Sometime in the next few weeks the first volume of ‘Letters to Daniel’ will be available in book form, both e-book and print book for the public. After much consideration and thought, it will be without pictures and really, until people open the book they won’t have the foggiest of who I’m referring to. And again, these letters serve as a way for me to vent my frustrations, celebrate my triumphs, and share in my struggles against and with those that I love and hate. And of course, of my daily battle with bipolar disorder.
The last week has been a study in ups and downs. The incredible highs of churning out close to 20K words on my newest work, my first stab at an upmarket thriller or mainstream fiction. But at night the bottom would drop out. And I would feel scared and alone. Clingy and needy. And last night I had a full blown panic attack. Whether it was from the late night pounding of caffeine (which is a very real possibility) or just my anxiety at have taken a break after so much writing it doesn’t really matter. It happened. And as much as I wanted to watch Cowboys & Aliens I was afraid that it would mess with my mojo on the new book.
The state of my relationship with my family is this. I never see them. And when I do they’re taking their shit day out on me. I depend on Missy a lot these days. Because I really can’t count on my family for much. They let me stay here rent free. And they typically supplement my meals. Which for many would be enough to be grateful for. And usually I am.
But part of my illness demands that I have a strong support network. And let’s be honest, for the most part I do. Missy is fantastic and Pam is true blue too. And when they’re not busy coddling my baby sister and her babies or doing my younger sister’s bidding where her son is concerned my parents are pretty cool, even if it is to suit their own purposes. Such as, mom wants some privacy with dad. So she’s getting me a nice hotel room this Saturday night, getting me drinks and snacks and money for supper and breakfast. I mean, who does that for real?
That being said, Missy and I didn’t make the cut for Sundance. Our little indie romantic drama which explores the issues a abuse, suicide and mental illness probably wasn’t edgy enough to make the cut. Or the competition was just too stiff.
Now we wait to hear back from Austin. If you’re reading this, pray for us to get a phone call. That means we’re still in the running and we qualify for a $200 producer’s badge. And we need that help to make the trip. I mean there’s a reason why we’re living at our parents’ homes at age 38 and 39. It’s certainly not for our health. My mental health for one would be a hundred times better if I moved back out. But on a $754 disability check (monthly) trips plus bills wouldn’t be possible.
I moved back in with my parents a year ago. It’s been no pleasure cruise. Sometimes I wonder if they’ll ever truly appreciate what I do and how hard it can be. But at least they let me live here rent free. And when the food money on my end runs out, at least they let me eat with them.