with thoughts that something awful has happened to your daughter? You have to craft a fictional narrative to work through the awful airplane crash you imagined and can’t let go of–putting it on the shelf to give your mind a break.
I write to remember my good friend Dave. I am sorry I kicked you out of my house. I wish I had taken your call before you fell to your death. I still think about that big 10 minute hug you gave me when Jerry died every August. I write to forgive myself for not returning your page before you chose suicide by cop in Kansas Manny. You might have came to my house instead of getting on that Greyhound bus. I write to remind myself that it didn’t matter that I let you borrow my van to go get the helium tanks you used to put yourself to sleep forever Kaya (thank you for Audrey). If I hadn’t been in the shower when you returned my keys, I might have been able to change your mind. I write to relieve myself of the guilt that I gave you the gun you used to blow your brains out Derek, and if I had just pulled off the freeway in Cottage Grove that day, you would likely would still be alive. The problem is I was balling my eyes out driving home from Seattle after cleaning out the kids apartment after he overdosed. I write to relieve myself of the pain that I kicked the kid out and gave him back his guns. I am so very sorry.
I know all too well what I will do tomorrow if I wake up and someone is gone. I will mourn. I will read. I will write. I will live each day. I have a lot of regrets around always thinking I could do more. I am not always there for people. Like many of us, I am struggling day to day. Most days I forgive myself. Other days I do not. It’s a negotiation. It is one that I have to show up for each day. It is one I have to do regular work on. I never quite let myself off the hook and find the peace of mind I wish existed, but I can stay head of the 8 ball. If I slip and do not read for weeks at a time, I start to fall behind. If I slip and do not write daily, I start to fall behind. I see it as exercise, but for my mental health. I know that I will wake up someday in the future and someone I love will be gone. It is life. But reading and writing helps me slow the inevitable march towards whatever each day in the future holds–good or bad. I wish I had discovered writing earlier. I knew I would it was important early on, but I didn’t grasp just how important. I look forward to spending the rest of my time on this earth reading and writing as much as I can.
